Lately I've Been Feeling Not Alive // But You Bring Me Back To Life

by Chuuyas_Cup_Of_Wine

Summary:

Chuuya just got accepted to his dream university, to which he wanted to go ever since middle school. Everything he worked for is falling into place, though he doesn't meet his roommate, who he was so excited for yet.
That is until one fateful night....

Or I went over to your room because you were blasting music to find you lying in a pile of pillows sobbing and listening to some love song and now I don't know what to do

Or Chuuya and Dazai being complete idiots in love

Updates every Sunday!!!
___________
Title from Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny

TYSM FOR 200 HITS AHHH

Notes:

Please read all of this (*´∀人):
Dear reader thank you so so much for reading this!!! <3 This is my first fanfic, like mentioned in the tags and the comments are really keeping me alive lol (go ahead and leave a comment and some kudos when you are done with reading).
Beforehand I want to mention:
-English is not my first language!
-I have not read the full manga or stormbringer yet!
-If you have any problems with what I wrote, please don't be disrespectful or attack my personally!!

Thank you for reading this, you are really doing me a favor. Enough talking now, here is the fic!

Chapter 1: Chapter 1

“Are you sure you have everything, lad?”, Kouyou asked Chuuya while frowning, looking at his luggage. “Yes, for the 5th time, I have everything you don’t need to worry, ane-san”, Chuuya smiles at Kouyou, trying to make her a little less worried, while closing the trunk of Kouyou's black Mercedes.

Ever since he was a small boy Kouyou had driven him to school and to visit friends, since his parents weren’t around. That was when Chuuya realized, this would probably be the last ride which he will have with kouyou in this car for longer than he would like.

“If I am completely honest, it’s really hard for me not to worry right now. How could I just let my little boy go into the big, wide world without worrying? You will be all alone and after my job here, I will have to go home and it would take hours for me to drive here if something happened! Are you sure this is a good idea? We can still drive home and just watch a movie at home, while eating popcorn and you can get a job at home, in Yokohama.", she suggested, now looking like she was on the verge of tears.

Chuuya thought about it for a moment, but there was no way he could just go home and abandon all of the dreams he worked for so hard.

Ever since he was in middle school he knew where he wanted to go: Kyoto. He studied way harder than any of his friends did, acing every class and working at a department store ever since he was fifteen to save up for the college fees and in the end, it all paid off.

The only obstacle he will have to face now is his sister trying to get him to stay, and then, after all this time, he will finally be at his dream university.

Chuuya stepped forward and pulled Kouyou into a tight hug, pressing his face briefly against her shoulder. She smelled faintly of jasmine and cigarette smoke—so familiar it ached. For a moment, she didn't move. Then her arms wrapped around him tightly, like she wasn’t ready to let go.

“I’m literally 18, Ane-san,” he mumbled into her blazer. “I can handle myself.”

“You're still my little boy, no matter how old you’ve gotten,” Kouyou whispered. Her voice wavered slightly. “I remember when you were seven and swore you’d never leave my side. You wouldn’t even sleep alone after watching that stupid horror movie.”

Chuuya pulled back, rolling his eyes with a grin. “That clown was terrifying, okay? I was a kid.”

She laughed softly, wiping under her eye before her mascara could smear. “And now you're off to Kyoto. A whole city away. It feels like just yesterday I was teaching you how to tie a tie.”

“I still do it the way you showed me,” Chuuya said, smiling gently. “And if I forget, I’ll call you, deal?”

Kouyou looked at him, long and hard. “If you don’t text me by six, I swear—”

“You’ll be on my doorstep, ready to commit murder. Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said with a teasing grin, stepping back with a wave.
“I really have to go now or I’ll miss the entrance ceremony. Bye Ane-San!”, he said as he waved goodbye to Kouyou, walking to the big entrance, leading him to all he had ever wished for.

Right before the big, white, wooden door he stopped one last time, turning around to see if Kouyou was still there. And as expected she was still sitting in her car, her usually perfect mascara now smudged, giving him a reassuring smile. He smiled back and turned to the entrance, opening the door and walking inside.

The entrance ceremony dragged on for nearly an hour, but once it was over, students spilled out of the hall in all directions.

Now Chuuya could finally go to get his dorm key.

He was already really excited for his roommate. Chuuya really hoped that he would get someone nice and become friends with them. Maybe they could even be his study partner and show them around in the city if they lived in Kyoto before.

He has heard a lot of bad stories from his friends, about how they had gotten awful roommates, making their kitchen messy or randomly bringing girls or boys over for hook-ups at their apartment, when they were trying to sleep. Chuuya pictures himself, lying awake, staring at the ceiling while his roommate laughed with someone in the kitchen. No, he needed quiet, not chaos.

Chuuya followed the crowd of new students before realizing—he had no idea where the dorms were.

Damn it.

Chuuya looked around for someone who was still there to ask, and spotted a guy with gray hair and a black strand in his hair. His haircut looked pretty… experimental, but it wasn’t like chuuya was in the right to say anything against it, when his hair looked awful ever since he tried to cut his hair in middle school to look more like the boys on his pinterest for you page and it obviously didn’t work.

The guy’s outfit looked pretty simple. Gray slacks and black boots with a black belt from which he had some chains hanging, paired with a black dress shirt and a brown jacket overneath.

After a few more seconds Chuuya found the courage to go up to him.
“Hey, excuse me?”, Chuuya asked, standing a few steps away from him.
The boy turned to him with a friendly expression, his mismatched eyes catching the light—one silver, one almost violet. His smile was bright and easy, and for some reason, it immediately settled something in Chuuya's chest.

“Oh, hi! Do you need anything?” he asked, brushing a strand of gray hair behind his ear.

He seems nice, Chuuya thought, shoulders relaxing just a bit. Most people gave him weird looks for his fashion sense—or his height. But this guy didn’t flinch.

“Yeah,” Chuuya said, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “I was wondering if you knew where the dorms are? I’m totally new and kinda lost already. I’m Chuuya, by the way.”

“Hi Chuuya-san! I’m Atsushi. I’m also new, so I don’t really know where the dorms are either,” Atsushi said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “But I’m waiting for some second-years who promised to show me the way. You’re welcome to tag along—if you don’t mind waiting a few more minutes.”

Relieved, Chuuya nodded. “Sure, that sounds great. And it’s just Chuuya.”

Atsushi grinned. “Cool. You said you were new? What’s your major?”

“Oh, yeah my major is literature. I’ve wanted to study that ever since I was in middle school. I really love Japanese and European literature.”, Chuuya answered,”What about you?”

“Literature? That’s so cool, one of my friends also takes literature. I take Behavioral Studies, that’s mostly psychology. It’s also in Humanities, like literature, if I recall correctly.”, Atsushi told Chuuya, while practically beaming with excitement.

After a few more minutes of them talking a woman and a guy were walking over to them. The woman was wearing a black, see-through leggings, over these she was wearing a brown, knee-length skirt and high heels, paired with a tucked in white blouse and a brown blazer over that. Her hair was black, around shoulder length, put up in a half up half down hairstyle, secured with a golden butterfly claw-clip, matching her golden butterfly-clip on the right side of her hair.

The boy was wearing round, black glasses. He also had black hair, a little shorter than shoulder-length. He wore black converse and black, loose slacks and a red, oversized sweater.

“Hey guys! I am glad you are finally here. This is Chuuya”, he said while gesturing in his direction, “he will be coming with us to the dorms since he doesn’t know the way there. Chuuya, these are Yosano-san and Ranpo-san, the friends I was talking about.”

“Hey, it’s nice meeting you guys”, chuuya greeted ranpo and Yosano.
“Same goes for me”, Yosano replied while Ranpo pulled out a bag of chips out of his backpack and started eating them, chewing loudly instead of greeting him and Atsushi.

Weird, Chuuya thought.

“Let’s go to the dorms now, most of the people should have already gotten their keys, so we won’t have to wait for long.”, Yosano suggested.

 

Once Atsushi, Yosano and Ranpo picked up their keys and said goodbye to chuuya they all went to their dorms, leaving chuuya at the reception.

“Name, please?”, the receptionist asked.
“Uh, Chuuya Nakahara, sir.”, Chuuya answered the receptionist’s question.
“Here you go, room A5158, walk down the hall, and turn right at the end of the hallway. Just walk straight until you find the door with the same number as the one on the keychain.”, the receptionist instructed while holding up a key, with a metal keychain on it, which said : “A5158”, his room number.

“Thank you, sir, have a nice day!” he said while taking the key out of his hand.
He turned around, dragging his suitcase behind him, while feeling the excitement in his stomach pool.

 

When he finally reached his room, he took his key out of his pocket and turned the key in the lock, opened the door and finally stepped in.

Chuuya stepped inside slowly, dragging his suitcase behind him with a soft thunk across the floor. The air smelled faintly like cleaning supplies and old wood—fresh, but lived-in. The room was a comfortable blend of kitchen and living space. White cabinets, a compact fridge humming in the corner, a simple microwave perched on top. A small square table sat by the window, its wooden surface catching a ray of late-afternoon sunlight.

To the left, a worn gray couch faced a small TV mounted on the wall. A few scuff marks decorated the floor near the coffee table, and the cushions sagged a bit in the middle. But it was cozy. Not home, maybe -not yet- but it could be.

He toed off his boots and slid them into a cabinet by the door. A small plaque above it read “A5158.” The key still felt warm in his hand.

There were three more doors—bedrooms and, hopefully, a bathroom. He opened the first glass door, leading to a balcony. The smell of wet earth and cut grass greeted him like an old friend. Rain still clung to the railing in fat droplets. The view wasn’t spectacular—just rooftops and a few trees—but something about it made him breathe easier.

Back inside, he opened the bedroom closest to the balcony. It was plain: a bed, desk, bookshelf, and wardrobe. But the sunlight poured through the window like it had chosen this room specifically. He let his fingers brush across the edge of the desk, imagining it covered in books and scribbled notes. He could see fairy lights hanging by the window, maybe a few old posters on the wall. Yeah. This could work.

Next Chuuya went to explore the other rooms. The first one he went into after leaving his suitcase in his room was a bathroom. It was pretty small but had everything important in it, so Chuuya couldn’t complain.

Then, Chuuya walked over to the last room he hadn’t seen. He knocked on the door, expecting his new roommate to open, but instead he was greeted with silence. I will just go and unpack. Chuuya thought.

 

After about half an hour of unpacking, folding clothes, and rearranging his bookshelf twice, Chuuya stood in the middle of his new room, hands on his hips, surveying the space.

His books were stacked neatly on the shelf by his desk, spines worn and familiar. A few had bent corners and underlined passages from nights when he couldn’t sleep and needed to reread his favorite lines to feel grounded. His favorite black jacket now hung over the back of the chair, and he’d stuck a couple of Polaroids on the corkboard above his desk—one of him and Kouyou at last year’s summer festival, grinning with their cheeks smudged with powdered sugar, and another of him and his old classmates on graduation day, all of them laughing mid-shot.

It was still a little sparse, a little too clean, but it was starting to feel like his.

He checked the time on his phone. 6:02 PM.

“Shit.”

He quickly tapped on Kouyou’s contact.

~ Chuuya: Hey, sorry it’s a little late. I just finished unpacking. Everything’s good here!

 

It took her less than a minute to respond.

~ Ane-san: TWO minutes late. I was ready to break down your door. You owe me a photo of the room or I’m driving up tomorrow.

 

Chuuya chuckled and snapped a quick picture from the doorway, sending it with a lazy thumbs-up emoji. A moment later, her typing bubble appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared again—probably starting and deleting a lecture. Finally, a heart emoji popped up, followed by:

~Ane-san: I’m proud of you, you know.

 

He smiled at the screen, then locked his phone and tossed it onto the bed.

The rest of the dorm was oddly silent. No voices in the hallway, no distant music or clatter of dishes from other rooms. Just the low hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the occasional creak from the building settling into the night.

His gaze drifted to the last door—the one that hadn’t opened all day. His roommate’s.

Still nothing. No footsteps, no voices, no bags or boxes. Just that closed door and the unsettling quiet behind it.

He considered knocking again, just to be polite, but hesitated. If someone was in there and hadn’t come out by now, they probably didn’t want to be disturbed. Or maybe they just hadn’t arrived yet. Either way, it could wait.

Yawning, Chuuya walked back into his room and pulled off his socks and jacket, tossing them onto the chair. He meant to get ready for bed properly, maybe even shower, but the mattress was calling him louder than anything else.

He collapsed face-first onto the bed, the sheets cool against his skin, and let his eyes fall shut.

Outside, the soft patter of leftover rain slid down the balcony railing. The sky had darkened to a hazy navy, and the wind made the windowpane rattle gently in its frame.

He drifted off almost immediately, body heavy with exhaustion, thoughts still half-caught between Kyoto’s unfamiliar skyline and the warmth of home.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Summary:

Chuuya shut the door and leaned against it for a second, rubbing his eyes.
He hadn’t even made it through one night.
This was not how he pictured his start to college.

Notes:

HAII GUYS!!! Thank you so so much for still being here and reading this little project of mine, this means SO FUCKING MUCH to me, y'all are the best!!
Thank you for 15 Kudos and 100 hits, when I saw that I literally started giggling and kicking my feet LOL
I am really sorry foe these chapters being so short, but this is my first fanfic and I am super fucking bad at writing long chapters lol.
Anyway, please take a look at @Chuuya_NakaharaMiso on ao3!! She's one of my best friends and really nice.

Thanks so much for reading all this, enjoy!!!

Chuuya woke to the muffled thrum of music vibrating through the walls of his dorm room.

What the fuck.

It was pitch dark aside from the faint glow of his desk charger, and the sound felt like it was crawling under his skin—low, persistent, like it was bleeding through the drywall from another universe. Still mostly caught in the thick fog of sleep, he groped blindly under his pillow for his phone. The screen lit up too bright in the dark, making him wince.

2:48 AM.

Chuuya groaned and shoved the phone under his blanket, squeezing his eyes shut. His head throbbed faintly, the kind of ache that came from being jarred out of a deep sleep. His body was still cold under the thin blanket. Perfect. Just perfect. First night in this new dorm, and he was already getting woken up by whatever this was.

For a moment, he tried to wait it out, hoping the noise would stop. Maybe his roommate had just rolled over on their phone or something. Maybe it was a fluke. He stared at the ceiling in the dark and willed the music to fade.

It didn’t.

Instead, it swelled. Louder now. Some emotional track with echoey vocals and a dramatic piano progression. A breakup song. The kind you cry to in the car at midnight after someone’s torn your heart out. Something that sounded like the artist recorded it while staring into the rain.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, dragging himself upright. His body protested with every movement as he reached for the switch on his desk lamp. The light snapped on, harsh and sterile, and Chuuya blinked rapidly against the brightness.

He dragged a hoodie over his shoulders—half-zipped, barely warm—and shoved his feet into his slippers. His hair stuck out at odd angles, and he didn’t even bother trying to fix it. What was the point?

The music was louder now that he was more awake. He could hear the lyrics clearly: something about promises and how they always break when it matters most. A soft voice, aching with pain, accompanied by a heavy synth that thudded into the floorboards like a second heartbeat.

It was coming from the room.

His roommate’s room.

Chuuya hadn’t even met the guy yet. When he’d arrived earlier that evening, the door had been locked, and there was no sign of the other half of the room’s occupant. He’d figured the guy just hadn’t moved in yet. Apparently, he was wrong.

He sighed, walked out into the hallway, and nearly flinched at the full-force bass pounding against the walls. Jesus. It sounded like a heart bleeding out in stereo. He felt the rhythm in his ribs.

He was just raising a hand to knock on the door when the sound of the dorm’s doorbell echoed down the corridor.

Chuuya jumped, heart thudding in his chest. He glanced over his shoulder and made his way to the door.

Standing outside were Yosano and Ranpo, both fully dressed and completely unbothered despite the hour. Yosano held a thermos of something that smelled like tea; Ranpo had a half-melted pint of ice cream in hand.
Yosano took one look at him and smirked. “Damn. You look like you lost a fight to your own bed.”

“Thanks,” Chuuya muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “Nice to know I’m making a great impression already. What are you two doing here?”
Ranpo yawned exaggeratedly. “Trying to sleep. That music’s loud enough to wake the dead.”

“It’s like watching a teenage breakup scene unfold in real-time,” Yosano added. “Except less poetic and more migraine-inducing.”

Chuuya sighed heavily. “It’s not me. It’s my roommate. I haven’t even met the guy. I was just about to knock when you rang.”

Ranpo tilted his head. “You sure you didn’t piss off a god or something in a past life?”

“Honestly, starting to feel like I did.”

Yosano chuckled and tugged on Ranpo’s sleeve. “Well, good luck. If he pulls a knife, text me before you bleed out.”

Ranpo was already heading back down the hallway. “My ice cream’s melting. Let’s go.”

“Smack him once for me,” Yosano called as they turned the corner.

Chuuya shut the door and leaned against it for a second, rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t even made it through one night. This was not how he pictured his start to college.

He turned back toward the hallway. The music had shifted to something slower, more ethereal. Familiar.
Space Song.

Of course. The universal anthem of broken-hearted insomniacs. The kind of song that painted loneliness with glitter and starlight.

He raised a fist and knocked again. Still no response.
This time, he knocked harder, voice raised. “Hey! You alive in there?”

Nothing.

Chuuya stared at the door, exasperated, then twisted the knob. Unlocked.

He opened the door and froze.

The room inside was softly aglow with pink LED strips that framed the ceiling and wrapped around the windows. It felt like stepping into someone else’s world—scented like cherry blossoms and fabric softener, a bit like walking through a dream. There were posters on the wall—vintage anime prints and soft pastel landscapes. A lava lamp glowed faintly on the desk. It was a surreal contrast to the generic beige dorm hallway behind him.

In the middle of it all was a nest of plushies and blankets in pastel colors. Pinks and creams, with Cinnamoroll and Hello Kitty peeking from the corners. Buried in the center of the nest was a boy—curled tight, hoodie sleeves over his hands, clutching a Cinnamoroll plush like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
His shoulders trembled. Even with the music still playing, Chuuya could hear the sound of his sobs.
For a second, Chuuya stood frozen.

Then, slowly, he stepped further into the room.
“Hey,” he said, softer now. “You alright?”

The boy didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

Chuuya crouched down beside the bed, resting a tentative hand on his shoulder.

That got a reaction.

The boy jerked like he’d been burned, wide brown eyes snapping open. Tear-streaked cheeks. Flushed skin. And holy shit-

He was beautiful.

Soft, dark curls framed his face. His eyes, though glassy and rimmed red from crying, were striking. His lips were parted slightly, like he was trying to find a word that wouldn’t come. He looked like he’d stepped out of a watercolor painting—fragile and vivid all at once.

Chuuya blinked, thrown.

“Sorry,” the boy whispered, voice hoarse.

“It’s… it’s fine. Just kinda loud.”

The boy nodded and reached over to a tablet beside him. He tapped something, and the music stopped mid-note. The silence afterward was deafening.

“I didn’t think anyone would be here yet,” he mumbled.

“Well. I am.”

Another pause. The boy sniffled.

“…You’re my roommate?”

“Chuuya.”

A faint nod. “Dazai.”

They sat in awkward quiet for a moment. Chuuya lowered himself properly to the floor, crossing his legs.

“So, uh… you okay?”

Dazai shrugged. “Does it look like I am?”

“Honestly? No.”

Dazai laughed once, sharp and short. “Fair.”

Chuuya hesitated. “Do you… wanna talk about it?”

Another shrug. Then: “He left.”

“Who?”

“Fyodor.”

Chuuya blinked. “Ex?”

Dazai nodded.

“He said I was too much. Or not enough. Depends on the mood. Said I was exhausting. That he needed someone quieter.”

Chuuya didn’t respond. He just sat beside him, steady and still.

Dazai reached for a Hello Kitty plush and hugged it tight. “I didn’t want to keep the plushies. Thought it would hurt too much. But I couldn’t throw them out.”

“That’s not stupid,” Chuuya said quietly.

“I didn’t mean to play the music that loud. I just didn’t want to hear my own thoughts.”

“I get it.”

They sat there, wrapped in quiet. The room smelled like too-sweet perfume and the kind of comfort found in bubble baths and candle stores. It was overwhelming and oddly peaceful.

Dazai peeked out. “Do you think I’m weird?”

“I think you’re heartbroken.”

Another beat. Then, softly: “You wanna stay?”

Chuuya blinked. “In here?”

Dazai nodded.

Chuuya left. He returned with water, tissues, and a bag of shrimp chips. On impulse, he also brought one of his own pillows—soft and worn.

Dazai took the water with both hands. “Thank you.”

Chuuya flopped beside him. “You like Sanrio a lot, huh?”

“I like things that are soft and cute.”

Fair.

Eventually, Dazai leaned lightly against Chuuya’s shoulder. He felt too light. Like he hadn’t eaten or slept properly in days. Chuuya didn’t move. Just sat there, letting the silence wrap around them like a second blanket.

Dazai’s breathing evened out. Chuuya glanced down.
Asleep.

Face tear-streaked, lips parted, hands clutching Cinnamoroll.

Chuuya tugged the blanket over both of them.
Then came the whisper: “…thank you.”

Chuuya didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

He leaned his head lightly atop Dazai’s, letting the quiet hum of the pink lights lull him back to sleep.

And just like that, something fragile began to settle between them— a kind of quiet neither of them wanted to break. Something tentative. Something new.

Something shaped like healing.

And maybe, just maybe, the start of something that wouldn’t hurt.

Outside the dorm, the campus slept. The trees whispered in the wind, and the city lights in the distance blinked like sleepy stars. Somewhere far away, a siren wailed and faded into nothing. Inside that softly glowing room, two strangers rested in the aftermath of heartache.

And for the first time in a long time, neither of them felt entirely alone.

In the pale quiet of dawn, the room was still. Chuuya stirred first, blinking blearily as the sky lightened behind the blinds. Dazai remained curled beside him, breathing slow and even. Something about the sight made Chuuya’s chest tighten—protective and soft all at once. Maybe today wouldn’t be easy. Maybe none of this would be. But in this small moment, there was something like peace.

And that was enough.

Notes:

Thanks for reading!!
Please leave kudos and comments, literally what keeps me going and motivates me. Every single kudo, comment and hit makes me so happy :3
Feedback is appreciated. Have a WONDERFUL day hehe <3333

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Notes:

I am so so sorry for not posting yesterday, but my mom took my phone 🥀. Anywaysssss here is chapter 3 !! :D

When Chuuya woke up again, it was to the gentle hum of soft pink LED lights and the faint scent of cherry blossom body mist. His back ached slightly, and his legs were tangled in something. a blanket? A limb?

He blinked groggily, then squinted against the pastel glow of Dazai’s room. Everything was… still very pink. Still very plush. Still very Dazai.

Then it hit him.

He wasn’t in his own bed.

He tilted his head just enough to glance down and immediately wished he hadn’t.

His hand was under a thigh.

More specifically, Dazai’s thigh. Covered in black shorts that definitely hadn’t been visible under the oversized pink hoodie he was wearing last night.

What the-

Chuuya’s breath hitched as he slowly pulled his arm out from under Dazai like it was caught in a bear trap. Dazai shifted but didn’t wake, just curled up tighter around a Cinnamoroll plush, lips slightly parted.

Chuuya sat up fast, heart racing. His hair was a mess, his hoodie was bunched up, and he was ninety percent sure there was a Hello Kitty sticker stuck to his sleeve.

The clock on Dazai’s nightstand blinked at him.

9:02 AM.

“Shit.”

He scrambled to his feet, trying not to step on a stray Pompompurin pillow as he grabbed his phone off the carpet. A text from Kouyou sat unread at the top of the screen.

Ane-san
I’ll be at the café at 2. Don’t be late. Wear something clean. And for the love of god, no skull rings.

He groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. The soft pink glow of the room was starting to make him nauseous or maybe that was just the realization that he had, in fact, fallen asleep beside the weirdest boy he had ever met, in a nest of plushies, after comforting him through a full-on mental breakdown.

And Dazai wasn’t subtle. Chuuya could already imagine the smug comments that were coming once he woke up.

As if on cue, a sleepy voice behind him said, “Chuuuyaaa~ You're already leaving me? After all the cuddles?”

He turned around sharply.

Dazai was propped up on one elbow, the blanket draped lazily over his hips. His hair was a fluffy mess, and his eyes were still puffy from crying the night before, but the smirk on his face was alive and well.

“I knew you were into me,” Dazai said with a grin. “You totally snuggled up on your own last night.”

“I did not snuggle,” Chuuya snapped, snatching his phone charger off the floor. “I tolerated your emotional breakdown because I’m a decent human being.”

“Aww, that’s not what your hand was saying under my thigh, Chibi.”

Chuuya turned bright red. “I was asleep!”

“Sure you were.”

“I swear to god-”

“Chuuyaaaa, don't lie to yourself,” Dazai sing-songed, rolling onto his back and hugging his Cinnamoroll plush like it was some sort of smug mascot. “I’m soft. I’m emotionally damaged. I have aesthetic lighting. Of course you fell for me.”

“You're insufferable.”

“You stayed.”

That one made Chuuya pause.

He stared at Dazai for a second, mouth half open, but no words came out. Instead, he huffed, turned on his heel, and stomped toward the door.

“I’ve got errands to run and people to meet. Try not to trauma-dump on anyone else while I’m gone,” he snapped.

“Bye, roommate~” Dazai called sweetly after him. “Don’t get trampled by normal-sized people!”

Chuuya slammed the door.

 

---

The sun outside was much too bright.

Chuuya squinted as he stepped out of the dorm and adjusted his coat. The air was thick with the warmth of late summer, cicadas screaming in the trees, and the distant sound of traffic coming from the main road.

His head still felt foggy. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Or the emotional whiplash of last night. Or maybe it was the overwhelming scent of whatever strawberry-sugar-perfume Dazai had doused his plushies in.

He checked his list on his phone:

-New pens and folders for literature class

-Notebooks

-Toothpaste

-Something edible that wasn’t vending machine ramen

-Meet Kouyou at 2 PM

 

He sighed and made his way toward the bus stop near the campus gates, dropping onto the metal bench with a tired thud. A couple of students passed by, one of them dragging a suitcase, another laughing loudly over the phone. Everyone else seemed… normal. Calm. Rested.

Meanwhile, Chuuya felt like he’d just been emotionally dropkicked by a Disney princess in the middle of a breakdown.

The bus rolled up ten minutes later, the air-conditioned interior hitting his skin like a blessing. He paid his fare, slumped into a seat near the back, and stared out the window as the buildings of Kyoto rolled past.

The city was busy, buzzing with students, street vendors, and clusters of tourists trying to navigate the narrow alleys near the shopping arcades. Chuuya got off two stops later, right in front of a small stationery shop.

He liked this place already. Wooden floors, soft jazz music playing over the speakers, and a wall entirely dedicated to fancy gel pens. Heaven.

He browsed for a while, grabbing a black notebook with gold trim, a handful of pens (some scented, which he definitely didn’t realize until later), and a new pencil case shaped like a fox.

After that, he made a quick stop at the corner drugstore for toothpaste and some snacks and lingered maybe a little too long by the wine isle. Eventually, with two full bags in hand, he sat at a shaded bench near the café where he was supposed to meet Kouyou.

It was nearly two. Right on time.

And sure enough, a sleek black Mercedes rolled into view a few minutes later, parking with the kind of practiced elegance only Kouyou could manage.

Chuuya stood, waving.

Kouyou stepped out in low heels and a cream silk blouse, hair swept up into a perfect bun, red lipstick unbothered by the heat.

“My god,” she said, eyeing his tired face. “You look like you slept in a garbage bag.”

“Good afternoon to you too,” Chuuya muttered, trying to fix his hair in the café window’s reflection.

Once they were seated inside, the waitress brought over two iced coffees and a slice of matcha cake. Kouyou took one look at him over her cup and said, “Talk.”

“What?”

“You have that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The ‘I want to punch something but legally can’t so I’ll settle for passive-aggressively insulting it’ look.”

Chuuya exhaled, took a long sip of coffee, and finally said, “My roommate.”

“Ah.”

“His name is Dazai. And he’s, he’s, so annoying.”

Kouyou raised an eyebrow. “Define annoying.”

“Talks too much. Cries in the middle of the night. Blasts breakup songs at 2 a.m. Sleeps with a wall of Sanrio plushies. His room smells like a bath bomb exploded.”

Kouyou sipped her coffee, unconvinced. “And you stayed in his room?”

Chuuya flushed. “He was having a breakdown. I’m not a monster.”

“Hmm.”

“What’s with that hmm?”

“Nothing.”

“Kouyou.”

“I’m just wondering how you went from grumbling about being too tired for romance to sleeping in the same bed as a boy wrapped in pastel lighting and trauma.”

“It wasn’t like that! It was like… a humanitarian crisis. A one-time pity stay.”

“Of course it was.”

Chuuya scowled at his cake.

“He said he likes soft things that can’t hurt him,” he muttered after a while.

Kouyou didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she set her fork down.

“…And you didn’t recognize yourself in that description?”

Chuuya blinked.

“…What the hell is that supposed to mean? You had to tell me to not wear skull rings. How the fuck am I soft.”

Kouyou just gave him that smile, the one that made him feel like she already knew exactly how the next few weeks of his life were going to unfold.

“You’ll see,” she said, finishing her cake.

—-
Chuuya pushed open the dorm door, the smell hitting him before he even stepped inside, a thick, acrid cloud of smoke and burnt food that made his nose wrinkle in disgust. He barely had time to register the sight before he strode into the kitchen and nearly dropped his bags.

Dazai was standing in front of the stove, holding a charred spatula in one hand and a frying pan in the other. The pan’s contents looked like something that had seen the apocalypse: blackened chunks of what might have been vegetables, swimming in a suspiciously burnt sauce. The stove itself was stained with burnt residue, and a tea towel was smoldering dangerously close to the burners, wisps of smoke curling up lazily.

“Oh,” Dazai said with a lopsided grin, as if this was all perfectly normal. “Welcome home, Chuuya. I was just experimenting with some culinary arts.”

Chuuya stared. “Experimenting? You almost set the kitchen on fire!”

Before Dazai could answer, a small flare-up caught the edge of the tea towel, and Chuuya reflexively stomped it out, dragging the scorched cloth away from the stove. The acrid smell thickened the air.

Dazai watched with mock innocence. “Okay, okay, maybe the ‘experiment’ was a little less successful than I imagined.”

Chuuya rubbed his temples, trying to suppress the rising irritation and the faint pang of amusement. “What the hell did you even try to make?”

“Japanese curry,” Dazai said, as if that should clear everything up. “But then I got distracted by some deep philosophical YouTube videos on the meaning of suffering and, well… you see the result.”

Chuuya glanced dubiously at the blackened pan. “You distracted yourself into burning food? Seriously?”

Dazai shrugged, looking sheepish. “I might have underestimated how long it takes to simmer curry properly.”

Chuuya sighed, setting his bags down with a thud. “You’re lucky I got back when I did, or this whole place would’ve gone up in flames.”

Dazai stretched, a playful glint in his eye. “Since you’re here, want to fix me something good? I’m starving.”

Chuuya blinked, caught between irritation and reluctant fondness. “Fine,” he said, rolling up his sleeves. “But first, help me clean this mess.”

With that, the two of them set to work. Chuuya wiped down the counters and stove top, scrubbing off the worst of the burnt bits, while Dazai rinsed the pans and gathered up the ruined ingredients. Despite the disaster, Dazai hummed happily, clearly enjoying the distraction from his earlier mood.

Once the kitchen was halfway presentable again, Chuuya grabbed a fresh frying pan and some eggs from the fridge. He cracked them into a bowl and whisked quickly, calling over to Dazai.

“Grab the carrots and bell peppers from the fridge. Chop them up.”

Dazai grabbed a knife and started clumsily chopping under Chuuya’s watchful gaze. “Hey, you’re pretty bossy.”

Chuuya snorted. “I have to be. Otherwise, you’ll burn down the dorm.”

The sizzle of eggs hitting the pan filled the room, warm and inviting. Dazai stood close, watching Chuuya work, eyes brightening with anticipation.

When the omurice was finally plated, perfectly golden eggs wrapped around fluffy rice mixed with colorful veggies, Chuuya grabbed two bowls and they sat on the floor, backs resting against the fridge.

Dazai took a bite, his eyes closing in delight. “Okay, I admit it. This is amazing.”

Chuuya smirked, picking at his own food. “Maybe next time, stick to watching cooking videos instead of philosophy ones.”

Dazai chuckled. “Where’s the fun in that?”

They ate in companionable silence for a moment, the quiet only punctuated by the soft clink of utensils.

After the last bite, Dazai looked up with a mischievous grin. “Same time tomorrow?”

Chuuya groaned but smiled. “Don’t push your luck.”

And even as the sun dipped lower outside, the warmth in that tiny kitchen lingered, not from the cooking, but from the rare, simple peace they found in each other’s company.

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Notes:

I am really sorry for this chaoter being late again. School just started and I am already so fucking over this 💔
I've sort of been facing a writer's block too, so that makes it even worse. I really hope this chapter doesn't seem too rushed.

Tysm for all the support!!! <3 We almost reached 300 hits :D

Chuuya had never been good at pretending things didn’t bother him. Especially not when “things” included a roommate who nearly burned down the kitchen, flirted like breathing, and had tear tracks on his face one night and smug grins the next.

It has been a couple of weeks now, since Chuuya moved into his dorm and started attending university.

Ever since then he has been feeling unsure about his roommate.

All he knew was that it was confusing. It was exhausting and it was… a lot.

So when he woke up the next morning, thankfully in his own bed this time he braced himself before even getting out of the covers.

He padded into the kitchen, half-expecting another disaster.

Instead, Dazai was already there, standing on a step stool, reaching for the top shelf in the cabinet.

Wearing a pink apron.

Chuuya blinked.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Dazai turned, grinning over his shoulder. “Trying to reach the cinnamon. I’m baking.”

“…Baking what?”

“Therapeutic cookies.”

Chuuya stared. “That’s not a real category of dessert.”

“It is if you’re sad enough.”

Chuuya rubbed his face. “It’s eight in the morning.”

“Sadness has no schedule.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Chuuya crossed the kitchen and grabbed the cinnamon off the top shelf for him. Dazai took it with a flourish.

“You’re an angel, Chuuya.”

“I’m about five seconds from throwing you into the trash.”

Dazai just hummed, turning back to his mixing bowl. He had flour on his cheek, sugar on the counter, and was somehow managing to make baking look like performance art. Chuuya hated how effortlessly charming he was. Even in an apron.

Chuuya reached for the kettle to make tea. “You’re cleaning the kitchen after this.”

“Would I leave my darling roommate to suffer the aftermath of my emotional baking journey?” Dazai batted his lashes.

“Yes. Yes, you would.”

“Okay, fair.”

They didn’t speak much after that. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was domestic in a weird, slightly chaotic way. Dazai mixed and stirred and muttered to himself about “healing trauma with chocolate chips,” and Chuuya sipped his tea while scrolling through his emails.

When the cookies finally came out of the oven, Dazai presented them like a proud child.

“They’re ugly,” Chuuya said bluntly.

“They’re emotionally complex,” Dazai corrected.

He shoved one into Chuuya’s hand. Chuuya sniffed it suspiciously, then took a bite.

It was… good. Warm. A little too sweet, but soft in the center.

Chuuya looked at Dazai warily. “You made this?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I’m full of secrets.”

“Most of them probably deeply concerning.”

“Still counts.”

𝜗𝜚˚⋆༘ೀ⋆.˚•｡ꪆৎ

Later that day, they walked together to an almost empty bookstore a few blocks from campus. Dazai had mentioned it casually the night before, something about “the only place in Kyoto that smells like coffee and old paperbacks.” Chuuya had rolled his eyes, but agreed to go anyway.

It took about thirty minutes until they arrived, but the long walk was definitely worth it, in Chuuya’s opinion.

It was exactly like Dazai had described before. The place was small and dimly lit, the shelves packed tightly with cracked-spine paperbacks and faded hardcovers. The owner was a silent old man in a cardigan who gave them a nod and promptly ignored them for the rest of the visit.

Chuuya wandered toward the philosophy section, flipping through titles with frowns of varying intensity. Dazai, meanwhile, made a beeline for the poetry, instantly making his way to the poetry books, written by depressive, old men.

“Of course,” Chuuya muttered under his breath.

A few minutes later, Dazai called out, “Hey, Chuuyaaaa~”

Chuuya turned, instantly suspicious. “What.”

Dazai held up a book with a smirk. Love Poems for the Emotionally Unavailable.

Chuuya was already so done with this.

“I found your autobiography.”

Chuuya turned back to the shelf. “I will leave you here.”

“Aw, don’t be shy. I’ll even read you a poem.”

“You read me even a single line and I swear I’ll-”

“Your hands never held me but your silence always did,” Dazai read aloud, dramatically placing a hand over his heart.

Chuuya turned bright red. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m insightful. And possibly a little sleep-deprived.”

“Sleep more. Talk less.”

But Dazai just laughed, the sound soft and genuine in the quiet of the bookstore.

Chuuya looked at him from the corner of his eye, curly, brown strands of soft hair falling into his face, book pressed to his chest, the faint remnants of sadness still clinging to him like smoke. He was ridiculous. He was charming. He was annoying.

And he was starting to feel dangerously real.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆༘ೀ⋆.˚•｡ꪆৎ

That night, Chuuya was curled up on the couch with a book when he heard soft footsteps and the crinkle of a blanket.

Dazai appeared beside him, already dragging his comforter and two plushies under one arm. He didn’t say anything, just looked at Chuuya like he was waiting for a signal.

Chuuya sighed and scooted over without a word, making room for dazai to sit down right next to him.

Dazai dropped down beside him, blanket pulled over their laps, and settled in like this was the most natural thing in the world.

It was, for them at least.

They read in silence for a while. Chuuya’s book was a collection of short stories, Dazai was still flipping through his dumb poetry.

At one point, Dazai leaned against him, head on his shoulder again.

Chuuya didn’t move.

“…Do you always let people stay?” Dazai asked after a long while, his voice quiet.

Chuuya blinked. “What?”

“People. When they’re like… this.”

Chuuya didn’t answer right away, lost in thought for a few moments, before looking at dazai’s face again.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I guess I just… don’t like leaving people alone when they’re clearly not okay.”

Dazai was quiet again.

“…No one ever stayed before.”

“Well,” Chuuya muttered, “get used to it.”

Another silence.

“I think I’m getting better.”

Chuuya turned slightly to look at him.

Dazai’s eyes were still tired, but softer. Less broken around the edges.

“I mean, I still want to scream sometimes. But not every second,” he continued. “And I don’t feel like I’m drowning every time I wake up.”

Now that Chuuya was thinking about it, Dazai really has changed, ever since Chuuya moved in.

In the beginning dazai always seemed tired and he basically stopped talking in the evening. He has gotten way happier though

Chuuya felt something tug in his chest. “That’s… good.”

“You think I’m annoying, don’t you?”

“Extremely.”

Dazai smiled.

Chuuya nudged him with his elbow. “But also… tolerable.”

“High praise.”

They sat like that for a while longer, reading, heads bumping occasionally, the quiet kind of warm and filled with the sound of pages turning and hearts settling.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆༘ೀ⋆.˚•｡ꪆৎ

At around 11 p.m., Dazai finally stirred and said, “You ever wanna just… disappear?”

Chuuya didn’t even look up. “Like, existentially? Or in the ‘change your name and move to the mountains’ kind of way?”

“Both.”

“Sure. Who doesn’t.”

Dazai was quiet. Then, almost too softly:

“If I ever did, would you come find me?”

Chuuya froze.

He closed his book slowly, looked down at Dazai.

Would he give up all his dreams, just so the brunette wouldn’t be alone?

Chuuya nodded.

“Yeah. I’d find you.”

Dazai didn’t smile this time.

But he looked like he wanted to cry.

Instead, he leaned in, forehead pressed lightly to Chuuya’s shoulder, the only sound in the room the distant hum of the fridge and the thrum of their breathing.

When he finally spoke again, it was a whisper.

“Thanks.”

Chuuya rested his head lightly against Dazai’s.

“Anytime.”

𝜗𝜚˚⋆༘ೀ⋆.˚•｡ꪆৎ

They fell asleep on the couch like that, tangled under the blanket, surrounded by books and empty teacups.

And for the first time in a long while, neither of them woke up crying.

Just two boys in a dorm that smelled faintly like cookies and healing, tangled in the soft, slow beginning of something new.

Something breakable. But maybe… something real.

Notes:

Comments and Kudos are what keep me going, please leave some if you enjoyed this chapter! I apologise for it being so short (ToT)
Thanks so much for reading this ilysm, have a nice day!!!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6tLHCdCVzrFKFnZG6mmvhN?si=wqrwR5JLTdaGDdcoX6p3lA&pi=yTrsa3iMTkGOk