Looking Up To You... Literally

Chapter 1: Just Wanted Some Wine...

Chapter Text

It was a typical Friday night in Yokohama, and Chuuya Nakahara was heading home after a mission. The streets were alive with their usual energy—neon lights flickering, distant chatter filling the air—but something caught his eye as he passed a storefront. He stopped abruptly, gaze locking onto the window display.

There it was.

A wine collection he’d been wanting to try for ages, one that had been frustratingly out of reach due to limited imports.

Without hesitation, Chuuya veered toward the entrance, pushing the door open with purpose. He wasted no time, swiftly gathering several bottles as if someone might snatch them away at any moment. As he approached the register, he overheard a woman whisper to her companion, “That guy must really love wine.”

He smirked to himself. Damn right.

“Just these,” he said, placing the bottles onto the counter with an air of casual confidence.

The cashier eyed the sheer amount of wine and chuckled. “You in some kind of wine club or something?”

“I wish,” Chuuya scoffed, swiping his card without a second thought. “This collection’s been impossible to get my hands on, so I figured I might as well grab a few—just in case I like it.” He spoke as if the high price was nothing, as if buying several expensive bottles on a whim was as natural as picking up a loaf of bread.

The cashier bagged the bottles, still amused. “What if you don’t like it?”

Chuuya lifted the bag effortlessly and turned toward the door. “Then I’ll keep it anyway… or gift it to somebody I don’t like.”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips as an idea formed in the back of his mind. Maybe he’d save a bottle for a ‘celebration’ with the boss—especially if he managed to piss him off. Hell, he might even spike it with something disgusting just for fun.

…But, on second thought, he wasn’t looking to get himself killed.

Probably best to save that idea for another time. Maybe for whenever he next has the misfortune of receiving a visit from a certain bandaged jackass.

With that, he stepped back onto the bustling Yokohama streets, already anticipating the first sip of his well-earned prize.

As he strolled down the street, thoughts still lingering on his newly acquired bottles of wine, a sudden crash from a nearby alleyway shattered the quiet hum of the city.

Chuuya hummed, arching a brow. “Should I check it out? Probably nothing. But then again, it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick look,” He thought to himself.

…Maybe he should’ve just kept walking.

What greeted him was nothing more than a pile of discarded scraps and debris. He rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply. “How mundane,” he muttered, already pivoting to leave.

Then—

Rustle.

Chuuya froze.

Something was moving underneath the rubble. His first thought? A rat. He nearly walked off right then and there. But then another thought struck him— what if it was a puppy?

Now that was worth checking out.

His mind jumped ahead, already picking out names, imagining the tiny creature trotting beside him in a little custom jacket. Maybe a hat, too—he could make it work.

He crouched down enthusiastically and started clearing away the rubble, anticipation growing with every piece he tossed aside.

And then…

Not a dog.

Not even close.

Chuuya stared in disappointment, realization sinking in. Maybe he’d jinxed himself by getting too ahead of things.

Should’ve known his luck wasn’t that good.

As the last piece of rubble was removed, he heard a whimper, one that didn’t come from a dog. Beneath was an all too familiar beige trench coat, with something— or someone— curled up beneath it.

Chuuya raised a brow in confusion, Dazai was probably pranking him again.

...But... His curiosity got the better of him.

Cautiously, whilst looking around for some kind of hidden camera or giggling maniac lurking around in the dark area— Though he sighed when he couldn’t really see anything either way due to the only lighting being from a street light far away from the alley. He knelt down, gently lifted up the trench coat, and peeked beneath.

“What the...” Chuuya mumbled, almost jumping back slightly.

The small figure beneath the coat shuffled back, taken off guard, seeming afraid.

“Hey, Hey, Hey! I’m sorry!” Chuuya quickly said instinctually, getting closer.

This was probably the most confusing thing that had ever happened to him...

It felt weird to speak so out of character...

The figure curled up further in fear, practically pushing their own head to the floor just to avoid looking at the man before him. It was just a kid.. If you could even call him that... He more seemed to be a toddler. But Chuuya wasn’t an expert.. Especially when he can’t eve see the kid fully.

Chuuya still thought that maybe Dazai had just left a kid there to pretend to be him.

Yeah, Probably... But how did he know he would be here..?

Had he been bugged?

“Damn Dazai...” He mumbled, reaching over toward the kid.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, you know..?” Chuuya sighed, he didn’t want to take a kid, but he couldn’t leave them out by themselves in a random alleyway.

The child seemed to relax very slightly at that, though still distrustful and a bit tense.

Chuuya reached over and picked the kid up, trying to be gentle as to not hurt or scare them. The trench coat was off now and only an oversized shirt and a few loose bandages were left.

“How much effort did that idiot put into this..?” Chuuya mumbled under his breath.

The brunette boy in his arms was thin... A little too thin— He’s not a doctor, but even he knew that couldn’t be healthy...

Chuuya frowned, tightening his grip ever so slightly around the frail boy. Now that he had a better look, something about this situation wasn’t adding up. The kid wasn’t just thin—he was malnourished. His skin was too pale, his wrists far too small for someone his age. And those bandages… they weren’t some half-assed disguise Dazai would throw together for a prank. They looked old, dirty, like they’d been left unchanged for days.

A cold pit settled in Chuuya’s stomach.

“…Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

He glanced around the alleyway once more, suddenly feeling a lot less certain about this being some elaborate joke. If this really was Dazai’s doing, that bastard had gone too far this time. But deep down, something told him Dazai wasn’t involved at all.

The kid shifted in his arms, burying his face against Chuuya’s chest, as if trying to disappear entirely. He was still trembling, still tense. His tiny fingers clutched at Chuuya’s coat, hesitant but seeking warmth.

Then, Chuuya felt it. The kid was shivering—badly. His whole frame was racked with subtle tremors, like his body had given up trying to regulate his temperature long ago.

Chuuya clicked his tongue, irritation flaring—not at the kid, but at whatever bastard had left him in this state.

“Damn it…” he muttered, shifting the boy slightly in his grip so he could reach down. With one hand, he snatched the discarded trench coat from the ground, shaking off the dust and debris. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

With practiced ease, he wrapped it around the kid’s small frame, tucking it around him like a makeshift blanket. The boy flinched at first but then hesitated, peeking up at Chuuya with wide, uncertain eyes.

“There. That should help a little,” Chuuya muttered, his voice softer than before. “Not exactly the best quality, but it’s better than freezing to death.”

The boy didn’t respond, just curled up tighter, still trembling but now at least somewhat shielded from the cold night air.

Chuuya exhaled sharply. “Alright, kid… Let’s get you out of here.”

He wasn’t exactly known for his compassion, but he wasn’t heartless either. Leaving a kid alone in the middle of a freezing alley wasn’t an option—not when he could feel how light the boy was in his arms.

With a sigh, he adjusted his grip and started walking.

“Hope you don’t mind wine,” he muttered, side-eyeing the bag still hanging off his other arm. “Because my place ain’t exactly stocked with juice boxes.”

The boy didn’t respond, just curled up tighter.

“I’m joking, don’t worry...” He mumbled mostly to himself

Chuuya clicked his tongue, already mentally cursing himself. He had a feeling this was going to be a long night.

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The night air was bitter, even with the streetlights casting their artificial glow over Yokohama. Chuuya could feel the cold settling deep into his bones, and if he was feeling it through his coat, then the kid must be freezing.

Chuuya glanced down at the small form curled up in his arms. The boy hadn’t said a word since Chuuya had picked him up, but the way he clung to the fabric of his jacket, tiny fingers gripping the material like a lifeline, told him enough.

“Tch… You’re shaking like a damn leaf,” he muttered, shifting the kid slightly in his grip. The trench coat wasn’t doing much to keep the cold out, and the way the boy’s body trembled against his made something uncomfortable settle in Chuuya’s chest.

With a sigh, he made a decision. “Alright, kid. You better not bite me,” he grumbled before pulling his jacket open. With ease, he tucked the boy against his chest, wrapping the material around them both. The kid flinched at first, startled by the sudden movement, but when the warmth surrounded him, he hesitated—then melted into it.

Chuuya exhaled sharply, adjusting his hold. The boy was too light, worryingly so, but at least he was warmer now. He could maybe fix that other issue later. He tightened his grip slightly and picked up the pace, eager to get home.

The elevator ride up to Chuuya’s penthouse was silent, save for the soft hum of the machinery. The kid had barely moved, his small frame still curled up against Chuuya’s chest. The warmth had helped some—he wasn’t shaking quite as badly anymore—but his grip on Chuuya’s jacket remained tight, as if afraid to let go.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Chuuya stepped into his home, the familiar scent greeting him. It was pristine, and undeniably expensive. A vast skyline stretched beyond the windows, the city glittering below.

Chuuya barely spared it a glance as he made his way to the living room, his attention on the kid. He lowered himself onto the edge of his sofa, carefully unwrapping his coat from around the boy. The kid blinked, slow and groggy, his small hands still gripping the fabric as if reluctant to part with it.

Chuuya huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Relax, kid. No one’s taking it from you.”

Gently, he pried the tiny fingers away and settled the boy down onto the velvet sofa. The kid wobbled slightly but stayed upright, his gaze flickering around the room, wary but curious.

Chuuya sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well… Welcome, I guess.”

The kid didn’t respond. He just sat there, small and silent, watching Chuuya like he was waiting for something.

Chuuya sighed again. This was going to be a long night.

Deciding that the kid needed food more than anything, Chuuya pushed himself off the couch and made his way to the kitchen. He stood there for a moment, rolling his shoulders as exhaustion weighed down on him. This night had taken a turn he hadn’t expected, and now he had a half-frozen, half-starved kid sitting in his penthouse instead of an inevitable hangover. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose.

“What the hell am I even supposed to feed a kid…?” he muttered under his breath. He wasn’t exactly a chef, but there had to be something in his fridge that a kid could eat.

Opening the fridge, he scowled at the contents. Wine, wine, leftovers from a restaurant, more wine… Damn, he really wasn’t prepared for this. He shut the fridge with a sigh and moved to the cabinets, hoping for something easier.

“Alright, let’s see… I’ve gotta have something in here,” he muttered to himself, digging through the cabinets. His mind raced through options. He wasn’t about to give a starving kid takeout that had been sitting there for who-knows-how-long. Maybe he had some instant soup? Bread? Something easy?

He opened a different cabinet and pushed aside an expensive bottle of wine. He was starting to realize just how often he ate out nowadays. His fingers brushed against a box of crackers, and he huffed. That wouldn’t do.

He was so focused on rummaging through his pantry that he didn’t hear the soft shuffle of small feet behind him.

Then—

A tiny tug at his pant leg.

Chuuya nearly jumped out of his skin. “What the—?!”

He turned sharply, eyes wide, only to be met with the sight of the kid standing behind him, staring up at him with those same silent, uncertain eyes. The boy’s tiny fingers remained clenched in the fabric of Chuuya’s pants, as if anchoring himself there.

Chuuya blinked, caught off guard. “…You scared the hell outta me, kid.” He hadn’t even heard him come up behind him. Was this kid some ninja spy or something!?

The boy didn’t respond, just kept staring up at him, his grip firm but hesitant.

Chuuya sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You hungry or somethin’?”

The boy tugged twice more.

“What is it? You should go stay with the jacket, It will lose warmth you know..?”

The boy’s eyes widened slightly, before suddenly latching onto his leg, wrapping his tiny arms around it.

“H-Huh!?” Chuuya almost raised his voice, not from anger or annoyance, he was caught off guard is all.

The cold hands grasping him made his exterior soften slightly.

Chuuya sat still, the quiet hum of the city beyond his windows the only sound filling the room. The kid had finally stopped trembling, his small body warm against Chuuya’s chest, breath coming in slow, steady puffs.

He was asleep.

Chuuya exhaled softly, tilting his head back against the couch. "Damn, you really went down fast, huh?" he muttered under his breath, careful not to wake him.

For a while, he just sat there, unmoving. His arms had instinctively settled into a protective hold, keeping the boy tucked securely against him. The warmth was oddly comforting—not that he’d ever admit that out loud.

A few strands of messy brown hair stuck out at odd angles, sticking up like the kid had been rolling around in dirt before he ended up in that alley. Chuuya huffed quietly. "Your hair's a damn bird’s nest," he murmured.

On impulse, he lifted a hand and smoothed it down, fingers threading gently through the tangled strands. The kid barely stirred, only shifting slightly, nestling closer.

Chuuya stilled, then let out a slow breath.

He should’ve been annoyed. Should’ve felt uncomfortable holding some random kid like this, but for some reason, he didn’t.

He still didn’t believe this was Dazai.

Abilities didn’t work on him, right?

Still...

He’d rather be mocked than leave some random kid to fend for themselves.

His fingers absentmindedly ruffled the soft hair once more before he leaned his head back again, eyes drifting half-shut. He figured he’d just sit there for a bit, let the kid sleep, then maybe move him to the bed.

Almost twenty minutes passed, Chuuya’s feet were mindlessly tapping against the hard floor, and he realized he was getting bored. He flicked his gaze toward the coffee table, where the TV remote sat just out of reach.

He eyed it. Considered his options.

Carefully, he stretched out his arm, trying to grab it without shifting too much. His fingertips just barely brushed against it.

A little closer—

The remote wobbled.

He stretched further, trying to hook a finger around it. Just as he thought he had it, the edge of his hand smacked against the table instead.

A loud thunk echoed through the quiet penthouse, the remote and it’s batteries hitting the floor.

Chuuya froze.

The kid startled awake with a sharp, silent jolt, his whole body flinching violently against Chuuya’s chest. His breathing hitched, and before Chuuya could react, small hands had latched onto his coat with an iron grip.

"Whoa, whoa—!" Chuuya's hands immediately tightened around him, instinctively rubbing small, reassuring circles against his back. "Hey, it's okay—just me. You’re safe."

The boy’s breath came quick, panicked. He trembled again, but this time it wasn’t from the cold.

Chuuya cursed under his breath. Shit. He hadn’t meant to scare him.

"Easy, kid. You’re not in that alley anymore, alright?" His voice was quieter now, softer, though he wasn’t sure if the kid could even register it through the haze of fear.

Slowly, he adjusted his hold, shifting the boy slightly so he could tuck his head beneath his chin. His hand resumed its slow, steady movement through the messy brown hair, smoothing it down in a repetitive motion.

"You’re fine. Just a dumb accident, that's all," Chuuya muttered. "Go back to sleep."

It took a while, but eventually, the kid's shaking lessened, his breathing leveling out once more. His grip remained tight, but it was less frantic now—more like he just didn’t want to let go.

Chuuya sighed, sinking back into the couch.

"...Damn remote wasn’t even worth it," he grumbled.

But despite the frustration, he didn’t move again. Just sat there, absentmindedly running his fingers through the kid’s hair, waiting until he fully settled once more.

This time, Chuuya didn’t reach for the remote again...

Chapter 2: I Got My Wine... But...

Notes:

i feel like this didn't make sense, so pls lie to me and say it did lol ;-;
enjoy!!!
ily guys!!!
p.s: as im writing this, Atsushi is wiggling his ass in my face on the tv (i wanna use sigh emoji but my laptop hasn't got it 😭😭🙏) also sorry if this is a lil repetitive! i wanna save the best bits for when i have the most energy! <3

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Chuuya sat there for a long while, the weight of the kid resting against his chest oddly grounding. The steady rhythm of the boy’s breathing had evened out, his small hands still loosely gripping onto Chuuya’s coat, though far less desperately than before. The earlier panic had fully faded, replaced by deep, undisturbed sleep.

He sighed quietly, letting his head rest against the back of the couch. The night had taken an unexpected turn, and now, instead of enjoying a well-earned glass of wine, he was stuck with a kid who had latched onto him like a damn lifeline.

“Tch… what a mess,” he muttered under his breath, though his voice was lacking it’s typical bite.

Carefully, he shifted forward, mindful of every movement. The last thing he wanted was to wake the kid up again. With slow, deliberate motions, he scooped one arm beneath the boy’s legs and braced his other around his back, lifting him with ease. The kid barely stirred, only nestling closer as Chuuya adjusted his grip.

He made his way through the dimly lit penthouse, heading straight for his bedroom. The city lights beyond the window cast a soft glow across the room, illuminating the crisp, untouched sheets of his bed.

Chuuya hesitated for a second. He wasn’t used to this. Hell, the last time he carried someone to bed, it was usually because they were drunk and couldn’t stand on their own. This felt... different. More careful. More deliberate.

Shaking the thought away, he took a slow, measured step forward and knelt slightly, lowering the kid onto the mattress as gently as possible. The bed dipped under the new weight, but the boy didn’t wake.

His hands hovered for a moment, waiting, making sure the kid didn’t suddenly jolt up in distress. But he only shifted slightly, rolling onto his side and burrowing into the covers. His tiny fingers curled loosely into the fabric of the sheets, the tension in his body fully gone.

Chuuya released a slow breath.

Well. That went smoother than expected.

Straightening up, he reached for the blanket and carefully pulled it over the boy’s small frame. The fabric draped over him easily, swallowing his tiny form in warmth. The trench coat, still dusty from the alleyway, was left folded at the side—it was better to give him something clean.

He stepped back, arms crossing over his chest as he surveyed his work.

The kid looked impossibly small against the vast expanse of the bed, swallowed by the thick blankets and soft pillows. The sight did something strange to Chuuya’s chest, but he ignored it, shaking his head.

“Tch. You better not get used to this, kid,” he muttered, though his voice lacked any real bite.

He reached over and switched off the bedside lamp, casting the room into darkness save for the faint city glow filtering through the curtains. As he turned to leave, he paused in the doorway, glancing back one last time.

The kid remained sound asleep, his breathing even and undisturbed.

Chuuya lingered for a moment longer before sighing and quietly shutting the door behind him.

He’d deal with the rest in the morning. For now, at least, the kid was safe.

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Chuuya rolled his shoulders as he stepped back into the living room, exhaling through his nose. The quiet hum of the city outside filled the space, but inside, it was as still as usual, but something felt strange without having to keep an eye on the kid. He wasn’t used to this. His place was usually empty— But now— It felt more obvious than ever.

Now, there was a kid sleeping in his bed.

Tch. What a night.

Running a hand through his hair, he turned toward the kitchen, glancing at the bag of wine still sitting on the counter. The original plan had been simple: go home, crack open a bottle, and drink until the stress of the last job melted away. Now?

Didn’t seem like such a great idea anymore.

He hesitated for a moment, gaze flickering toward the bedroom door. Silence. Not a single rustle or murmur. The kid was out cold.

Maybe he could afford one drink.

With a resigned sigh, he grabbed one of the bottles, popping it open with a practiced motion. The rich aroma of aged wine filled the air immediately, deep and earthy, with just a hint of spice. Chuuya exhaled through his nose, savoring it for a moment before reaching for a glass.

Pouring the liquid felt almost ceremonial. The deep crimson swirled smoothly, catching the dim glow of the kitchen lights. He watched the way it coated the glass, rich and luxurious, before finally bringing it to his lips.

He let it sit on his tongue for a moment, eyes drifting half-closed as he hummed in quiet approval.

Damn good choice.

He moved to the couch, bottle in one hand, glass in the other, sinking into the cushions with a long exhale. The tension in his shoulders slowly unwound as he took another slow sip, the warmth of the alcohol seeping through his limbs. It wasn’t enough to make him tipsy—not yet—but it was enough to dull the sharp edges of his thoughts.

Well... Maybe he overestimated how well he could handle his drinks... But he always did afterall.

His gaze drifted toward the windows, the city sprawled out before him, neon lights blinking like distant stars. It was strange, how nights like these made Yokohama feel different. Quieter. Almost peaceful.

Almost.

He took another sip, rolling the glass between his fingers, his mind drifting.

The kid.

Where did Dazai find a random lookalike kid...

There was something gnawing at him about all of this, something unsettled in the pit of his stomach.

Theres no way that Dazai just so happened to find a kid in that state in an area with so many stores, usually bustling during the day, but disolate at night. He would have been found by now, Right?

A kid like that didn’t end up in an alleyway by accident. Someone had abandoned him, left him in the cold, half-starved and wrapped in a trench coat like some discarded stray. Maybe he had made it there that night.

Dazai didn’t do that did he though?

No. He couldn’t have.

What if it really was him?

Chuuya clicked his tongue, frustration flaring briefly. He hated thinking about it. It gave him a headache trying to figure this all out.

But what the hell was he supposed to do?

He wasn’t some damn babysitter.

Maybe he should call the agency tomorrow to check...

With a sharp exhale, he leaned his head back against the couch in frustration, letting the wine soothe his frayed nerves.

One drink turned into two. Then three.

He wasn’t keeping track, and he didn’t care to. The weight of exhaustion settled deeper with each passing minute, the alcohol loosening the last bits of tension in his body. The city lights blurred slightly at the edges, soft and unfocused.

Chuuya’s fingers slackened around the stem of his glass.

Tch. Maybe he had more than he should’ve.

He exhaled one last time, letting his eyes slip fully shut. The warmth of the wine, the distant hum of the city, the sheer exhaustion pressing down on him—it was enough to finally drag him under.

Within minutes, his breathing evened out, his grip going lax as the empty glass tipped slightly against his knee. The bottle, still half-full, sat forgotten on the table.

Chuuya didn’t make it to bed that night.

Either way, He didn’t really want to sleep next to some random small child.

There were many ways that would go wrong, maybe that was the prank, maybe he’d roll and kill the kid in his drunken slumber, there's lots that could go wrong.

But anyway... He couldn’t really weigh his options fully in this state.

Instead, he passed out right there on the sofa, the world fading into quiet darkness around him.

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The morning light filtered through the windows, soft and golden, casting long streaks of warmth across the room. The shades were mostly open, allowing the sun’s gentle glow to seep through, illuminating dust particles that swirled lazily in the air.

On the large bed, much too big for his small frame, the mocha-haired boy stirred. He blinked sleepily, rubbing one chocolate-colored eye with a tiny fist as he slowly sat up, the oversized shirt slipping slightly off his shoulder. His legs felt stiff from sleep, but he barely noticed. His mind was still groggy, sluggish as he tried to recall how he had ended up in such a place.

The memories were faint, hazy at best. But then—flashes. The bitter cold of an alleyway. The feeling of rubble shifting beneath him. And then—

A man with copper-colored hair.

His breath hitched slightly as the fragmented recollections pieced themselves together. That man… He had found him. Picked him up. Took him away from the cold, the fear, the hunger.

A sudden sense of unease gripped his chest, sharp and immediate. His gaze darted around the unfamiliar room, his wide eyes scanning left, right, up, and down, searching—desperate.

Where was he? Where was the man?

Panic tightened his throat. He didn’t want to be alone. He couldn’t be alone. Not again. Not after everything. The thought made his heart pound, his tiny fingers curling into the fabric of the too-big shirt.

He needed to find him. Now.

Carefully, he shuffled toward the edge of the bed, his small hands gripping the sheets as he tried to lower himself down. But the bed was too tall, his legs too short. He hesitated for only a second before letting gravity take him.

The landing wasn’t graceful. His feet hit the ground with an uneven thump, his body stumbling forward. A tiny whimper escaped him as he landed on his knees, but he pushed himself up immediately, ignoring the slight sting. His need to find his savior far outweighed any discomfort.

He padded across the room, his bare feet making barely a sound against the cool floor. The oversized shirt nearly tripped him more than once, the hem dragging along as he walked, but he paid it no mind. He reached the doorway, finding it slightly ajar, and with a determined puff of air, he pushed it open with his tiny fingers.

The living room was quiet.

His small feet carried him forward, hesitant yet purposeful. His breath was shallow, his heart racing as he peeked around the sofa, eyes scanning, searching, hoping—

He looked left, then right— But then his method of looking up worked too, there he was!

It payed off!

Chuuya was sprawled out on the couch, one arm draped over the side, his copper hair slightly disheveled from sleep. His chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths, the faintest furrow on his brow even in rest. He looked so still, so… far away.

The boy hesitated, watching him.

Would he disappear if he looked away?

Would this all turn out to be a dream?

His small fingers twitched at his sides before he took a step closer. Then another. Then another.

Standing beside the couch, he reached out hesitantly and poked Chuuya’s wrist.

Nothing.

His brows furrowed. He poked again.

Still nothing.

“Hmph,” His lips pressed into a thin line as he tried once more, but the man didn’t stir beyond a faint twitch of his fingers. A flicker of frustration crossed the boy’s features, but it was quickly overtaken by something else—something deeper. A quiet, lingering fear that gnawed at his small chest, one that whispered terrible thoughts in his mind.

He wasn’t waking up.

What if he never woke up?

What if—

No.

Determination flared in his little body. He didn’t want to be alone again. He couldn’t be.

So, he climbed.

It was clumsy, slow, but he managed. His tiny hands gripped the fabric of the couch, his legs struggling to gain leverage as he pulled himself up. The cushions shifted under his weight as he carefully maneuvered his small body onto the sofa. He wobbled slightly on the edge, gripping Chuuya’s coat instinctively before he finally managed to settle himself.

And then, without hesitation, he curled up against the man’s chest.

The warmth seeped into his cold limbs almost immediately.

He let out a small breath, his heartbeat still fast, still uncertain—but it was slowing.

He could hear Chuuya’s heartbeat beneath his ear, strong and steady, a rhythmic sound that filled the room’s silence. It was real. Tangible.

Safe.

His small fingers curled into the fabric of Chuuya’s coat, gripping it lightly as his body relaxed for the first time in what felt like forever.

This… felt right.

This felt safe.

The boy didn’t move after that. He just lay there, listening to the steady rise and fall of Chuuya’s breathing, letting it lull him into something peaceful. Something warm.

And for the first time in a long time…

He felt like he wasn’t alone.

Notes:

sorry if this chapter wasn't very good! i haven't really been sleeping well, but i don't want to sleep at day, so i haven't had much time!
tell me if you liked it and anything you want added! ...but please also don't make fun of me lol 😭😭
thanks for all the support on the last chapter! it really eased my anxiety! next chapter will get to the better part of the plot! <3
sorry this one isn't very long either though :( i wanna get this done today incase i feel sick or something tomorrow

Chapter 3: I'm Not Some Babysitter... But Akutagawa Can Be

Notes:

if this was an anime, this would be the filler episode ;-;
i have tons of ideas for this, so i thought i'd add in some cuter stuff for you guys, i'm half asleep and i've been spending the last 3 hours, trying to get this done a bit earlier for you guys!
i hope you like it!
also, i haven't written akutagawa before, so he may be a tiny bit out of character! sorry!! ＞﹏＜

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The sun was shining through the windows in Chuuya’s living room, the light casting warm streaks across the floorboards. He clenched his eyes shut, feeling the dull throb of a hangover settle deep into his skull.

“Fuck…” he mumbled under his breath, exhaling sharply. His body ached, his mind sluggish, and his throat felt dry from the remnants of last night’s drinking. He forced his eyes open, blinking blearily against the brightness.

And that’s when he noticed it.

The weight on his chest.

For a moment, he just stared, eyes still half-lidded with exhaustion. A small, warm form was curled up against him, tiny fingers still loosely gripping his coat. Soft, mocha-colored hair tickled the edge of his vision, rising and falling with each slow breath.

Chuuya’s expression softened, almost unconsciously. There was something oddly peaceful about it, the way the kid clung to him so trustingly, as if he was the only thing keeping him tethered to safety.

It was dangerous.

He shook himself out of it. He couldn’t get attached. He was Chuuya Nakahara, for fuck’s sake. He wasn’t some babysitter, and this—whatever this was—was temporary.

With careful movements, he slipped his arms beneath the kid’s small frame, lifting him effortlessly. He was far too light, worryingly fragile, but Chuuya pushed that thought aside as he placed the boy onto the couch.

The kid stirred slightly, his brows twitching, but he didn’t wake.

Chuuya lingered for a second longer before sighing and heading toward the closet near the entrance. He pulled out a thick blanket, returned to the couch, and draped it over the boy’s small body.

There. That was enough, right?

Straightening, he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. His head was still pounding, and his stomach felt painfully empty.

Food.

Right. He needed to eat. And, well… the kid probably did too.

Yeah, definitely. That’s for sure.

Chuuya rubbed his temples, already feeling the start of an incoming headache.

With that, he made his way to the kitchen, mindful to keep his movements quiet. He wasn’t exactly used to having guests, much less ones he needed to tiptoe around, but something about waking the kid felt… wrong.

The kitchen was as pristine as ever, though mostly because he barely used it. He opened the first cupboard and scowled. Empty. The next? Not much better. He let out a quiet groan.

“Damn it… how long has it been since I last restocked?” he muttered irritably under his breath. He dug through the shelves, pushing aside bottles of expensive wine, a half-finished bag of coffee beans, and some long-forgotten instant ramen packets that he was pretty sure were past their expiration date.

He was starting to realize just how bad his eating habits had gotten.

Maybe he could go out and grab some food.

No. He couldn’t leave the kid alone. Not a chance.

Maybe he could ask someone to pick something up for him? But how the hell would he explain that?

Oh yeah, hey, could you grab some food? No, it’s not for me. It’s for a maybe-Dazai child who I can’t leave alone in my penthouse.

He’d sound insane. Or worse, like he actually cared about Dazai.

He groaned again, rubbing a hand down his face. This was too much effort.

Ordering food was out too—his place was practically a fortress. No delivery guy would make it past the first set of guards, and by the time they did, the food would probably have grown mold.

Fine. He’d work with what he had.

With renewed determination, Chuuya opened the fridge. His hopes weren’t high, but maybe—

Ah. Bread.

At least it wasn’t completely useless.

He grabbed the loaf and set it on the counter, rummaging through the fridge once more in search of something to go with it. He found butter—only to immediately grimace at the expiration date.

“Of course,” he muttered, tossing it into the trash with a sharp flick of his wrist.

So much for that.

Looks like it was plain toast for breakfast.

With a resigned sigh, he grabbed two slices of bread and tossed them into the toaster. Leaning against the counter, he crossed his arms and waited, staring blankly at the slow, agonizing process of bread browning.

This was… humiliating.

He was Chuuya Nakahara, executive of the Port Mafia, and here he was making plain toast like some broke college student who couldn’t cook.

Tch. Dazai would laugh his ass off if he saw this.

The toaster finally popped, and Chuuya grabbed the slices, setting them on a plate. He stared at them for a moment before shaking his head and carrying the plate to the living room.

As he approached the couch, he glanced down at the boy. Still asleep, still curled up beneath the blanket, his small frame rising and falling with each slow breath.

Chuuya hesitated.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he set the plate down on the coffee table and plopped onto the opposite end of the couch, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

This was going to be a long day.

The morning stretched on in quiet stillness. Chuuya sat on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, the plate of plain toast sitting untouched on the coffee table. He wasn’t exactly sure how to go about this. Waking up a kid wasn’t exactly part of his skill set.

Still, the kid needed to eat.

With a sigh, Chuuya shifted forward, reaching out with a careful hand. His fingers barely brushed against the blanket before he hesitated, glancing down at the small figure curled up beneath it.

The mocha-haired boy was still nestled into the couch, His tiny form barely made a dent in the cushions, his breathing slow and even. Peaceful.

Chuuya pursed his lips. If he were anyone else, he’d leave him be. Let the kid sleep longer. But food came first.

Gently, he pressed his hand to the boy’s shoulder and gave a light shake.

The kid stirred, his brows knitting slightly as he shifted under the blanket. Chuuya watched as those big brown eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first before slowly blinking up at him.

For a moment, the boy just lay there, silent, watching.

He didn’t say a word.

Chuuya frowned slightly. Strange.

Most kids—at least from what little experience he had—tended to mumble or whine when woken up. But this kid? Nothing. Just quiet observation. The kid wasn’t even concerned about the random man staring down at him, but then again, He had willingly climbed up last night, so fair enough.

It unsettled him more than he’d admit.

Still, he didn’t bring it up. Whether this was some random kid or—god forbid—Dazai, he wasn’t about to press for answers. At least, not yet.

Instead, he pulled back, nodding toward the plate. “Eat.”

The boy didn’t react at first, simply shifting under the blanket as if debating whether to listen. His small hands slowly unclenched from the fabric, and he sat up, his hair sticking up in messy tufts from sleep.

Chuuya waited.

The kid just stared at the toast.

Seconds passed. Then a full minute.

“…You gonna eat or just look at it?” Chuuya quirked a brow.

Still, no reaction. The kid hesitated, his hands twitching slightly before he finally, slowly, reached for one of the slices. He held it delicately, almost like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“I know it’s just toast... But it isn’t that bad!” Chuuya grumbled as he leaned back against the couch, arms crossing as he watched. The reluctance wasn’t really dramatic, like he’d made it seem—no visible distress or hesitation that screamed refusal. Just… a lack of eagerness. As if the whole process of eating was something foreign, something distant.

Something about it didn’t sit right with him.

But again, he let it slide. It’s too early, and it’s not his kid, so he shouldn't care...

Not his kid, not his problem— Right?

The kid lifted the toast to his mouth but hesitated again. This time, Chuuya sighed and reached forward, plucking the slice from his small hands.

“Alright, kid. Open up,” he muttered, tearing off a piece and holding it up to him. He was trying to be nice to the kid, he could be scared, so maybe if he seemed gentler... That could help, Right?

Though he wasn’t going to let the kid walk all over him, He’d need to find the kid’s parents sooner or later. But did Dazai kidnap a kid, or is he the kid ?

Honestly, he’d rather have to deal with Dazai kidnapping a kid than actual Dazai, So hopefully.

The boy blinked, chocolate eyes widening slightly in surprise, but he didn’t refuse. Instead, he leaned forward, taking a small bite, his tiny hands gripping the blanket tightly as if unsure of how to react.

Chuuya’s hand lingered for a moment before he reached for another piece, repeating the action. His movements were uncharacteristically careful, his usual sharpness softened into something more patient, more measured. He wasn’t used to this—feeding someone, let alone a kid—but there was something oddly natural about it.

He found it somewhat strange that the kid still hadn’t spoken a word — But maybe it can be all be due to fear? Or if Dazai ordered the kid to... No, he was overthinking this. A kid wouldn’t listen that well. He knew from having to deal with worse, Osamu The Man-Child Dazai, during their mafia duo days together.

The kid chewed slowly, his gaze flickering between Chuuya and the toast, as if still processing the situation. Despite the blandness of the food, he didn’t complain, just quietly accepted each bite with small, deliberate movements.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sound being the faint crunch of dry bread. Then—

A small cough.

Chuuya immediately glanced over, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as he caught the way the boy stiffened. Was the bread really that bad?? He swallowed quickly, another faint cough escaping him as he reached a small hand up to his mouth.

Tch. Right. No butter, no jam—just dry toast. Probably not the easiest thing to swallow.

Chuuya sighed and pushed himself up from the couch, striding toward the kitchen. Within seconds, he returned with a glass of water, holding it out toward the boy.

“Here.”

The kid looked at the glass, then at him.

He didn’t take it.

Chuuya exhaled through his nose. “It’s just water, kid.”

Still, the boy hesitated.

Chuuya wasn’t sure if it was caution or just plain uncertainty, but it was starting to get on his nerves. Not enough to snap, but enough to make him more direct. He reached forward, carefully taking the kid’s small hand and wrapping it around the glass himself.

“Drink.” The kid was stubborn... Like Dazai. But at the end of the day, He was the adult here.

There was another brief pause, but then—finally—the kid lifted the glass and took a small sip.

Chuuya watched, waiting until the boy swallowed before speaking again. “Better?”

The kid didn’t respond, but he did take another sip.

Chuuya took that as a yes.

Leaning back against the couch, he crossed his arms, watching the kid finish the rest of the toast at the same slow, careful pace.

Yeah.

This was definitely going to be a long day.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

An hour later.

Chuuya’s phone buzzed with a message from the boss. Jeez, He couldn’t catch a break.

He had to leave on another mission, But what would he do about the kid...?

He considered cancelling the mission, he could blame it on fatigue from the last one, after all, he wasn’t supposed to be working today. Maybe his hangover? No, The boss would probably make him go anyway. Or even worse, have medical checkups after... He hated those.

He also didn’t want to straight up tell Mori about the kid, that’d cause more questions, and he’d be sent anyway. Only difference is that the boss would probably want to do checks on the kid, especially due to his size and the circumstances revolving around his first appearance.

And he’d rather die than ask the agency for babysitting services for somebody who may not even be an employee.

Maybe he could have somebody take care of the kid... The mission was one that his ability was best suited for, and for similar reasons as before, he couldn’t send somebody to substitute for him.

A subordinate.

He could have somebody watch the kid whilst he was gone.

Plus... If they were a subordinate, He could just stop them if they asked too many questions. Bad for his reputation, though he doubted many would directly question it. And he could just tell them not to tell anyone.

But who wasn’t busy today...?

He knew somebody that wouldn’t question it, though it may be a little awkward if the situation revolving the child’s identity was true, it could get awkward fast.

But hey! Not his kid, not his problem.

Akutagawa.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Chuuya didn’t waste time.

The second he made the decision, he pulled out his phone, found Akutagawa’s number, and hit call.

The line barely rang once before a voice answered.

“Yes?”

Straight to the point. Just like always.

“Get to my place. Now,” Chuuya said. “You’re watching someone for me.”

A beat of silence on the other end.

“Understood.”

Click.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Sharp. Precise.

Chuuya opened it without fanfare, stepping aside as Akutagawa entered, in his usual black coat, of course, face unreadable.

“You had nothing else going on, right?” Chuuya asked as he shut the door.

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

He spun on his heel, gesturing toward the living room without missing a beat. “You’re babysitting.”

Akutagawa blinked. “Sir?”

But Chuuya was already striding toward the kid, who was still sitting on the couch with the blanket pooled around his waist, blinking blankly.

Chuuya reached down, scooped the boy up with one arm, and turned back toward Akutagawa.

“Don’t ask questions,” he said quickly, stepping up to him. “Just make sure he doesn’t run off, choke, or explode while I’m gone.”

“Explode?” Akutagawa echoed, confused.

He shoved the kid gently into Akutagawa’s arms.

The boy went without a fuss, small hands gripping the fabric of Akutagawa’s coat, staring up at him silently with those big, round eyes.

“I’ll be back tonight. Don’t let anything happen to him,” Chuuya added, already halfway to the door.

“Wait, who is he—”

Too late. The door slammed shut behind him.

Akutagawa stood frozen in the middle of the apartment, arms full of silent child.

He stared down, completely dumbfounded.

The kid just looked up at him.

Unblinking.

Quiet.

Still.

...Staring.

Akutagawa had no idea what to do.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Akutagawa stood stiffly in the center of Chuuya’s living room, arms awkwardly cradling the small, silent child like he was holding a live grenade. The door had slammed shut, Chuuya long gone, leaving him with zero explanation and even fewer instructions.

The kid, for his part, didn’t seem to mind. He just looked up at Akutagawa with wide, chocolate eyes, not a single word escaping him. His hair framed his small face in soft, messy strands, and his hands still clutched at the fabric of Akutagawa’s coat with a surprising amount of trust.

Akutagawa stared down at him.

And the silence stretched.

He shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to do with a child—especially one who didn’t talk.

"Have you eaten?" he asked, his voice low and gruff, more out of habit than intent to scare. It was just how he talked.

No answer.

The kid just continued staring at him. Unblinking. Calm.

Akutagawa cleared his throat and slowly lowered the boy onto the couch, where he sat obediently, legs swinging off the edge, still silent.

Right.

This was going to be weird.

Akutagawa turned toward the kitchen. He stepped in and scanned the space, eyes catching the sight of a plate and a glass sitting in the sink—both recently used. A few crumbs still lingered on the surface.

He nodded to himself. Alright. So the kid had probably eaten. That was one thing off the mental checklist. Not that he had a real checklist—Chuuya had told him nothing beyond “don’t let him explode.”

Still, it was something.

He stepped back into the living room, his eyes drifting back toward the child. Now that he wasn’t so preoccupied with figuring out what the hell was going on, he finally took a good look at him.

And paused.

There was something… familiar.

The hair. The set eyes. The quiet stare.

Akutagawa narrowed his gaze ever so slightly.

No. He wasn’t going to say it.

He didn’t need to think about it.

Maybe it was some Dazai lovechild.

But Chuuya probably wouldn’t dump Dazai’s mystery lovechild into his arms without warning. Right?

...Right?

He pushed the thought aside. For now.

His eyes scanned the kid again, and this time he frowned. The shirt the boy wore was ridiculously oversized. It made him look even smaller than he already was, the collar slipping off one tiny shoulder.

Akutagawa didn’t know much about kids, but even he could tell this wasn’t right.

He crouched slightly, studying the boy a moment longer.

“These clothes don’t fit you,” he stated plainly.

Again, no answer. The boy just tilted his head slightly, as if processing the information.

Akutagawa stood up. Fine. Then he’d do something about it.

He had money. He could manage a shopping trip. If he brought the kid back in better shape than Chuuya left him, that technically counted as taking care of him, right?

Besides, it wasn’t even the weirdest errand he’d ever run.

He’d once spent forty-five minutes picking out toilet paper for the Detective Agency, per Dazai’s instructions.

Clothes shopping for a child? Nothing.

He grabbed Chuuya’s spare keys from the hook near the door—because of course he had access—and gestured for the kid to follow.

To his mild surprise, the boy stood without protest, trailing behind him quietly. No fuss. No complaints.

He was light on his feet, silent, but not in a way that set off alarms. It was just how he moved.

Akutagawa opened the door and stepped out, the boy following just a few paces behind, clutching the hem of his too-large shirt as they walked.

The shopping district was busy, as usual. Crowds of people bustled past, the hum of weekend traffic and chatter filling the air. Akutagawa moved with purpose, unbothered by the noise or the glances he got. Most people gave him a wide berth anyway—the black coat, pale skin, and sharp features didn’t exactly scream approachable.

But the kid stayed close, sticking to his side like his Rashoumon, never once falling behind.

Akutagawa caught a few looks from passersby. Some curious, others confused.

He didn’t care.

Let them stare.

He walked into a clothing store with a clean interior and muted color palette—simple, efficient. The kind of place that sold basics, nothing too flashy. He wasn’t about to dress the kid like a miniature mafia executive or fashion icon.

The clerk gave a hesitant smile as they entered but didn’t approach. Probably for the best.

Akutagawa turned to the kid, motioning him forward.

“You’re going to need to try some of these on,” he said as he grabbed a few sets of shirts and pants from the racks, eyeing the sizing tags with quick precision.

The kid blinked up at him, then nodded once.

Still no words.

He led the boy to the fitting rooms and handed over a few options. The boy took them without protest, disappearing behind the curtain.

Minutes passed. Akutagawa stood by, arms crossed, tapping a finger against his elbow.

Eventually, the curtain pulled back slightly. The kid stepped out in a new shirt and pair of pants—they weren’t perfect, but they fit much better than before.

Akutagawa gave a curt nod. “Better.”

The kid looked down at himself, pulling at the hem of the shirt as if testing its weight, then looked back up at Akutagawa.

Still silent.

Still watching.

It was unnerving.

And yet… not entirely unpleasant. The boy didn’t demand anything. He just followed. Listened.

It was easy, in a way Akutagawa hadn’t expected.

Akutagawa finally noticed the tag flick out, the kid had put it on the wrong way... He quickly readjusted it, trying not to notice the child’s weight, he wasn’t exacly one to judge either...

But this...

This was a child.

But once again, he had been similar when he was younger, so he had no comment to make, especially not with a kid that looked like he wasn’t even fully conscious yet.

They repeated the process a few more times. More shirts. Some socks. A pair of sneakers. The boy tried everything on without a single complaint, though he did make a few mistakes. But Akutagawa didn’t really mind.

After checking out, Akutagawa bagged the clothes himself and handed the boy a smaller item to carry—a soft hoodie that had caught the boy’s eye for just a second longer than the others.

He didn’t comment on it. Just added it to the pile.

The walk back was uneventful. The boy wore the new clothes, the hoodie already zipped halfway up despite the weather not really calling for it. His sleeves were long, but they fit. His sneakers made soft tapping sounds on the pavement.

Back at the penthouse, Akutagawa unlocked the door, holding it open.

The boy stepped in quietly, holding his bag with both hands like it was something fragile.

Akutagawa followed, placing the rest of the bags on the counter.

He glanced at the clock.

Still hours until Chuuya was expected back.

He looked at the kid again.

Still quiet. Still staring.

Akutagawa rubbed his temples, exhaling slowly.

“You’re strange,” he muttered.

The boy tilted his head slightly.

But said nothing.

Akutagawa crossed the room and sat down on the couch.

The kid climbed up beside him without being told.

Sat down.

And just… stayed there.

Akutagawa stared forward.

The kid stared up at him.

Two silent figures in a sunlit room.

He had no idea what Chuuya had dragged him into.

But for now?

He was doing fine.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

It had started with a single piece of chocolate.

Akutagawa hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. He’d found it in the back of one of Chuuya’s barren cupboards while searching for something— anything remotely snack-like. The man apparently survived on wine and restaurant takeout. Nothing edible sat in that kitchen unless you counted instant coffee and the ancient ramen pack that might’ve, quite honestly, been from the previous decade.

He wouldn’t be surprised if it had belonged to the last person who lived here.

And then there was the chocolate.

A small square of chocolate, wrapped in slightly dusty gold foil, hidden behind a row of wine bottles like a forgotten treasure.

The kid had just been sitting there, calm and quiet, like he always was. Watching the world with those huge brown eyes, occasionally reaching for the sleeves of his new hoodie. He didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t move unless prompted.

So Akutagawa, in what he now realized was an act of catastrophic misjudgment, offered it to him. Not even considering the sugar, or the possibility of it’s expiration.

It had taken only five minutes.

Now he stood in the middle of Chuuya Nakahara’s living room, surrounded by chaos.

The kid—if he could still be called that, an not a gremlin—was a blur of motion. He had climbed the couch twice, tried to take the cap of a pen that had been left on the side table, and was currently attempting to scale a bookshelf like it was a jungle gym.

Maybe he’d somehow fed that thing after midnight. Every time was after midnight. Definetly part gremlin.

Akutagawa watched in silent horror as a small sneakered foot pressed against one of the lower shelves, a tiny hand reaching for the ledge above it.

“Get down,” he said, voice firm.

The child ignored him.

“Now,” he tried again, stepping closer.

The boy just giggled. Giggled , as if he were in some silent comedy act, and scrambled another shelf up.

Akutagawa sighed deeply.

He was trained to deal with criminals. Armed threats. Assassinations. Not this.

He stepped forward, hands raised, trying to grab the kid without startling him into falling.

The moment his fingers brushed the kid’s hoodie, the boy twisted away like a squirrel, hanging off the edge of a shelf by one arm, little legs kicking as he made a breathy noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Akutagawa reached again.

And that was when the door opened.

Chuuya stepped in, mid-sentence about something completely unrelated when he froze.

His azure eyes swept the scene in seconds.

The bookshelf.

The child climbing it.

Akutagawa crouched underneath, arms raised like a catcher ready for impact.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Chuuya groaned, loud and long, and dropped his coat on the floor. “ What the hell happened. ”

“He was calm,” Akutagawa said immediately. “But I gave him chocolate...”

Chuuya’s eye twitched. “You gave him what ?”

“I didn’t know he couldn’t handle it,” Akutagawa snapped back, face tightening in rare frustration. “It was one piece.”

“It’s never just one piece,” Chuuya muttered, and before anything else could escalate, he strode across the room.

He grabbed the kid under the arms just as the boy tried to scale another shelf and pulled him down like a pro, tucking him under one arm like a football.

He could have used his ability, but there was a posibility that this was Dazai, and he didn’t want to be the guy that broke a kid’s skull.

The boy squirmed, wriggling in protest but letting out nothing but a high-pitched squeak as he twisted to look up at Chuuya.

“You,” Chuuya said, jabbing a finger in the kid’s face, “are banned from chocolate.”

The kid tilted his head, blinking as if he didn’t understand a word, then tried to grab at Chuuya’s earring.

Chuuya turned to Akutagawa.

“You’ve done enough,” Chuuya muttered, already walking toward the hallway with the squirming kid. “Thanks for watching him. You’re dismissed.”

Akutagawa hesitated. “You haven’t told me who he is.”

Chuuya paused. Just for a second.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll handle it from here.”

There was something final in his tone. Not cruel, just closed off. Unwilling to explain. And Akutagawa knew better than to push when he took that tone.

He nodded once. “Understood.”

Chuuya didn’t even watch him leave. He carried the now-wriggling boy back toward the kitchen, muttering under his breath as he went.

The door clicked shut behind Akutagawa.

Silence settled for all of five seconds.

Then the kid twisted out of Chuuya’s grip with freakish dexterity and bolted across the room, leaping over a cushion and landing with a triumphant thud.

“I didn’t even know you could run ,” Chuuya muttered, still surprised the kid had been making sounds, not talking, but he was definitely more comfortable. That was for sure.

The kid turned, beamed at him without making a sound, and darted behind the coffee table.

Chuuya sighed and reached for the bridge of his nose.

He should’ve known this was coming. Of course Akutagawa would give him chocolate. Of course he’d find the one sweet thing hidden in this alcohol-saturated wasteland of a kitchen.

The kid popped up from behind the table like a dog.

Then disappeared again.

Then popped up on the other side.

Chuuya blinked. “How the hell…?”

The boy darted around the couch and sprinted across the rug, silent as a whisper, limbs flailing in sheer joy.

He wasn’t laughing. Wasn’t making a sound. But his entire face was lit up with some kind of chaotic energy. Eyes wide, hair bouncing, hoodie sleeves flapping with each exaggerated step.

Chuuya watched him make three laps around the couch.

Then sit down.

Then get back up.

Then run again.

“Okay,” Chuuya muttered, voice flat. “We’re riding this out, I guess.”

He flopped down on the couch and threw an arm over the backrest, watching the small blur that was now attempting to stack couch cushions for unknown, likely illogical reasons.

“No more chocolate for you,” he said aloud. “Ever.”

The kid paused.

Then grinned.

Chuuya groaned.

It was going to be a very long night.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

The chaos didn’t stop. Not even after an hour.

The boy had launched himself off the armrest of the couch twice, managed to climb onto the kitchen counter using a chair, that he somehow magically dragged over, as a stepping stone, and had very nearly knocked over a wine rack Chuuya hadn’t even realized was accessible from ground level. The kid didn’t speak. He didn’t yell. He didn’t even laugh.

But he was smiling.

Wide, bright, and silent.

A little whirlwind tearing through Chuuya’s penthouse in a blur of sleeves and fast footsteps.

Chuuya didn’t even try to chase him anymore. He sat on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, watching like someone observing a very fast, very fluffy natural disaster.

And then the kid tripped.

One moment he was darting toward the edge of the rug, and the next his foot caught on the corner. He hit the ground with a muted thud, sliding a little across the hardwood.

Chuuya was on his feet instantly.

He didn’t call out, just rushed over, crouching beside the boy.

The kid blinked up at him.

No crying. No reaction. Not even a whimper.

He sat up slowly, and that’s when Chuuya saw it.

A small cut along the boy’s shin. Not deep, but enough to bead with red, stark against pale skin.

Chuuya swore under his breath.

“Hold still,” he said quickly, scooping the boy up and carrying him to the kitchen counter. He sat him on the surface, holding him steady with one hand as he dug through the drawer under the sink for the first aid kit.

Somehow he owned a first aid kit, but not food... Great.

The boy didn’t resist. He just sat there, watching Chuuya with the same quiet stare.

Chuuya found the kit and popped it open with practiced ease. Alcohol wipe. Gauze. A bandage. He worked fast, cleaning the cut, dabbing it dry, then wrapping it.

Chuuya felt a small pang as he applied the items, this kid really did remind him of Dazai. But he still didn’t want to believe it.

The kid flinched once when the cold wipe touched his skin.

That was the only reaction.

Chuuya frowned, but didn’t comment.

“You should probably make noise when you get hurt,” he muttered. “Just a little helpful tip.”

The kid tilted his head.

Then immediately wriggled out of Chuuya’s hands and bolted off the counter.

“Oh, come on ,” Chuuya groaned, tossing the wipe into the trash.

And just like that, the storm resumed.

It was a full 20 minutes later that the energy finally gave out. What was even in that chocolate... But he was small, and thin. Maybe that was it.

The living room was in disarray. Cushions on the floor. A half-unrolled paper towel roll had been turned into what Chuuya could only describe as a maze. The blanket from the couch had become some sort of tunnel. His apartment looked like it had been overrun by a very determined menace. Well... Technically it had been. Though, it did remind him of Dazai’s work— No. He pushed aside them thoughts for now. He had to focus.

In the middle of all of it, curled up on Chuuya’s chest, the boy had finally crashed.

He’d just climbed up, planted himself there, and closed his eyes without a word.

Chuuya had barely blinked.

Now he sat on the couch again, back against the armrest, one leg propped up, the small weight of the kid resting against him.

The boy’s hands were lightly curled into the fabric of Chuuya’s shirt. His breathing had evened out, his hair a wild mess of tufts and soft curls. The hoodie was slightly lopsided, the zipper halfway up, exposing the collar of his new shirt underneath.

Chuuya stared down at him.

What the hell was he doing.

This wasn’t normal.

He wasn’t a parent. He wasn’t some soft neighborhood babysitter.

He was a Port Mafia executive. And he’d just spent the last hour babysitting a sugar-charged, silently chaotic child.

With a slow breath, Chuuya gently shifted his arms. The kid stirred but didn’t wake.

He needed to clean up the place before it looked like someone broke in and tried to redecorate using paper goods and couch stuffing.

Couch stuffing...!?

He looked down to the arm of his couch and stared in horror. If this had been adult Dazai, he would have for sure beaten him for this, and make him take a course in how to make furniture. That had been expensive!

Carefully, he slipped his arms under the boy. He lifted him slowly, holding him close to avoid waking him, and made his way down the hall toward his bedroom.

He nudged the door open with his foot and stepped inside, the room dim with the early evening light slipping in through the curtains.

He approached the bed, lowering the boy gently.

That’s when it happened.

A soft whine.

Barely audible.

“No.”

Chuuya blinked.

He looked down.

The boy’s fingers had tightened on his shirt.

“No,” the kid mumbled again, voice muffled and groggy, barely awake. But insistent.

Chuuya froze.

Then sighed.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered. “You win.” He couldn’t argue with that. The kid had finally spoken, maybe he’d finally get closer to the kid’s origin.

He adjusted his grip and carried the boy back to the couch.

When he sat down again, the boy immediately curled back up against him, tucking his head beneath Chuuya’s chin. His fingers relaxed, still holding onto the shirt, but not as tightly.

Chuuya leaned back, resigned.

So. He was stuck.

He rested his head against the cushion and let out a long breath.

This was his life now, apparently.

A mafia executive with a child permanently affixed to his torso.

He glanced down again, eyes softening as he looked at the boy.

The kid had started to drool a little.

Chuuya grimaced. “You better not do that on my shirt,” he muttered.

No answer. Just even, sleeping breaths.

His eyes wandered a little, scanning over the boy’s form, and he paused.

The clothes.

They were new. Too new. Chuuya hadn’t bought them.

Which meant...

Akutagawa had bought them...

Chuuya exhaled slowly, fingers absently brushing a bit of fuzz off the kid’s hoodie.

Okay. That had been smart.

He had to give credit where it was due. He would probably have to pay Akutagaw back... Or maybe he’d just force that idiot, Dazai, to pay him for it.

Still stuck beneath the sleeping child, Chuuya shifted slightly, propping a pillow behind his head with one hand.

He’d deal with the mess later.

Right now, all he could do was mentally plan what came next.

He had to restock the kitchen.

Real food. Not just wine and old crackers. The kid clearly had energy, and he couldn’t risk a repeat of the chocolate incident.

Bread. Fruit. Maybe oatmeal.

Vegetables.

He grimaced. Did kids even eat vegetables?

Wouldn’t matter. He’d make him eat them.

With a soft sigh, Chuuya closed his eyes, letting the weight of the small body against him anchor him to the moment.

It was peaceful.

Unexpected.

And oddly warm.

He didn’t know how long this would last.

Didn’t know what the kid really was. Or who for certain.

But for now, at least, he was safe.

And that was enough.

Notes:

ahh! i'm so anxious to post this! ;-; its been a while, pls don't bully me lol ;-;
some things may sound odd, truthfully, i kinda forgot the plot of my own story (embarrassing) i had to reread it ;-;
sorry i'm overusing ;-;, i just don't wanna sound mean or smth lol ;-;
i feel like i was really repetitive and overthinking, but at the same time, my autistic ass is terrified of criticism 😭🙏（⊙ｏ⊙）

Chapter 4: Cleaning And Arrangements

Notes:

sorry about the 2nd section seeming a little out of character, or not reluctant enough, it was a bit long in the draft, so i decided to shorten it to hopefully avoid you guys getting bored or finding it repetitive ;-;
enjoy!!
p.s: this is just a short chapter, sorry, its my bday on the 25th and i have tons of stuff to do and orders to fulfill this week, sry i cant spell lol, anyway, i need to sleep now cause i gotta go somewhere in a few hours! its 2am lol.
Sorry if it doesnt make sense! I rushed the end without really reading it over to get to 3000 words min, though i planned for this chapter to be 9000, april has been a rough month lol
I added more talking so u wouldn't get as bored, i cant stop saying lol, sigh :( okay im being annoying, u can read now, SIGH EMOJI

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The sun was high above Yokohama when Chuuya finally gave in to the inevitable.

He stood in the center of his apartment, arms crossed, surveying the absolute battlefield that used to be his living room. The couch cushions were all wrong, there were crumpled paper towels everywhere, and a suspicious smear of something unidentifiable ran along the bottom of one wall. He still had no idea how that got there.

The blanket had been draped over two chairs, creating a lopsided fort. A pair of socks had somehow ended up on the ceiling fan. Don’t ask. Even the potted plant in the corner had suffered—tilted, a few leaves bent at odd angles like it had weathered a storm.

And technically, it had.

A very small, hyperactive storm.

Chuuya clicked his tongue and rolled up his sleeves with a dramatic flair. “Alright,” he muttered under his breath, “Time to deal with this mess.”

Behind him, perched calmly on the couch with legs swinging and a soft smile on his face, the kid watched.

Wide eyes followed Chuuya’s every movement. His hands were folded neatly in his lap, and his messy brunette hair stuck out in every direction from sleep. The hoodie was zipped all the way up, the sleeves still just a little too long, covering his hands almost completely. He looked like a bundled-up, curious little creature observing his human in the wild.

Chuuya avoided looking at him directly.

The smile was too much.

Too cute.

He turned away and grabbed a pile of cushions off the floor, throwing them back onto the couch with more force than necessary. The kid didn't flinch, just kept watching.

Chuuya tried not to think about how round his face looked when he smiled.

"Stop it," he muttered to himself, stuffing a pillow into its case. "You're not cute. You're destructive. A menace." He lied right through his teeth, he couldn’t ADMIT that he maybe, sort of, was starting to enjoy the kid’s company...

A soft noise escaped the boy’s throat—not a laugh, not quite a sigh. Something in between.

Chuuya scowled at the cushion.

He should not be softening.

The kid had nearly taken down a bookshelf yesterday.

But since then— He hadn’t done anything other than cling to Chuuya and mumble “no” when he tried to put him down.

That had been the first time he spoke.

Chuuya paused, holding the pillow in his hands. The voice had been small. Sleepy. A little rough from disuse. But it had been there. Real.

Strange that the kid finally chose to speak, but maybe it was like when you get a new pet. They’re a bit shy one day, but once they wake up the next morning, they’re fine?

“Ugh,” Chuuya groaned aloud, shaking his head as if trying to knock the thoughts of the kid out of his mind physically. “Get a grip.”

He turned his attention back to the mess. Prioritize. Start with the obvious.

He began picking up the paper towels scattered across the room, stuffing them into a trash bag he’d pulled from the cabinet. Some were shredded. Others were bunched up like the kid had used them to build something. One had a pen scribble on it—where the hell did that come from?

And yet, somehow it still looked better than his own signature...

Whatever.

He shot a glance over his shoulder.

Still watching. Still smiling and swinging his feet.

“You gonna help or just sit there being ‘adorable’?” Chuuya muttered sarcastically, even though he wasn’t completely lying.

No response. But the smile widened ever so slightly.

Chuuya turned back to the task, muttering to himself as he cleaned up. By the time he got around to straightening the rug and re-stacking the paperwork that had been turned into pretend floor tiles, he heard it.

A soft thud.

Then another.

He turned just in time to see the kid hop off the couch, landing lightly on his socked feet.

Chuuya blinked.

The boy approached quietly, steps small and deliberate. He stopped beside Chuuya, crouched down, and reached for a pillow that had fallen beside the TV stand.

He picked it up.

And then looked to Chuuya.

Chuuya didn’t say anything.

The boy placed the pillow back onto the couch—not perfectly, but with effort. Then he turned, walked to the blanket fort, and began tugging one end of the blanket down, struggling a little but clearly mimicking what he'd seen Chuuya do the night before.

Chuuya watched in silence.

No talking.

Just action.

The boy folded the blanket in half—sort of—then in half again. Then turned to Chuuya and held it up, a little crooked, but proud.

Chuuya took it.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

The boy nodded, stepping back as if waiting for further instructions.

And something about that hit Chuuya a little too hard.

He knelt down, picking up another cushion. The kid mirrored him without hesitation, mimicking his movements, trying to copy the exact way Chuuya fluffed and placed the pillows. When Chuuya adjusted the rug, the boy tugged on the opposite end. When Chuuya bent down to fix the fallen lamp, the kid knelt beside him, holding the cord like it was some sacred duty.

None of it was perfect. He got in the way more than once. He put a pillow upside down. He tried to fold a shirt and ended up just rolling it into a ball and creasing it.

But he tried.

And he never stopped watching Chuuya.

Still silent.

Still smiling.

Chuuya tried not to stare.

He should be more worried, right?

The kid hadn’t said anything since that soft little “no” the night before. He hadn’t even made normal kid noises. Just quiet hums, the occasional huff of breath, and that smile.

It was like he didn’t know he could speak.

Or maybe he just didn’t want to.

Should he be offended, since that's the more likely answer. Probably, but, nah.

But he HAD heard the kid speak, so why wasn’t he now...?

Chuuya didn’t know which option unsettled him more.

But he didn’t press. He didn’t ask.

The kid had spoken once. That meant he could speak. That was enough for now.

And besides—

His voice was cute.

Soft. Small. Just rough enough to tug at something in Chuuya’s chest.

Chuuya shook his head and dropped the last pillow into place.

“Nope. Not thinking about that,” he muttered.

The kid cocked his head slightly.

Chuuya looked at him and sighed.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” he said.

The kid smiled again.

That same soft, content smile.

Chuuya turned away before he melted into a puddle right there on the carpet.

The two of them spent the next twenty minutes picking up the final bits of disarray. The kid followed Chuuya like a shadow, copying each task with quiet determination. Chuuya didn’t guide him much—just let him watch and imitate. And somehow, by the end of it, the apartment looked like a home again.

When the last chair was pushed in and the final piece of trash thrown away, Chuuya let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Done,” he muttered, hands on his hips.

The kid stood beside him, hands at his sides, still watching.

Still silent.

Chuuya glanced down at him.

“You did alright,” he said.

The kid reached out and tugged lightly on Chuuya’s sleeve.

Chuuya raised a brow. “What?”

No answer. Just another tug.

Then the boy walked toward the couch.

Chuuya followed.

He sat first, and the kid immediately climbed up beside him. He didn’t cling this time—just sat close. Enough to touch. Enough to lean.

The kid looked awkward, like he wanted to be nearby somebody, nearby warmth, but didn’t know how to. Maybe he was overthinkig things...

Chuuya leaned back, resting his head and letting his eyes drift closed for just a moment.

He deserved a break.

But even as the quiet settled around them, he could feel those eyes still watching.

Still calm. Still curious.

Still impossibly cute.

He was in so much trouble.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

The silence was calm, warm. Chuuya let his eyes slip shut for a few seconds longer, trying to soak in that rare feeling of peace. He hadn't had much of it lately—not with the kid, not with the confusion hanging in the air around him. But this moment? Sitting on the couch, the kid leaning ever so slightly against his arm, the room quiet and clean for once?

It almost felt normal.

Almost.

Until his peace was shattered by the distant sound of something vibrating.

Chuuya’s eyes opened.

A buzz.

Then another.

He furrowed his brow and sat up, glancing around.

The kid turned his head slightly, mirroring Chuuya’s movement but not reacting beyond that. His little hands rested in his lap, sleeves still a little too long.

The buzzing continued.

Not his phone—his was on the table, screen dark.

Then it hit him.

The coat.

Dazai's trench coat.

Still crumpled on the floor of his bedroom where he’d tossed it the night he brought the kid home. Chuuya swore under his breath, muttering something about damn ghosts and haunting coats.

He stood up, and the kid’s face visibly fell.

A quiet frown tugged at the corners of his mouth as he watched Chuuya move away. It was subtle, but Chuuya caught it. The kid didn't try to stop him, but the shift in expression was clear.

Chuuya paused in the doorway, gave a soft huff.

"I’m just checking something, alright? I’ll be back."

The boy didn’t respond. He just nodded slightly, hands clenching in his sleeves.

Chuuya made his way to the bedroom and spotted the coat half-hidden beneath the bed. The buzz came again.

He crouched, tugged the fabric free, and shoved his hand into the inside pocket.

Phone.

A familiar model.

He pulled it out, flipping it in his palm.

The screen flashed: Incoming Call.

It was a business number..? Could it be...?

He hesitated.

Then answered.

"Yeah?"

A pause.

Then—

"Ah, Chuuya! Sorry to bother you. It's Atsushi."

Chuuya scowled instantly, his fingers tightening around the phone. Also, Why did he keep calling him by his first name!? “Tch. Great. What do you want?” He replied, bitterly.

"Um… well… sorry, I know it's sudden. But, uh… have you seen Dazai?"

That caught him off guard. Chuuya straightened, eyes narrowing.

"What?"

"He’s been missing for a few days. We thought maybe he was messing around and skipping again, or had gone off to try some new suicide method, but… he hasn’t shown up anywhere. We’re getting a little concerned. I figured… maybe you heard something?"

Chuuya didn’t respond right away.

He looked toward the hallway.

Then toward the coat.

Then, slowly, back at the phone in his hand.

"Maybe," Chuuya muttered.

"Maybe?" Atsushi echoed, confused. "What do you mean maybe?"

Chuuya sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I found a kid. Curled up in an alley. Looked like hell. Trench coat, bandages, oversized clothes—it all screamed Dazai. I figured it was some elaborate prank. But the coat had a phone in it. This phone. And now you're calling it."

Silence.

"You think the kid is Dazai?"

"I don't know," Chuuya admitted, running a hand through his hair. "The longer he’s here, the less I can ignore the possibility. He doesn’t talk, barely reacts to anything except me. But it’s the little things. Mannerisms. The eyes. There's something there that feels... familiar."

Atsushi hesitated. "Do you want to bring him in? We could take a look."

Chuuya clicked his tongue. "You know I don't like getting involved in your agency's mess. And I definitely don’t feel like dragging a maybe-Dazai into a room full of annoying so-called detectives."

Another pause.

"Well... He works for us, and it’d help us all understand what happened. And check the kid’s health."

Chuuya didn’t respond for a long moment. Then finally, with a low growl, he said, "Fine. Tomorrow. But if even one of you piss me off, I’m walking right back out the door. With the kid."

"Understood. We’ll be ready." Atsushi quickly replied, before silently thinking in his head about how literally anything could piss off this man.

Chuuya hung up before he could hear another word.

He stared at the phone in his hand, then down at the coat, and finally pushed himself to his feet.

When he returned to the living room, the kid was sitting exactly where he left him.

Eyes wide. Waiting.

Chuuya tossed the coat over a chair and sat back down beside him.

The boy leaned toward him, cautious, silent.

Chuuya sighed and rested his arm along the back of the couch.

"We’re going somewhere tomorrow," he muttered. "You better behave."

The boy blinked slowly.

And smiled, silently wondering where they were going with mild excitement.

Chuuya groaned.

He was so not ready for this.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Chuuya stood in the living room, arms crossed, staring down at the small, quiet figure sitting on the rug. The boy had just finished building a lopsided stack of coasters, his hands working with slow, deliberate care. Now he simply sat there, staring up at Chuuya, wide eyes expectant.

The kid needed a bath.

Desperately.

That wasn’t an insult—it was a fact. There was still grime on his ankles, remnants of alley dust clinging to his neck, and though Chuuya had wiped him down once when he brought him in, it hadn’t been enough. The kid looked like he’d spent a whole lifetime dodging rain and living on rooftop gutters.

So, Chuuya made the decision.

Without a word, he extended a hand.

The boy looked at it.

Then looked at him.

Then back at the hand.

Confusion...

He didn’t take it. But he stood up.

Chuuya guided him toward the bathroom, keeping a steady pace, not too fast. No sudden movements. Just enough presence to make it clear the kid wasn’t being dragged, but wasn’t being given the option to bolt either. Afterall, he had no idea what this kid had gone through.

The bathroom was prepped in no time. Warm water. Soft towels. Gentle, unscented soap. A clean change of clothes. Even a comb and a mild detangling spray sat ready on the counter. The bathwater steamed faintly in the large modern tub.

The kid paused. He looked at the bath. Then back at Chuuya. His expression didn’t change. Still neutral. Still quiet.

Chuuya exhaled slowly.

“Alright,” he said. “Here’s the deal. You’re not staying dirty. I can handle chaos. I can handle silence. But I draw the line at you turning into a walking biohazard. You get a bath. End of story."

The boy tilted his head slightly.

No words.

Until...

“Biohazard..?” The small voice asked.

Chuuya blinked.

It wasn’t the first time the kid had spoken, but it was close. The sound was soft, curious. Almost too fragile to be real. It left Chuuya frozen for a second, like his brain needed to catch up to hearing an actual syllable come out of that tiny mouth.

He cleared his throat.

“Yeah. You know. Gross. Covered in germs. Unsanitary. That’s you.”

The boy frowned. Not deeply. Just a tiny wrinkle between his brows. Like he wasn’t sure if he’d been insulted.

“You’re not gonna melt,” Chuuya muttered. “It’s just water.”

The boy didn’t argue. He didn’t back away either.

That small moment of voice, though—it lingered. Hung in the air like mist, like it didn’t quite know whether to disappear or settle in.

Chuuya crouched and tugged gently at the hem of the hoodie. The kid flinched slightly but didn’t resist.

“Easy,” Chuuya said. “Just gettin’ you cleaned up. Not gonna drop you in acid.”

That earned the faintest twitch of lips.

The hoodie came off first. Then the shirt. Chuuya peeled it back, careful of a scab near the shoulder. His eyes swept over bruises, scrapes, faint scars. No recent injuries, at least.

Next were the pants. Too long. Bunched at the ankles. Akutagawa hadn’t exactly nailed the sizing when he bought them.

But he was still somewhat thankful, nevertheless.

When the boy stood there, small and silent and waiting, Chuuya felt that same twinge again. That deep, subtle ache that came from seeing something that shouldn’t be this way. No one this small should look that used to standing still while someone undressed them.

He forced himself to breathe.

“Alright. Step in.”

The boy moved toward the tub without protest. He placed one foot in slowly, testing the temperature. Then he climbed in the rest of the way and sat.

The water lapped at his ribs. Steam curled off the surface, soft and clean.

Chuuya knelt beside him, rolled his sleeves, and picked up the washcloth.

The first few swipes were slow, cautious. Water darkened almost immediately as it pulled dirt from the boy’s back. Chuuya wrung out the cloth and started again, more methodical now, gliding it over the bony curve of a shoulder blade.

He cleaned in silence. The boy didn’t speak again, but he didn’t pull away either.

Neck. Arms. Chest. He was small, but not delicate. His body bore the proof of surviving too much for his size.

As Chuuya reached for the shampoo, he said, “Alright. Head back. I gotta wash your hair.”

The kid looked at him for a moment. Then obeyed, tilting his head back with slow trust.

His hair was worse than it looked. The strands tangled, some parts matted. Chuuya worked the shampoo in with his fingers, carefully easing apart the knots. The boy’s shoulders slowly relaxed under his hands.

Chuuya rinsed with a cup, shielding his eyes. Then came the conditioner, thick and slick. It clung to the strands, softening them.

“You’ve got more knots than half the damn mafia,” he muttered.

The kid blinked up at him.

Another smile almost formed.

Chuuya tried not to let it get to him.

He moved on to the legs. Washed carefully around a scabbed knee. The earlier cut on his shin was healing fine, but Chuuya still gave it an extra rinse with antiseptic after dabbing it dry.

When it was time to get out, he held the towel open.

“Let’s go. Before you turn into a raisin.”

The boy stood slowly. Chuuya wrapped him in the towel immediately and pulled him close, rubbing warmth into the skin.

Another towel came down over his head. He rubbed the boy’s hair gently. The strands, now soft and tangle-free, clung to the towel and fell loose over his face.

“Better,” Chuuya muttered.

He guided the boy into the bedroom and helped him into clean clothes. Pajama pants. A cotton shirt that was just the right size.

The boy sat on the edge of the bed afterward, blinking slowly.

Chuuya crouched in front of him.

“You alright?”

The kid stared at him. Then nodded.

And then—softly, quietly—he said, “Warm.”

Chuuya blinked.

He smirked. “Yeah? Told you water wouldn’t kill you.”

The kid leaned forward, pressed his forehead gently against Chuuya’s chest.

Chuuya froze.

Then exhaled slowly, resting a hand on the back of the boy’s head.

It wasn’t much.

But it was something.

And for now?

That was enough.

Notes:

rahh! i have so many ideas ヾ(≧▽≦*)o
i'm so happy that i got so many nice comments, i was afraid i'd be brutally bullied lol (￣▽￣)"

also, if you see some of my c.ai bots, i'm ProDazaiLover on there!! <3 i really wanna get enough interactions for my bots to be recommended, but my bot with the most interactions is gojo, but i wanna have mostly bsd! my highest bsd bot has 2760 interactions! that's great! but i need more to be recommended ＞︿＜ it would honestly be the best thing to happen in my life if they were to be recommended o((>ω< ))o

Character AI

Chapter 6: Motorcycle Incident

Notes:

guys... this is so embarrassing but uh i wrote 16000 words so that i could give you 2 long chpaters... and... my laptop broke and i could only salvage this... ill get back to work ;-;

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered in through the edges of the blackout curtains, the weak sunlight barely managing to touch the edges of the room. Chuuya had been awake for a while, but it wasn’t until he heard the soft, quiet rustle of movement from the bed that he finally stirred. The boy had been sleeping soundly, his small form curled up under the covers in a way that made Chuuya feel an unfamiliar pang in his chest. It was a quiet kind of comfort, the kind that felt fragile—like it might break if someone whispered the wrong word too loudly.

Truthfully, he hadn’t even remembered going to sleep last night, but here he was.

The clock on the wall ticked softly, and Chuuya rubbed a hand across his face, his mind already running through the tasks ahead. It was going to be a long day—there was always something that needed doing—but today felt different. Today, there was a quiet promise, an unspoken agreement that, for the time being, they would both be okay.

It took a moment for the boy to fully wake up. He blinked, slowly pulling himself out of the soft embrace of sleep. The boy’s eyes were bleary, still filled with the hazy remnants of dreams. He stretched his arms out, letting out a soft sigh. Then, his gaze shifted to the corner of the room where Chuuya sat.

Chuuya smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it—not yet at least. The boy rubbed his eyes, squinting at the new day, still unsure of his surroundings.

“Morning,” Chuuya murmured, the word feeling heavier than usual.

The boy’s lips parted, but he said nothing. He just stared at Chuuya, watching him with those wide, dark eyes. The silence was heavy in a way that Chuuya couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not exactly. It was more like the boy was waiting for something—some sign, some confirmation that this was real. That the safety wasn’t just an illusion. That Chuuya wasn’t going to disappear if he looked away for too long.

Chuuya gave the kid a moment before standing up, stretching his arms out. The routine had to begin soon enough. They were both going to need to get ready for the day, and that meant getting out of bed.

“Come on,” Chuuya said, his voice soft but firm. “We’ve got to get you dressed.”

The boy hesitated. He shifted, sitting up slowly, pulling the blanket around his shoulders like some kind of shield, as though the warmth of the bed could protect him from whatever came next. The moment felt like the calm before a storm. Chuuya’s patience was tested, but he knew better than to rush. The kid didn’t need to be rushed—he needed stability, even if he didn’t understand that yet.

Chuuya moved closer, sitting beside the bed, his movements slow and deliberate.

“I know it’s early,” Chuuya continued, his voice a bit gentler, “but we’ve got things to do. You can’t stay in bed all day.”

The boy’s head drooped slightly, his hands clutching the blanket tighter around himself. Chuuya could see the uncertainty in his small movements, the way he avoided looking Chuuya in the eyes. But Chuuya didn’t push. He didn’t have to. He simply waited, giving the boy the space he needed.

Finally, the boy nodded slightly, as if conceding to the inevitable. Chuuya stood up, walking over to the dresser, where he had already picked out a simple outfit for the kid. A soft cotton shirt, easy to pull on and off, and comfortable pants—nothing that would restrict movement. There was no need for anything fancier, he wasn’t trying to impress the agency or anything...

He returned to the bed, setting the clothes on the edge. “Alright,” Chuuya said, “let’s get you dressed. I’m sure you’re not used to this, but I promise, it’ll be quick.”

The boy stared at the clothes for a long moment, the fabric just out of reach. He didn’t seem to know what to do with them, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch them. It was a small thing, but Chuuya couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest.

Chuuya crouched beside the bed again, his eyes softening.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he said. “It’s just getting dressed, nothing complicated. It’s not a big deal.”

The boy hesitated, still unsure, and then slowly reached out, touching the shirt with his fingertips. He pulled it toward him, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he were carefully considering each step. But then, with a sharp intake of breath, the boy let out a small whimper, drawing his hand back quickly as if the shirt had burned him.

Chuuya paused, watching the boy’s reaction. It was subtle, but there was something there, something that screamed caution, fear, hesitation. He seemed a lot more anxious than yesterday, maybe it was getting up early, needing to go somewhere he doesn’t know, or possibly just a mix of things...

“Hey,” Chuuya said gently, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?”

The boy glanced at him, his gaze flicking away quickly as though he didn’t want Chuuya to see how much his hands were trembling.

He thought for a moment, then made a decision.

“Do you want me to help?” Chuuya asked, keeping his tone calm and non-threatening. “I can help you get dressed. You don’t have to do it alone if you don’t want to.”

The boy’s eyes flicked up to meet his, the briefest hint of curiosity passing through them. Chuuya could see the wheels turning in his mind, calculating whether this was a safe choice, whether Chuuya’s offer was genuine.

With a hesitant nod, the boy finally agreed.

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

It was the first time the boy had spoken so openly to him in the morning, and Chuuya’s heart softened. He didn’t rush the process. He was careful, gentle, as he helped the boy slide the shirt over his head, pausing to adjust it when it bunched up around the boy’s neck. He didn’t push when the boy winced at the sensation of the fabric.

Once the boy was dressed, Chuuya reached for the toothbrush and paste, preparing to help him with the next step. The kid didn’t move at first, looking at the toothbrush as if it were some foreign object.

“It’s just brushing your teeth,” Chuuya explained, trying to sound as casual as possible. “You’ve done this before, right?” Chuuya luckily had spare toothbrushes, in case he had to replace his own early.

The boy nodded slightly, but his gaze remained fixed on the toothbrush, his lips pressed tightly together.

Chuuya stepped closer, offering the toothbrush with a soft smile. “Here. I’ll help you, alright?”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

It was still early when Chuuya finished getting the kid dressed, brushed his hair, and settled into an almost too-quiet morning routine. The silence between them wasn't heavy—at least not yet—but it lingered in the air like something delicate. Chuuya couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was building in the air, something between them that needed to be explored. It had nothing to do with words; it was all in the little moments—the brief, fleeting glances the boy gave him when he wasn’t paying attention, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly as he held the toothbrush, or how his shoulders tensed whenever Chuuya moved too quickly. These small details filled the space with an unspoken tension, and it was something that Chuuya had learned to read, even if he wasn’t quite sure how to respond to it.

But today was a new day. And Chuuya wasn’t going to let the unease drag on. Not if he could help it.

After breakfast, they’d head to the Agency, but first, he needed to get the kid out of the house and into the world a little. The place under the Agency had food—simple, straightforward food that was always fresh. Chuuya knew he needed it; he needed the kind of routine that got him grounded. And if the kid could get some food into him, maybe it would help with the quiet that seemed to hang around them both.

Chuuya grabbed his jacket and looked at the boy, who was still sitting on the bed, eyes cast downward. He had his knees tucked under him, his hands gripping them tightly as though unsure of what to do with himself now that they were ready to leave.

“Come on,” Chuuya said, his voice low but firm. “We’re going to get something to eat. I’ll be right outside when you’re ready.”

The boy blinked at him, then glanced down at the floor, unsure of the next step. Chuuya sighed softly, offering a hand to the boy. It wasn’t so much about asking for permission as it was about offering guidance—something the kid had never known. He had never had someone who’d taken that extra step to lead, to help him understand what came next in a world full of uncertainty.

The boy hesitated but, after a moment, took his hand, the grip light but firm. Chuuya helped him stand, feeling the tremor in the boy’s limbs as he wobbled slightly on his feet. A small part of Chuuya wondered if the boy had ever stood for a long period of time without fear of collapse, or if he'd ever felt the warmth of someone else’s hands helping him along.

The moment didn’t last long. The boy, still cautious but more composed now, stood beside him.

“Alright,” Chuuya said, “let’s go.”

The ride to the café was supposed to be a simple thing, a short, straightforward trip down the street, but there was one crucial detail that Chuuya had overlooked in his haste to get the day started. He was used to driving his motorbike everywhere—it was faster, more efficient, and, honestly, it was the only way he ever got around. He hadn’t thought about how the boy would feel about it. Chuuya hadn’t realized that something as simple as a motorbike could be terrifying.

They walked down the stairs of the building, and Chuuya led the way outside. He unlocked the gate and pointed toward his motorbike parked in the lot, the same one he used every day without thinking twice about it. To him, it was just a means to get from one place to another.

The boy, however, froze at the sight of it. His steps faltered, eyes wide and focused on the bike as if it were a dangerous creature. The boy’s gaze flicked from the bike to Chuuya, and for a moment, it seemed like he couldn’t decide which was more intimidating. The shiny motorcycle or the man standing beside it.

“No, no,” the boy murmured, shaking his head slowly, the words barely audible. “I… I don’t want to…”

Chuuya didn’t move, watching the boy carefully. The tension was palpable. The kid’s breath quickened, and his hand gripped the sleeve of Chuuya’s jacket, his fingers trembling. It wasn’t the kind of fear that came from being forced into a situation—it was a deep-seated kind of terror that Chuuya could feel coming off him in waves. The boy was scared. Not of Chuuya, but of the unknown, the uncertainty that this motorbike represented to him.

Chuuya wasn’t surprised, though he wished he had thought this through more carefully. The boy had been through so much already. The streets. The gutters. All the things that most people would never see or experience. It was clear that the motorbike—loud, fast, and shiny—was just another thing that the boy couldn’t comprehend, couldn’t feel safe with.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Chuuya said softly, crouching down in front of him. His tone was even, but his mind was already spinning. How the hell was he going to get the kid on the bike if he couldn’t even stand near it without panicking? “It's not going to hurt you. It’s just a bike, alright? You’re going to be safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

But the boy only shook his head harder, his eyes wide, pupils dilated, and Chuuya’s heart sank. He took a step back, a slow sigh escaping his lips. The kid wasn’t going to get on without more than just words. And there was no way they’d walk to the cafe—at least not without a lot of time and a lot of pain on both their parts. Chuuya’s patience ran thin, but he wasn’t going to push the boy too hard. He needed to reassure him, somehow.

“Come on,” Chuuya said again, gentler this time, his voice lower. “It’s just a ride. It won’t hurt you. I promise. It’s the quickest way. I’ll be with you the whole time.”

The boy still hesitated, his face tightening as though caught between two fears—one of the bike and one of Chuuya’s persistence. He began to shift away, taking a half-step back, as though considering running away.

“Wait,” Chuuya said, stepping forward quickly. The kid didn’t give him much room to maneuver. In a split second, the boy turned, his legs moving faster than Chuuya had anticipated. The kid took off toward the street, running as fast as his small legs could carry him.

Chuuya cursed under his breath, his instincts kicking in. He hadn’t been expecting this reaction. He wasn’t sure if he should be angry or concerned, but right now, he couldn’t afford to let the kid slip away. Not now. Not when they were so close to something resembling normalcy.

The boy was fast, but not fast enough. Chuuya’s legs were longer, he had practice chasing a full grown Dazai too. He reached the boy in a matter of moments, his hand grabbing the back of the kid’s jacket, yanking him gently but firmly toward him.

“No,” the boy said again, more desperately this time, his voice strained. He looked up at Chuuya with wide, frightened eyes, his body stiff with fear, shaking his head.

“Listen to me,” Chuuya said, his voice more authoritative now, his grip tightening slightly but not enough to hurt. “You’re not going anywhere. We need to go, alright? Just trust me.”

The kid stared up at him for a long, tense moment. Chuuya wasn’t sure if it was fear or something else, but he could feel the kid trembling in his grasp. After a moment of stillness, the boy finally nodded.

Chuuya sighed, and without another word, he took the boy’s hand, leading him back to the motorbike. He crouched down, trying to make himself smaller, less intimidating. “You’re going to sit in front of me, alright?” Chuuya explained. “I’m going to keep you close. You won’t fall. I’ve got you.”

It was a gamble, but one that he had to take. The boy didn’t resist, though his fingers gripped the hem of Chuuya’s jacket in an almost frantic way. Chuuya could tell the kid was still unsure, but he wasn’t about to let him back out now.

He helped the boy onto the bike, ensuring the kid was securely seated in front of him, his small back pressed against Chuuya’s chest. Then Chuuya zipped up his own jacket, using the zipper to keep the boy close, safe, and secure. He adjusted the boy’s grip on the handlebars, but he didn’t let go.

Chuuya started the engine, and the bike roared to life. The sound was loud, the vibrations of the engine pulsing through their bodies, but Chuuya made sure to keep the pace slow, the ride smooth. He felt the boy tense, felt him stiffen as the bike began to move, but he kept his voice calm, his hand firm around the boy's waist.

“It’s okay,” Chuuya whispered. “You’re doing fine. We’ll get there, alright?”

The boy didn’t respond, but Chuuya could feel his body slowly beginning to relax as the distance between them and the apartment grew. With each passing moment, the boy’s grip on Chuuya’s jacket tightened a little less, his body loosening up just a bit more.

And that was enough.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

The motorbike hummed beneath them, a deep, rumbling sound that reverberated through the air, vibrating against the concrete of the streets as it made its way through the morning light. Chuuya’s grip on the handles was steady, but his attention was entirely focused on the small body in front of him. The boy’s fragile form pressed against his chest was a constant reminder of how much responsibility weighed on him now, more than just his usual habits of self-reliance and autonomy. For the first time in a long while, Chuuya felt responsible for someone else, a person he couldn’t afford to fail.

The wind rushed past them, its cool gusts brushing against Chuuya’s face as he kept his speed in check. He didn’t want to go too fast—not with the kid so close to him. The idea of taking sharp turns, of accelerating too quickly, even the smallest jolt could send the boy flying off if he wasn’t secure enough. But Chuuya’s jacket was close enough to wrap around him, and when he zipped it up, pulling it tight to secure the boy’s tiny form against him, he couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of protectiveness and unease.

His fingers brushed over the zipper, feeling the cool metal underneath his touch, and he adjusted the boy’s posture gently, pulling the child a little closer, trying to make sure there were no gaps between them. The boy’s breathing was soft but rapid, a slight quiver in his body every time the bike rumbled. Chuuya could tell the kid was holding onto him—either for safety or out of sheer instinct. He hoped it was the former.

He’d never been the type to coddle anyone. But this wasn’t about him. This was about making sure the boy felt safe enough to take the next step forward, and it wasn’t easy. There were still so many unknowns between them—so many silent, unspoken things that neither one of them had dared address.

Chuuya glanced down at the boy, his small hands clutching the fabric of Chuuya’s jacket, his face half-hidden behind the collar. He could sense the boy’s fear, even without the frantic, wide-eyed expression of a moment ago. It was the way the boy’s shoulders were tense, his knees pressed awkwardly against the tank of the bike, as though trying to make himself as small as possible.

Chuuya’s gaze softened, though he kept his focus on the road. The city was just waking up—quiet, almost too quiet for a bustling metropolis like Yokohama. It was still early, and the streets were empty save for the occasional car speeding by. The smell of the morning—a mix of fresh bread from the bakeries, lingering coffee from the few early-rising cafes, and the crispness of dawn—permeated the air. It was a peaceful moment, one that Chuuya could almost forget what he was carrying. Almost.

His mind wandered to his jacket—the way it felt tighter around him now, hugging the boy to him. The zipper was cool against his fingers as he adjusted it once more, pulling it just a little higher to make sure there was no chance of the boy slipping free. It wasn’t just about the jacket, though. It was the idea of keeping him close, the feeling of ensuring that he wasn’t going anywhere. Chuuya had never been one to make much of physical contact, but the need to keep the boy safe, to keep him from running off, was primal.

The boy’s small frame felt delicate under his jacket. Chuuya could almost feel the pulse of his heartbeat through the fabric, the subtle tension in every muscle, the way his body instinctively tried to shrink into him. Chuuya’s chest tightened slightly as he shifted his weight to ensure the boy wouldn’t slip. It wasn’t about the kid’s weight—Chuuya could lift him if needed. It was the feeling of responsibility that made his heart race, of knowing that if something happened to him now, Chuuya wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

The bike sped down the empty streets, and Chuuya kept his speed steady, careful to keep it slow enough so the boy wouldn’t feel too overwhelmed, but quick enough to get to the cafe without dragging things out too long. They’d be there soon, but the journey felt like a long, winding path in itself, filled with unspoken words and unexpressed emotions.

It was funny how something as simple as a ride could bring all these feelings to the surface. Chuuya wasn’t used to this kind of closeness—wasn’t used to holding someone so small and fragile against him. For a moment, he let his mind drift, trying to understand what it was he felt. He wasn’t sure if it was guilt, or if it was the overwhelming weight of responsibility, but whatever it was, it felt heavier than anything he’d ever experienced.

The boy shifted slightly against him, a soft, almost imperceptible movement, but it was enough for Chuuya to notice. His breath hitched just a bit as he tried to steady himself.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Chuuya murmured, more to himself than the kid, but he hoped it might offer some comfort.

The boy didn’t reply. He just clung a little tighter, his fingers curling into the fabric of Chuuya’s jacket. It wasn’t a desperate grip; it was more like the boy was still unsure of the world around him—unsure of everything that had happened in such a short time. But the grip was there, steady, almost as if the boy was trying to reassure himself, trying to hold on to something solid amidst the chaos.

Chuuya glanced down at him once again, his eyes softening as he noticed the kid’s cheeks pressed against the fabric of his jacket. He could feel the heat of the boy’s breath as he exhaled against his chest. It was moments like this when Chuuya realized just how different this was—how different everything had become in the span of a few hours. It wasn’t just about him anymore. It wasn’t just about his work or his missions or his usual solitary existence.

There was something else. Something that made him want to do everything in his power to protect the kid, to make sure the world wasn’t as harsh as it had been so far.

The cafe wasn’t far now, and Chuuya could already see the familiar street corner where the café lay, below the Agency.

They were almost there.

“Almost there,” Chuuya murmured softly, as though speaking to both of them. He could feel the boy’s body shift slightly, and Chuuya took the opportunity to reassure him once again. “We’ll be there soon. You’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t much of a comfort, but it was all Chuuya had to offer in that moment. The boy didn’t respond, but his grip didn’t loosen either. It was like they were connected now—connected by the simple act of moving together, of being together in this small space, on this motorcycle, in the middle of a city that never seemed to sleep.

And as Chuuya slowed the bike and pulled it into the small parking spot by the café, he let out a quiet breath. They’d made it. Together.

Notes:

okay so this one was a lil cringy and not as good in general, but i had to quickly rewrite at like 2am, i only saved around 100 words 😭😭
had to upload soon incase you guys think i gave up ;-;

Chapter 7: Breakfast Chats

Summary:

Chuuya brings Dazai to get breakfast. Dazai finally talks a litlle. Just a little. But that's good enough...

Notes:

I KNOW I WAS GONE A WHILE! I'M SORRY.
I WAS BUSY. ;-;
also i'm now addicted to mha so would anybody read a fic kinda like this but with mha characters LOL (after i finish this fic)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The bell over the door of the café jingled softly as Chuuya stepped inside, Chuuya held the door open for the boy, letting him step over the threshold first. As they entered, the atmosphere of the café was a welcome change from the brisk morning air outside.

A few regulars were seated at tables, quietly sipping their drinks and reading the newspaper or talking in hushed tones. The soft murmur of conversation blended with the hum of a nearby espresso machine, filling the space with a comfortable ambiance.

Despite the café’s cozy atmosphere, Chuuya could already feel the eyes of the few nosy patrons on them as they walked in. He was confused for a moment before realising..

“Oh yeah — I’m a Port Mafia freaking Executive.” He thought to himself. No wonder they were staring... Whatever.

Chuuya simply shot them a sharp glare and moved to a seat in the cafe where he can glare, and this kid can remain oblivious.

“Right, kid,” Chuuya muttered, half to himself. “You’re gonna be fine. Just a quick breakfast, and then we head upstairs to the Agency.”

The boy didn’t respond, of course. He never did.

The waitress came over and nodded at him. “Morning, Sir. What can I get you today?”

She probably knew who he was. Maybe the agency told them. Either that or she knew that he is loaded.

Chuuya glanced down at the boy, who was sitting across from him. His shoulders were hunched, his eyes wide and scanning the waitress nervously.

“Kid?” Chuuya asked, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. “You want anything? Something to drink? Some breakfast?”

The boy shifted, his gaze flicking briefly to Chuuya’s face before darting away. He bit his lip, still not saying a word. Chuuya resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It wasn’t like he expected the kid to have a full conversation, but some kind of response would’ve been nice. Instead, the boy just looked down at the floor, his fingers tightening around his own leg in anxiety.

“Alright,” Chuuya said, exhaling slowly. “I’ll pick something for us then. You just sit tight, alright?”

“Just coffee for me,” Chuuya replied, glancing back at the kid. “And just some toast for the kid.”

Chuuya glanced down at him. “What do you think, kid? Toast?”

He figured it was a safe choice. Unless this kid has coeliac disease—

The boy’s gaze shifted ever so slightly, but he didn’t answer. Chuuya was about to speak again when something caught his attention—just a small shift in the boy’s expression, a slight relaxation around his shoulders. It was so subtle, but it was enough to make Chuuya pause.

“You okay?” Chuuya asked softly, crouching down again. “Want something else? Maybe pancakes?”

For the first time, the boy seemed to consider it. His hands loosened around Chuuya’s jacket as he glanced over at the display of pastries on the counter. He gave a small nod.

“Pancakes?” Chuuya asked again, trying to get a clear response. The kid nodded once more, this time with a little more conviction.

“Alright, pancakes it is,” Chuuya said, standing back up.

The waitress nodded, understanding. “Got it. I’ll bring the food right to your table.”

The kid took a deep breath, his small body shrinking into the corner of the seat. He didn’t look up as Chuuya sat across from him, just staring down at the table, his fingers twitching nervously on his lap.

“Alright,” Chuuya said, trying to keep things light. “What’s your favorite color, huh? You never told me.”

Kids like to talk about themselves, right?

The boy blinked, his gaze flickering toward Chuuya for a split second before darting away again. He didn’t answer immediately, but Chuuya could tell that his mind was working, that he was thinking about it. A moment passed before the boy finally spoke, his voice soft and hesitant.

“Red,” he muttered quietly. “Red’s nice.”

Chuuya nodded, feeling a small, unexpected pang in his chest. “Red, huh? I can see that. Strong color.”

The boy didn’t respond, but for a brief moment, he met Chuuya’s eyes. Chuuya couldn’t help but notice the vulnerability there, the uncertainty. This wasn’t just some casual conversation; it was a bridge, a way for them to start connecting in a world that had felt so isolating for the boy.

The waitress came over with their food, setting a plate of pancakes in front of the boy and a mug of coffee in front of Chuuya. “Here you go,” she said with a smile, looking at Chuuya first, then at the kid, who had yet to touch his food.

Chuuya gave her a small nod of thanks as she left them alone again. He glanced at the pancakes, and then back at the kid. The boy was still staring at the plate, his fingers twitching again, as if unsure what to do.

“You gonna eat?” Chuuya asked, though he knew the answer. The kid was still so cautious, his anxiety palpable.

Slowly, the boy reached out, taking the edge of the fork with hesitant fingers. He poked at the pancakes, his brow furrowing as if unsure of how to approach the task.

“You sure you don’t want something else?” Chuuya asked, his voice teasing but with a soft undertone. “I could have gotten you some toast, you know.”

The boy glanced up at him briefly before lowering his gaze again, his grip on the fork still tight. There was a tension in the air, a mixture of nervousness and confusion. The boy was still trying to navigate this new world, and Chuuya could feel the weight of it in the silence that hung between them.

But at least he was trying.

At least he was eating.

The boy poked at his pancakes with the fork again, his tiny fingers curling around the handle with a white-knuckled grip. Chuuya watched with an unreadable expression, the soft hum of the café surrounding them. Despite the quiet chatter from nearby tables and the clinking of cutlery, there was a noticeable tension at their booth. Chuuya didn’t mind; it was familiar to him in an odd way. It was the kind of quiet that came with responsibility—a kind of weight, one he wasn’t used to but couldn’t ignore.

The boy’s gaze was still fixed on the food in front of him, as though it was something he didn’t quite trust. Chuuya had seen this before—he could recognize the hesitation in the kid’s posture, the stillness in his hands as they hovered over the pancakes. He wasn’t sure if it was the food itself or the situation. Maybe both. Chuuya could imagine how it must feel, sitting in a place so unfamiliar, with a person who had been nothing but kind to him but still felt like a stranger. The whole world had to seem foreign to the kid.

Chuuya leaned back in his seat, not pushing him but giving the boy a moment. It was important. That’s what he told himself. He wasn’t sure how to help the kid open up, but he had to try. There was no other option now.

“Hey,” Chuuya started, his voice casual but with an underlying softness. “So… what do you like to do? Anything fun?”

The question was simple, and it wasn’t a demand. He wasn’t asking for a life story—just a little something to break the ice, to make things feel less heavy. But the boy didn’t respond immediately. He continued to push the fork around the pancakes, making small circles on the plate, barely cutting into the soft layers. Chuuya waited, his hands wrapped around the warm mug of coffee, the bitter liquid cooling in the cup as the seconds stretched on.

Finally, the boy spoke, though his voice was quiet and uncertain.

“I… like drawing,” he said, his eyes flickering up for a brief moment before he quickly looked back at his food.

“Drawing?” Chuuya repeated, raising an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected that answer. “You draw, huh? What do you draw?”

The boy’s fingers paused, his hand hovering over the pancakes as if he was thinking. There was a long silence before he finally answered, his voice even quieter than before.

“Animals,” he muttered. “I like drawing animals.”

The boy glanced up again, his eyes meeting Chuuya’s for the first time in several moments. It was a fleeting connection—just a quick flicker of a glance—but it felt like progress. He bit his lip, as if unsure whether he should continue.

Chuuya leaned back in his seat, taking a slow sip of his coffee. His eyes flickered to the boy again, who was now picking at his food a little more deliberately. He was still cautious, but at least he was eating. That was something.

A moment of silence passed between them, the air thick with the boy’s unspoken thoughts and Chuuya’s own internal musings. The café was peaceful, the staff moving around with practiced ease. No one seemed to pay them much attention anymore. The initial stares had faded, and now it was just the two of them—Chuuya and the boy, sitting in their booth, sharing a quiet breakfast.

The boy was still picking at his pancakes, taking small bites, but there was an undeniable sense of tension that lingered in his body. His shoulders were hunched, his back pressed into the seat as if he wanted to make himself as small as possible. It was strange, how someone could seem so far away even when they were sitting right in front of you.

“Kid,” Chuuya said gently, breaking the silence again, “You wanna try something else? There’s more stuff on the menu. Maybe something sweet.”

The boy didn’t answer at first. He just kept eating his pancakes, his fingers trembling slightly as he lifted the fork to his mouth. Chuuya watched him, wondering if the boy had any idea of how much his anxiety weighed on Chuuya. Every tiny movement, every quiet hesitation felt like it weighed a ton. Chuuya wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to being responsible for someone else—especially not like this.

Finally, the boy spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m… I’m fine,” he said, almost too quietly for Chuuya to hear.

“Yeah?” Chuuya asked, leaning forward a bit. “Okay. Just making sure.”

But there was something else in the boy’s voice. Something Chuuya couldn’t ignore.

“What’s wrong?” Chuuya asked, his tone still gentle but tinged with curiosity. “Something else bothering you?”

The boy hesitated for a long moment, his fingers fiddling with the fork. It looked like he was fighting with himself—whether to speak or to keep quiet. Chuuya didn’t press, but his patience was wearing thin. He needed to know what was going on inside the kid’s head.

After a long silence, the boy finally let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders slumping as if he were letting the weight of the question settle in.

“I don’t know…” The words came out soft and uncertain. “I don’t… I don’t like… this. I don’t like. People.”

The confession hit Chuuya like a stone, though he kept his expression neutral. He had been expecting something like this—the boy was obviously uneasy, but hearing it out loud felt like an unexpected punch in the gut. Chuuya leaned back in his seat, studying the boy’s face for a moment.

“People, huh..?” Chuuya said, his voice softer now, understanding settling over him. “Yeah, I get that. But it’s just me, alright? Just me and you. No need to worry about anyone else.”

That would technically change soon, But the kid.. Maybe understood...??

He really needed to think of a better name than Kid...

The boy didn’t respond immediately, but his fingers stopped trembling, and Chuuya thought he might’ve relaxed just a fraction. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“You want to head out soon?” Chuuya asked, still keeping his voice casual.

The boy nodded, but he didn’t say anything else. His food was mostly gone now—just a few scraps left on the plate. Chuuya took a final sip of his coffee and stood, stretching his arms as he slid out of the booth.

“Well, let’s go then,” Chuuya said. “You ready?”

The boy stood up too, his hand instinctively reaching for Chuuya’s jacket again. There wasn’t any hesitation now, no anxiety in the way his fingers clutched the fabric. Maybe he was finally trusting him?

Either that or the kid had amazing taste in jackets. Chuuya is happy no matter which answer.

Together, they walked toward the counter to pay. The waitress gave them both a small smile as Chuuya handed over the money. The kid didn’t seem to notice; his gaze was fixed on the door.

As they walked out of the café and into the fresh air, the boy seemed slightly calmer, the burden of the breakfast and bike ordeal behind them. Chuuya didn’t speak much. He let the silence linger, and for a brief moment, he allowed himself to think that maybe they were getting somewhere.

But then, the kid stopped dead in his tracks.

“Where are we going?” the boy asked quietly, looking up at Chuuya for the first time that morning. The question was simple, but it felt significant.

“We’re going upstairs,” Chuuya replied with a small smile. “To the Agency.”

Notes:

If Dazai sounds autistic in this... That's because I'm autistic lol
I had a version of this where the waitress has a name and where they're standing, But I shortened it a ton so there was less describing your interest away lol So if it suddenly says standing or a random name— IT'S 2AM I'M TRYING MY BEST I PROMISE.
I have a different plot in mind for the next chapter, But I'd hate to see the time spent on this chapter to go to waste. So, Here's a... BORING CHAPTER, AGAIN!! EVERYONE CHEER FOR THE BORING CHAPTER!!! HORRAH! guys i'm half asleep i'm so unfunny right now that its, well, actually not funny. wait no now i'm laughing BAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHHAHA okay chill out girl
sigh ;-;
guys, it was so tempting to make dazai say he draws with the blood of his victims or people he has killed BUT SIGH I CAN'T... and it's not the style i want i SUPPOSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
Lolll

Archive of Our Own^beta

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dazaiisml

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Chapter 1: Just Wanted Some Wine...

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Chapter 2: I Got My Wine... But...

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Chapter 3: I'm Not Some Babysitter... But Akutagawa Can Be

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Chapter 4: Cleaning And Arrangements

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Chapter 6: Motorcycle Incident

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Chapter 7: Breakfast Chats

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