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He wasn’t the weirdest regular. Heaven knows he wasn’t. For example, there was the man that came every Friday and bought every single type of cake they offered, one piece each. There’s the woman who never brought the same lady twice, even though she wooed each and every one of them as if they were married. And there’s the couple who ordered their beverages only to be so over each other that they didn’t have a chance to take a single sip within the first thirty minutes. There were all kinds of interesting people coming to the café, but he - he was special nevertheless.
It took Chuuya, 20, barista, three weeks to find out the guy’s name. The name he was supposed to write on the cup of the customer, mind you. That first time he asked for the guy’s name he smiled mysteriously. “What would you like to call me?” It annoyed Chuuya, it really did. “Look, man, I’m just trying to do my job,” he said, but the guy just smiled at him. “Fine,” Chuuya groaned, writing in thick black felt-tip mack-e-rel . For good measure, or not so good, he even took the time to draw a fish with big round eyes on the paper cup. The guy kept smiling like an idiot.
As mentioned before, three weeks was how long it took for Chuuya to learn his name. Ironically it was his co-worker Atsushi who found it out. Not that it was hard for him.
“What name should I write on the cup?” he asked, smiling his little kitten-smile.
“Dazai.”
Chuuya, working the coffee machine a few meters back, looked up upon recognizing the voice, like… “What the hell, Atsushi,” he hissed, receiving the cup a minute later, “did he just tell you his name?”
Atsushi seemed confused. “Is that a problem? Should I not have asked? Is this a privacy violation?”
“Oh, shut up,” Chuuya growled, punching the order specifics into the machine.
The mackerel - Dazai - always ordered the same: double espresso with three pumps of caramel syrup, one pump of cinnamon syrup and one teaspoon of cocoa powder. Chuuya knew the mixture by heart after three visits, but to this day he never understood how the so-called beverage doesn't need to be labeled as a biohazard. “Here’s your order,” he said, handing the cup with ‘Dazai’ on it over the counter. “ Mackerel .”
That was in April. It was easy to see that Dazai was busy at the campus nearby. He came to the café at least twice a week, in the afternoon after classes were finished, carrying a book or five, unfolding his laptop to type quickly and tirelessly. Sometimes he stared out of the window for an extended period of time. Not that Chuuya was watching him!
“You should ask him out,” Atsushi whispered, earning him an offended look from Chuuya, who maybe had observed the way the sunlight of early September gave Dazai’s hair a warm glow.
“What the fuck, no,” Chuuya responded, suddenly remembering the rag in his hand that he was wiping the counter with. He was not interested in the shitty mackerel, and even if he were, taking advice from Atsushi of all people was out of the question, even when the little sunshine did in fact enchant a certain emo/goth/vampire aficionado and made him his boyfriend a few weeks ago. Taking advice from a seventeen years old part-timer with a taste in men like that , Chuuya would rather eat glass. And besides - the mackerel was not even his type. He was just… interesting to look at with his bandages and oversized sweaters and deep, deep brown eyes…
That was in September. Back when a sweater was enough to wear outside. Then, November came with a cold front, and the first snow. It was the first time in 60 years that it snowed in Yokohama in November already. Chuuya was working the late shift when it started, a murmur of “Oh, it’s snowing” going through the café, and to be honest, it was nice how peaceful the snowflakes tumbled from the sky, how Dazai angled his head back a little, looking out of the window, and it felt for a second as if the snowflakes would land on his pale cheeks softly. Chuuya knew he should pay attention to the snow more; like Atsushi who dropped the pastry tong and ran outside cheering and laughing like a child, Akutagawa on his hand. But the way Dazai seemed both so intrigued by the thick snowflakes and so unfazed at the same time was fascinating. Dazai looked outside for a minute or two as if frozen himself, and Chuuya looked at him just as motionless and with something warm in his chest that contrasted fundamentally with the snow outside. For a few moments the city, the café and Dazai in it seemed to be caught in a fairytale. Then Dazai looked back at his laptop and resumed typing.
That was in November.
It was also in November that Chuuya realized that he might be in love with who he had never stopped calling mackerel. He sat on the couch, Paul and Arthur playing chess at the coffee table. “When you met,” Chuuya murmured, pausing his Nintendo, “did you ever, if only for a second, stop thinking about each other?”
Arthur looked up from his knight. “I didn’t think of Paul when I slept.”
“That’s a lie,” Paul countered, and they both laughed, knowing it was true.
Chuuya rolled his eyes. Ineffable gay people! How could they, after all these years, still be so silly in love?
“When I saw Paul,” Arthur said eventually, “it was as if time stood still. I could forget the cold for a moment.”
And that sounded stupid, and cheesy, and cringe, but Chuuya found that it was similar for him.
He found that it was indeed very similar for him in early December when the mackerel entered the almost empty café and his features were lit up by the fairylights of the Christmas decorations that Atsushi and Akutagawa had set up in the morning.
“Welcome,” Chuuya said. He intended to sound rude, but instead his voice came out soft. If Dazai noticed that, he wasn’t irritated. “The usual?”
“Yes, please,” Dazai nodded and went to lose his coat and set up his laptop on a table by the window.
“Enjoy your drink,” Chuuya said when Dazai came back to the counter to pick up his drink and pay. When he reached out to take the cup, his sleeve slid back just enough so Chuuya saw there were bandages around his wrist. He didn’t ask, it was none of his business really. But at the same time, it changed the way he perceived Dazai in an instant. Of course, there was the possibility that Dazai had hurt himself accidentally. But Chuuya was very aware that Christmas and the time leading up to it was the time when suicides peaked, because people couldn’t stand being alone any longer when everyone seemed to be so happy and jolly.
Dazai was about to turn around and head back to his table, but Chuuya stopped him.
“Hey, mackerel.”
The man turned around, eyebrows drawn up.
Well, shit. Maybe Chuuya should’ve thought about what to say before calling out for him. “Want some cake? My treat,” he asked, embarrassed.
Dazai blinked and smiled. “I don’t think the cakes you offer are up to my standards.”
What the hell?
Dazai smiled at him. “Your coffee is at most mediocre as well, to be frank.”
“Then why,” Chuuya barked, offended on behalf of his workplace, “do you come here three times a fucking week if you hate it so much?”
“It’s better than being alone all evening.”
Chuuya was baffled. He hadn’t expected such an honest answer.
“And with enough syrup, the coffee is consumable at least,” Dazai added. “I didn’t say I hated it. But I certainly don’t come here for the beverages.” He winked and made his way to the table.
Then what for?
Chuuya thought about that long after Dazai had left, long after his shift had ended and long after he had powered up his Nintendo, the screen replaying the home screen music again and again, unnoticed.
“Do you think our cakes are low quality?” he asked Atsushi a few days later, or Akutagawa, who was never far when Atsushi worked.
They both thought for a moment, and it was Atsushi who spoke first: “I’ve had better. But I’ve had worse, too.”
Akutgawa nodded. “The chocolate cake is your best product, even though the ganache has a somewhat crunchy texture to it that is unpleasant.”
“That’s because there’s too much sugar in it,” Chuuya explained. The cake itself was decent, but the frosting gave you cavities after half a piece. Most customers liked the overly sweet cream though.
“Why do you ask?” Atsushi inquired.
Chuuya frowned. “A… regular mentioned he didn’t think our cakes were any good.”
Atsushi tilted his head. “Oh, was it Dazai-san?”
“How the hell…”
“You do not usually care about customers’ opinions, Chuuya-san,” Akutagawa explained like a smart-ass. “The only person who would go under your skin for you to consider the baked goods’ quality here is that bandaged man.”
“Only because I don’t give a shit about your fucking opinions!” Chuuya hissed (as if he hadn't asked for the couple’s opinions a minute ago).
“He likes cake with nuts and almonds,” Atsushi said out of nowhere. “And bitter chocolate.”
“Why do you have this information?” Akutagawa asked, and honestly?, Chuuya thought the same thing.
“Oh, we were talking about it back in spring, when he was new here. I wanted to know a little more about him, since he seemed to come here a lot.” He smiled his adorable tiger cub smile. “He seemed to be by himself a lot, and I like making new friends.”
And that, somehow, opened a door for Chuuya that he hadn’t known existed.
At least, and he gave himself a pat on the shoulder for it, he was patient enough to wait for Akutagawa to leave for band practice, before he pestered Atsushi about it.
That was how he found out that Dazai was twenty-two, taught modern literature as a junior professor at university (just how smart was that idiot?), lived alone and was single. Chuuya didn’t even question why Atsushi told him that last thing, but it was valuable information for him.
“You should really ask him out,” Atsushi closed the conversation, like he had half a dozen times over the past six months.
“Not my type,” Chuuya lied and wished Atsushi a nice evening when the boy hung up his apron and left to buy christmas presents for Ryuunosuke .
But the truth was that the idea was somewhat nice at least. Chuuya was not immune to romantic ideas, had never been. He thought of walks through fresh snow, of shared roasted nuts from the Christmas market, of rides in the ferris wheel that overlooked Yokohama and the glitter of millions of lights in the crisp winter evening. Nice things that he had never done before, because it was kind of pathetic when he did that on his own.
When he returned home, he found Paul and Arthur in the kitchen, preparing dinner together, smiling at each other. Watching them was nice, actually. Chuuya wondered if he’d ever find someone who complimented him like Arthur’s softness complimented Paul’s warmth, and how Paul’s playfulness complimented Arthur’s calm. Or not only find someone, but recognize it, and then be brave enough to act on his feelings.
How to ask someone out anyway?
It wasn’t like he could ask Dazai out for coffee… Chuuya imagined it for a moment: him and Dazai sitting in Dazai’s usual spot, the biohazardous, “mediocre at best” beverage between them and Atsushi and Akutagawa watching their every move from behind and sitting at the counter, respectively. Ridiculous!! As a matter of fact though, Chuuya had no idea where to take people on dates - especially someone he knew nothing about. There was no way he could take Dazai to the movies, because chances that he’d pick a movie right for his taste were slim. Dinner was a possibility, but if he reserved a table at a nice steak place and it turned out that Dazai was a vegetarian, their romance would be cut short, to name just one possible disastrous outcome. Avoiding a faux-pas with a person he had only ever seen drinking coffee, reading and typing on his laptop like a madman was nearly impossible. He did have to start with things he actually knew about Dazai.
And what was that? To Chuuya, Dazai was an early-twenties literature otaku with too much brain and too little social interaction that made him come to their café more than was good for him if he didn’t even like their cakes. Dazai was incredibly handsome, but alone at home. He had a melancholic side to him, maybe even a depressed one if the bandages were any indicator. He liked books that Chuuya had never heard about. He typed with ten fingers. His clothes were black, brown, gray, dark blue and made him look like a fucking mailorder catalog model that sold clothes for retirees. He ate cake with nuts and chocolate with a high cocoa content. He was single, and probably heterosexual.
Chuuya grimaced at his ceiling at that last thought, lying on his back with his hands behind his head. It was possible. But he hoped that Atsushi hadn’t urged Chuuya to ask Dazai out if the guy was straight. No, the other way around: He hoped that Atsushi knew for sure that Dazai was at least bisexual, and that’s why he kept suggesting Chuuya to ask the guy out. Chuuya nodded at his ceiling. He liked that a lot better.
There was an important part in this development that Chuuya had skipped thinking about - and that was wondering why he started planning how to ask Dazai out in the first place. Sure, he liked the guy, but before doing the basic step of realizing that he might want to pursue a relationship with him, or try dating him at least, he was already looking up cafés on his search engine. Maybe he should ask him out for coffee after all, since Dazai didn’t like theirs anyway apparently.
“Boring,” was what Atsushi said when Chuuya listed him the possible locations that Dazai might enjoy.
Akutagawa nodded. “He spends the majority of his freetime at such a premise as things are, so accompanying him to a similar location might undermine your intention.”
“Bold statement coming from someone who hangs out at a café entire part-time shifts without payment,” Chuuya spat and put his phone away.
Atsushi took Akutagawa’s hand in a gesture of comfort. “It’s cute… I mean thoughtful that you consider Dazai-san’s interests, but I bet you can think of something more special than that. Something that brings out your personality more.”
Chuuya’s entire personality was violent video games, punk rock and red wine.
“That’s not true,” Atsushi objected when he said it out loud. “You’re very… Come on, you say something too, Ryuunosuke.”
Akutagawa looked at Chuuya for a long moment and remained silent, agreeing with him without words.
When Chuuya asked Paul in the evening, the man laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with punk rock and red wine,” he assured him. “However I’m not sure if those violent videogames are something we should talk about…” Sometimes, even though Paul was not his parent, he played the part oddly convincing.
“I’m not twelve,” Chuuya replied and took another cookie from the tray on the kitchen table.
“Which reminds me,” Paul said from where he was organizing the cupboard that held the tea boxes. “I’d like to take Arthur to Ise over Christmas. Six nights, a little inn, romance, you know?” He glanced at Chuuya and his eyes said Sex . “Will you be fine on your own? It’s the holidays after all… If you feel you’ll be lonely, we’ll stay.”
And make out on the couch, right in front of Chuuya’s metaphorical salad? “Please don’t stay here,” he grimaced, before echoing: “I’m not twelve.”
Paul smiled happily, then held a little box up. “I bought almond tea, wanna try?”
And with that, the holiday plans were set in stone, for Chuuya’s not-parents at least.
Staying home alone over Christmas, even though it did sound like a family movie title, wasn’t the worst thing for Chuuya. With the café closing from Christmas eve to New Year's, he’d just order pizza, watch anime till late at night, and get drunk in an mmorpg raid. He’d never even take off his pajamas. It sounded like the perfect lazy winter break.
It was a problem though. Not that Paul and Arthur would be gone, but the fact that the café closed. Because, and that was something that Chuuya only realized after he had checked which pizza places were open over the holidays, Dazai wouldn’t have a place to go. Yes, Dazai, who had bandages around his wrist, and who had said that he was lonely at home.
Exactly.
He’d have Dazai over. It was the only possibility to make sure that the guy would not jump off a bridge or whatever method he fancied. Chuuya would bring him to his home, order two pizzas, find out what anime Dazai liked and would maybe even change out of his pajamas after all. Not quite the perfect lazy winter break that he had imagined, but it was definitely better than hearing about Dazai on the news on Christmas morning.
It was two weeks until Christmas when Chuuya decided on that. Which left him with two weeks to get a grip and ask Dazai to spend Christmas with him. Or Christmas eve. Maybe to stay overnight - or maybe not. Dinner would probably be enough. Or lunch? Was pizza suitable for Christmas lunch? Were the pizza places even open at lunchtime? Maybe he should prepare something himself after all. That would be a lot more romantic anyway. He wasn’t sure though if he wanted it to be romantic at all. Platonic Christmas was a thing, wasn’t it?
“Ab-so-lutely not.” Atsushi looked at him disappointed. “I don’t know where you come from…”
“Yokohama,” Chuuya murmured.
“... but Christmas is absolutely and one hundred thousand percent a couple thing here. Romance, Chuuya-san. Love .” He said the last word like a verdict.
Okay. Romance then.
“I, personally,” Atsushi started, his chest swelling with pride, “am taking Ryuunosuke to Disneyland in the morning, we’ll leave at seven. I have a table for two at the Crystal Palais Restaurant, then we’ll come back to Yokohama in the late afternoon and take a walk at the Red Brick Warehouse Christmas market, have a snack maybe, probably. In the evening I have ordered Christmas turkey, I’ll pick that up the day before, so I have to just put it in the oven and we can hand out presents under the Christmas tree, it will be so dreamy! Europeans hand out all the presents on Christmas eve, you know, I really can’t wait for Ryuunosuke to get his. I got him this pretty bracelet we saw the other day, did I show you the photo?, and an album with pictures we took since we got together, and this reeeeal fluffy, cozy teddy plush sweater, in black and I got it in white for myself, and the tea he talks about so much, this brand of assam, but it’s a super nice tin container, and-”
And that was when Chuuya’s brain shut down. Who would've thought that Atsushi was such an overachiever?
But it sounded really sweet, how much thought and effort the boy put into all of this (even though Chuuya wasn’t sure if Akutagawa would enjoy Disneyland too much).
Later, when Akutagawa came from band practice to pick Atsushi up, and the white haired boy went to change out of his work clothes, Chuuya had a chance to ask Akutagawa about presents.
“A ring,” was what Akutagawa said, calm and straightforward like always.
Chuuya could barely hold back the “What the fuck” that exploded in his head. A fucking ring?
“I wrote him a song,” Akutagawa added after a moment, “but I am not sure if I will be courageous enough to play it for him. The ring will bring across my message in a similar way, or so I hope.”
Chuuya stared at him. “Are you aware that that’ll make him think you wanna marry him?”
The look Akutagawa gave him in return was answer enough. Holy shit, he was serious.
Atsushi emerged from the staff room with a bright smile. “Ready! Wanna go to the ramen place for dinner or cook at home?”
Akutagawa gave Chuuya an intense stare, then got up from his chair. “I prefer cooking at home,” he answered and the two left, Atsushi waving at Chuuya, clinging to Akutagawa with the other hand.
Wow. Talk about a lid for every pot.
Not that it put Chuuya under pressure or something. Even though it was surprising, and bold, that Akutagawa was so determined, Chuuya never even doubted that this would go very well for them. Atsushi would be over the moon, like, eight times, and maybe their Christmas Market stroll would be done with a lot of happy tears. It was perfect. Chuuya was definitely happy for them.
For his own Christmas plan, that hadn’t helped too much however. He still didn’t know if pizza was okay. With Arthur and Paul gone, Chuuya wasn’t even sure if there would be decorations set up in the living room. He should ask them about it.
That meant telling them about his maybe-date.
“Who is he!?” Arthur almost jumped over the dining table that night, eyes glowing with excitement.
Yeah, well… Chuuya had never brought a boy home for Christmas. Or a girl. Or anyone.
“Just some dude,” he played it down, poking a piece of steamed broccoli from one side of his plate to the other as if it was the most important thing in the world.
“You will not date ‘just some dude’, Chuuya…” Paul teased him.
True. And so he told them everything. How Dazai was super handsome, super intelligent, super charming, super diligent, and super handsome.
“He said that twice,” Arthur murmured to Paul who nodded. “He seems to be very handsome.”
Telling them was only embarrassing for five minutes for Chuuya; he found out that Paul was very good at planning dates, and that Arthur was very critical of his ideas. Which left Chuuya, by the end of dinner, with the exact location of the boxes of Christmas decorations in the attic, a list of possible restaurants that he could order from, and a recipe for what Arthur called “the best, most delicious chocolate cake this boy will have ever eaten. With nuts. And dark chocolate ganache.”
Luckily, Chuuya was good at baking. At decorating, too.
So by December 21st, the day after Arthur and Paul had left for the week, Chuuya found himself surrounded by fairy lights, paper snowflakes, tinsel and candles in the living room. The tree Paul had bought was still wrapped in a plastic net, set up by the bookshelf, ready to be freed after Chuuya’s late shift.
The late shift which, inevitably, would be his opportunity to invite Dazai for Christmas.
It wasn't that Chuuya was shy to extend such an invitation, of course not. He wasn't usually a private person, or afraid of approaching people. Especially not people who he had definitely a crush on as he realized once more when Dazai came in with snow in his messy, thick, beautiful hair, his cute nose reddened from the cold and his bandages reaching both his wrists.
"The usual?" Chuuya asked. See? It wasn't hard at all talking to Dazai. He just hadn't asked about Christmas because… because it wasn't super urgent. Dazai wouldn't have anything better to do anyway, right? Yeah?
"Yeah," Dazai confirmed with a nod, sniffling and shuddering. He looked frozen to the bone.
Chuuya busied himself with the syrup and coffee machine, going through possible wordings for his invitation. Hey, by the way, wanna hangout on Christmas? or I have the house for myself over the holidays, wanna watch the Demon Slayer movie together? or Listen, bro, I honestly don’t want you to commit suicide, because I think you’re actually really cute, so if you wanna spend Christmas together -
“Ano neee, Chuuya~,” Dazai sang from the cash register. There was a sign put up that listed their opening hours for the end of December. “Are you really closing until January?”
He looked over and shrugged. “The boss has been paying us double for the past week, so he can spend New Year with his family.” Their manager was nice like that. He had made sure that his employees had enough money, and that they’d be motivated to work even as the holidays crept closer. It was as clever as it was effective.
“Ah, what a pity,” Dazai sighed dramatically. His pout was adorable. “I don’t have a coffee machine, much less someone to operate it for me…” He propped up his chin in his palm. “I wish I had someone like Chuuya, who makes me coffee to warm my lonely little heart. A slug-colored tiny Christmas elf-”
“A fucking what-colored what ?”
“Nee, Chuuya~,” he completely ignored Chuuya’s offended shriek, “I bet you make the best coffee for your family every morning, the aroma of the beans wafting through the kitchen, tickling everyone’s noses and luring them out of their dreams.”
What was this weirdo even talking about?
“Filling the cold mornings with warmth and light, like a candle, burning happy and soft, the lazy greetings and yawns, Good morning, Chibi, merry Christmas , oh, how nice it must be to spend the holidays with a family like that…”
“Chibi??”
“Nee, Chuuya~,” Dazai murmured. “You know what the perfect Christmas present would be for me?”
“I’m not spending the holidays with my family,” Chuuya pointed out, sprinkling cocoa powder into Dazai’s disgusting drink and passing over his question skillfully.
“Huh? With who then?”
The cup came standing before Dazai’s face with an uncomfortable clatter. “You.”
Okay, well, that hadn’t gone as planned.
Dazai stood up straight, his eyebrows shooting up and his mouth forming a perfect little “o”.
Despite the invitation being not as smooth as Chuuya had wanted it to be, it was kind of satisfying to see the man surprised like that, and Chuuya gave himself a pat on the back mentally. “I’ll bake for you. That’s your perfect Christmas present, and you’ll not complain about it. I have the entire fucking living room decorated for you.”
For a moment it looked as if Dazai was swaying on his feet like a mackerel in the sea. “Your… living room?”
“You can come over on Christmas Eve and stay the night, or on Christmas, I don’t really care. Just don’t expect me to buy us matching sweaters or jewelry or crap like that. You get the best cake you’ve eaten in your entire life and I’ll make you coffee if you want it so much, but that’s it.” He crossed his arms. “Understood?”
Amazing how Dazai was so resistant to Chuuya being rude on purpose. “Chuuuuuya~,” he sang, “are you an unexpectedly nice person?”
So what?
“That’s 460 yen for the coffee,” Chuuya dodged. And that was that conversation.
Dazai paid, smiling, and it looked a little helpless. He didn’t stop, even when he went to his usual table, unfolding his laptop to start typing quickly, as usual.
When he left, an hour later, the smile was still there, and he handed Chuuya a slip of paper with a phone number. “Text me your address?”
Chuuya stuffed the note into his pocket trying to look unimpressed and nodded.
Inside he was on fire though. So, this was really happening?
In the three days Chuuya had left, he decorated the house as if it was a competition for the most festive house in all Yokohama. Paul and Arthur were both christian enough and gay enough to have assembled an immense amount of decorations over the years. Chuuya freed the tree, decorated it in fairy lights, glass ornaments, tinsel and candy canes, hung stars in the windows, put up wreaths, slung tinsel garlands around the railing along the stairway and wrapped gold and pink bows around basically everything. Paul had warned him to not light candles (“Yes, I know you’re not twelve, but the fire won’t ask for age confirmation, so, please…”), so he went for more fairy lights - his family certainly had enough of those in the boxes from the attic.
After he had texted Dazai his address, the man, who had a fish as a profile photo set in the messaging app, announced that he’d be free on Christmas Eve already, so Chuuya said that he could have dinner ready around six. He’d pick up the roasted chicken he had ordered in the morning, then make the side dishes that Arthur loved so much, steamed vegetables, fries and chestnut sauce. He bought all the ingredients the day before Christmas Eve, so he could prepare everything in time.
First of all though was the cake.
It was a new recipe that Chuuya had never tried, but it sounded good from the ingredients already. Chuuya mixed two cups of flour and ground nuts together, added a quarter cup of cocoa powder and a cup of white sugar, as well as a teaspoon of vanilla aroma and two teaspoons of baking powder. He stirred everything thoroughly before adding a little less than a cup of water and half a cup of vegetable oil. He added some chopped almonds and chocolate chips for texture, then whisked it, adding spoons of flour until the dough was not too runny anymore. While the cake was in the oven at 360°F for forty minutes, he melted a bar of chocolate in a bain-marie, which he then poured into half a cup of plant based cream for the ganache, stirring thoroughly until it was nice and smooth. When he checked on the cake after thirty five minutes with a wooden pick, he found too much dough sticking to it and added ten more minutes to the baking time - the cake pan was a little smaller than in the recipe, so the dough had piled higher and took longer to bake all the way to the center. The ganache went into the fridge after it had cooled down to room temperature, stirred occasionally so it would stay creamy. After the cake was done and had had time to cool down, Chuuya spread the ganache over it, the scent nice and rich, and a little bitter from the chocolate. He was content with his work, but started to get nervous, too.
In general, Chuuya wasn’t interested in dating. He’d had his awkward encounters with boys and girls who liked him, but hadn’t enjoyed it too much due to the fact that he had not felt attracted to any of those people.
That was different with Dazai. Dazai was hot. Dazai was also weird, and smart, and flirty. Or maybe that was just Chuuya’s imagination.
Dazai also smelt really nice. Chuuya learned that when on Christmas Eve, at six straight, the doorbell rang and Dazai smiled at him, soft, cold, with a Santa hat over his messy curls, before he wrapped Chuuya in a gentle embrace. “Thank you for having me, Chibi.”
The hug was so unexpected that Chuuya couldn’t even be offended by the nickname. It was such an un-japanese thing to do! Was the mackerel really so happy that he had invited him over?
“Sure thing,” he murmured, feeling the blush on his cheeks. Damn, did Dazai smell nice! Fruity and flowery, like apple and rose, but there was something deep lingering - magnolia?
Overwhelmed, Chuuya patted his coat, and took a step back to break the contact. “Here, come in.”
In the dreamy glitter of the fairy lights reflecting off golden tinsel and glass ornaments shining into the hallway, Dazai, despite the crisp black dress shirt, looked softer. Younger. Chuuya looked at him when he took his coat, held his backpack when Dazai toed his shoes off, craning his head to catch a glimpse of what he must have a feeling was the doorway to the living room. Dazai’s eyes shone like a kid’s; it was touching.
“You have a nice house,” he said, leaving Chuuya with his belongings and shuffled up the genkan to explore the first floor.
“Thanks,” Chuuya groaned and hung Dazai’s coat up before following him into the house with Dazai’s backpack slung over one shoulder.
“Chuuya!” the man called, and when he rounded the corner he saw that Dazai had found the christmas tree.
And yeah, Chuuya knew it was impressive. He had put so much work into decorating this massive thing, which wasn’t to be taken for granted considering the tree was one and a half times as tall as Chuuya.
He had gone for warm colors that reminded him of Dazai: gold and chocolate brown, yellow and hazel, the occasional white and pastel pink here and there. Straw stars and wooden knick-knacks hung from the twigs as well as little golden bells that would tingle when moved. There were no presents under the tree, because Chuuya didn’t know Dazai well enough to get him something. Maybe he should have listened to him when he had started explaining what his perfect present was - but he had to work with what he had now.
“You can sit on the sofa. Want some coffee?” he asked, setting Dazai’s bag down next to the door.
Dazai turned around to look at him with an angelic smile. “I was early,” he announced. “So I waited at the trainstation for an hour, but it was so cold I got coffee from the vending machine lest my fingers froze off.”
What?
“I think I drank a dozen cans of coffee already. If I have any more caffeine I think my head will explode.” He chuckled and it sounded a little crazy.
Chuuya frowned. “Tea?”
“Yeah,” Dazai breathed. “Tea sounds good.”
Frankly, it was kind of on-brand for Dazai to be early. After all, he was alone at home. It still irritated Chuuya why he had not just called and asked if he could come early. Waiting outside for an hour, no wonder he was frozen to the bone. The guy must be close to death.
That’s why Chuuya hurried to prepare tea, throwing the next best tea bag into the mug (the almond tea that Paul had bought recently), then went to fetch a woolen sweater from his room upstairs. In his silly little dress shirt, even though it looked good on Dazai, he must be chilled to the bone.
“Here,” he said and dropped the sweater, thick, heavy and bright orange, over Dazai’s santa hat. The colors would clash terribly, but it didn’t matter now. “Stupid mackerel,” he added for good measure. Who wore only a shirt and a coat when it was snowing outside? Next year, Chuuya would get him a scarf and gloves.
Giggling, Dazai crawled into the sweater. His head popped through the opening, his hat slipping off and his hair standing up from static. “Thank you, slug,” he smiled and pulled his legs up against his chest. He didn’t look like a junior professor.
Chuuya ignored the nickname and sat down next to Dazai. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour,” he announced. “Wanna start a movie?”
Dazai nodded, and when Chuuya asked what he liked, he shrugged. “I’ll let you pick.”
When twenty six minutes into the movie the kitchen alarm went off, Chuuya realized he hadn’t paid attention to the movie at all. Instead he had asked Dazai about his job, about his life. He had found out that Dazai wasn’t originally from Yokohama, but had moved here in spring for his job at the university, that he was popular among his co-workers and students and that he felt very lonely nevertheless. “I think I’m caught in the middle,” he had explained, his tea half empty in his hands and the sweater complimenting his dark eyes. “I’m a lot younger than the other teachers, but I’m expected to keep a professional distance from my students. I don’t belong to that group or the other, which is alienating.”
Chuuya had nodded. “I feel that, somehow.” And when Dazai had tilted his head, he'd explained: “When I came out as trans, it was hard for me to handle people who needed time to adapt to that. I felt left alone, because I was treated as a girl by some, and as a boy by others. In a way I was neither.” He had shrugged. “At least I had my brother and his husband. And after graduating highschool, I made a fresh start.”
“I’m glad you have a home like that,” Dazai had said with a tender smile. “A home that can be a safe space for you.”
But that wasn’t all there was to it, now, was it. “For you, too.”
Dazai had pursed his lips. “For me?”
Blushing, Chuuya had made a vague motion with his head. “You’re here now, aren’t you.”
That’s when the alarm in the kitchen went off with a beep-beep, beep-beep .
And Chuuya really needed to check on the chicken, but when he was just about to stand from the sofa, Dazai grabbed his wrist.
“Why did you invite me to come here today?” he asked, leaning forward, his voice deep and his eyes dark. His hair was still in disarray from when the hat had fallen to the upholstery, and it urged Chuuya to smooth it out with his hands. Dazai was so close, it was absolutely possible.
“Why did you come?” Chuuya asked in return.
Beep-beep, beep-beep , the alarm continued.
“It’s rude not to accept an invitation for no good reason.” Dazai’s lips looked pretty when he talked.
Was Chuuya staring at his mouth? Well...
“It’s rude to let the chicken burn in the oven,” he snarled, grinned. It made Dazai stare at Chuuya’s mouth in return. Got you, mackerel .
With a huff, Dazai let go of his wrist. He leaned back, his smile small. “You’re a terrible tease, Chibi.”
Look who’s talking.
The chicken was amazing, golden and crispy, and it went perfectly with the sides and the chestnut sauce. Chuuya had a glass of red wine, offering Dazai one, who politely declined. They ate at the kitchen table, close to the pots, which wasn’t elegant but convenient. Chuuya told Dazai about Paul and Arthur and how they had bought the house back when Chuuya was a kid, and how he had insisted they adopt nine dogs because ten would have been too many, and nine was easily distributed between three people. “Needless to say I never even got one dog,” Chuuya closed. “It was nine or none at all.”
Dazai chuckled. “Chuuya is so cute.”
Over the rim of his wine glass, Chuuya stared at him. What was that supposed to mean? And was his face feeling hot from the wine or…?
“I wonder,” Dazai said and put his fork down. “When I first came to the café-”
He was interrupted by Chuuya’s phone ringing. Who the fuck would call on Christmas Eve?
When he fished the phone from his pocket, the name flashing at him from the display made him groan.
“Sorry, I think I have to take this,” he said and picked up. “Hey Atsush-”
“ CHUUUUUYAAAA!! ” the boy wailed. “ I’M GETTING MARRIED!! ”
Okay, so that seemed to have gone well. “Congratulations,” he said, not sure if Atsushi could even hear it over his sobs. Had Akutagawa waited until the evening? The news seemed to be very fresh for Atsushi to cry like this. “Are you still at the Christmas Market?”
It took a moment for Atsushi to sniffle some and then some more, before he was able to answer: “ N-no, we’re at h-home and Ryuunosuke p-played the piano a-and then- ” The rest faded into uncontrolled sobbing, and Chuuya could hear Akutagawa in the background: “ Please blow your nose, Atsushi. ”
So Akutagawa had played the song he had written for Atsushi after all. “I’m happy for you,” Chuuya said, grinning over to Dazai who must’ve heard the entire conversation with how loudly Atsushi was crying, and who smiled back at him.
“ S-sorry for disturbing you ,” Atsushi hiccupped.
“Don’t be,” Chuuya comforted him. “I’m glad you called. Say hello to Akutagawa for me. Merry Christmas.”
“ Merry Christmu-huuuu… ”
Chuuya hung up, leaving Atsushi to his boyfriend. Fiancé!
“You heard him,” he asked Dazai who nodded.
“He really didn’t expect Akutagawa-kun to propose apparently.”
“ I didn’t expect Akutagawa to propose,” Chuuya shrugged, “and I knew he bought a ring and wrote a song.”
Dazai looked at a potato on his plate. “Some people are impressively brave.”
Over the phone call Chuuya had forgotten that Dazai had been saying something before being interrupted by Atsushi calling. They finished dinner and Chuuya ushered Dazai back to the sofa, before busying himself with the cake. In the morning he had added decorations, sticking little chocolate stars into the ganache and sprinkling gold and silver nonpareille here and there. He brought out a pot of tea first - more of the almond tea because Dazai had liked it - and two tea sets, then returned to fetch the cake. For some reason he got very nervous when he returned to the living room, cake in hand.
Maybe it was because of the tree. It shone prettily, dozens of little lights through the otherwise dark room. A warm shimmer of fairy lights, reflecting from the chocolate brown and golden glass ornaments and tinsel, doubling the glitter, tripling it even until it was an enchanting waft of dreaminess.
Or maybe it was because of Dazai. He sat on the couch, his knees pulled up against his chest and his eyes glittering just like the tree, thousandfold. His hair was tousled, his lips slightly parted as he looked at the tree, the tree Chuuya had decorated for him. The deep, warm shadows of the dark, warm house made his face look soft, defenseless. His arms were slung around his knees and despite his height he looked small, soft, vulnerable. From Chuuya’s loose sweater peeked his bandaged wrists, wrapped thick and white, sterile and foreign in the warm light, but it was a part of Dazai. It was a part of Dazai’s softness, and Chuuya was in love with him, despite , because , he didn’t even know.
“Hey,” he said softly, foregoing the “mackerel” to instead add: “Dazai.”
The man looked at him, the same soft expression in his eyes and on his lips that he’d had looking at the tree. “Hey, Chuuya.”
He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to comb his fingers through those messy, brown curls, to pull him close and show him that he didn't need to be lonely anymore. Not as long as he let Chuuya be close. Instead he said: "Here," walking over to the sofa slowly and setting the cake onto the coffee table. "I made a cake for you. Atsushi said you like dark chocolate and nuts."
Dazai looked at him, but didn't smile. "Did Atsushi tell you what else I like?"
Confused, Chuuya sat on the sofa.
"The cake looks good," Dazai said, not elaborating. "Cut me a piece?"
He did so, handing Dazai the plate, then poured him tea before taking a slice himself.
"It's tasty," came the verdict after the first fork, and Chuuya agreed. The cake was moist and rich and the ganache bitter, but smooth.
"Ne, Chuuya," Dazai murmured after a moment. "I made something for you too." He got up, the sweater wide even though he was so much taller than Chuuya, falling down to his hips as he went to fetch something from his backpack.
When he returned to the sofa, he held a red letter sized envelope in his hand. "I'll give you this," he murmured, illuminated by the lights of the tree, "only if you call me Osamu."
"Osamu?"
"That's my first name." He tucked a strand of hair behind his left ear, the bandages on his wrist showing. He was so soft, so beautiful.
"Osamu," Chuuya tried, the word melting on his tongue like chocolate ganache. "Osamu then."
The man sat down next to him, closer than before, before handing him the envelope. The scent of magnolia was there again, and something deep underneath. Cedarwood, maybe.
The envelope felt light in his hands, revealing, upon folding back the lid, a few sheets of paper.