"I missed you."

You looked down at the note, your eyes tracing the flowing, somewhat messy handwriting. The message was light-hearted, but what caught your attention next was the number written below it, scrawled with the same careless elegance.

Your fingers ran over the words, feeling the slight ridges of Dazai's writing. You could sense the unspoken intention behind the gesture—a bridge between the chaos of the day and a potential future encounter.

With a sigh, you scrunched the paper note in your hand, the creases crinkling and the once-flat sheet now a compact, wadded ball. The gesture was both a release and a statement, a summary of the blend of amusement and contemplation that Dazai's intrusion had stirred within you.

"Fucking bandaged dipshit," you muttered aloud, tossing the crumpled ball of paper toward the trash can without moving from your spot on the couch.

"You missed," came a dry, amused voice.

You scoffed and looked around the room, "No shit."

Your gaze swept over the spaciousness of your house, a distinction of apartments. The room was large, with high ceilings and plenty of light filtering in through expansive windows. The space reflected your preference for privacy and tranquility—a haven away from the shared walls and constant noise of apartment living.

The thought of shared walls and noisy neighbors evoked a deep-seated frustration. You'd rather kill someone than endure that kind of intrusion into your personal space. The openness and solitude of your home provided a welcome salvation, a haven where the only disturbances were the occasional antics of friends and the mischief of your son and Chuuya.

The living room, one of the largest yet emptiest spaces in your home, stretched out around you. The couch sat prominently in the center of the room, facing the large TV mounted on the wall. Below the couch, a plush carpet added a touch of warmth to the otherwise expansive space. The TV was framed by a sleek console table, its surface neatly arranged with a few decorative items and remotes.

On the right side of the room, a door led to other parts of the house, while on the left, a staircase ascended to the upper levels. The room was framed by the soft, golden light of the afternoon sun, which streamed in through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the floor.

Behind the living room was the kitchen, a sizable area that stood almost as a separate entity from the rest of the house. It was outfitted with all the necessary appliances and counter space, but its large, open design seemed almost untouched. The kitchen was rarely used, if not by Chuuya, due to your lack of culinary skills.

Your back rested against the armrest of the couch, your legs draped comfortably over Chuuya's lap. He sat at the other end of the couch, casually snacking on popcorn, the small sounds of crunching punctuating the otherwise peaceful ambiance of the room.

The living room was quiet, save for the occasional flicker of light from the TV and the soft hum of the afternoon sun filtering through the windows. You waited for Kouyou to arrive, as she often did, to look after your son while you and Chuuya enjoyed a night out. Chuuya's relaxed posture and the way he absentmindedly tossed popcorn into his mouth suggested a sense of ease and contentment.

"He wrote some shitty ass apology?" Chuuya asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

"You bet," you replied with a dismissive wave.

Chuuya laughed, a rich, amused sound that echoed softly in the spacious living room. "As expected. Does he seriously think you'll take him back or something?"

You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. "He's probably bored and thinks of this as some kind of entertainment."

Chuuya nodded, still chuckling as he reached for another handful of popcorn. The easy, casual atmosphere of the room seemed to highlight the humor in the situation, the sunlight casting a warm, golden glow.

You rummaged through your clothes, your fingers searching for any signs of a hidden tracker. Just as you were starting to feel a hint of frustration, the sound of the doorbell echoed through the spacious living room. The sudden chime broke the silence, drawing your attention away from the search. Chuuya glanced up, his expression shifting from casual amusement to mild curiosity. 

"Looks like Kouyou's here," he said, reaching for the remote to pause the TV.

"I'll get it!" your son shouted as he sprinted down the stairs toward the door. Even though Kouyou saw only Kyouka in him, she always treated him with a kindness that made her presence a welcome one.

You heard the door open with a creak and then slam shut almost immediately. The suddenness of it only heightened your unease as you discovered what you had been dreading—a damned tracker hidden among your clothes.

With a frustrated sigh, you removed your legs from Chuuya's lap and stood up. You walked swiftly toward the door, which your child had managed to barricade with a haphazard arrangement of cupboards and other things he could find. The makeshift barrier was an endearing but flimsy attempt at security. You quickly moved your son behind you, gently but firmly guiding him out of the way.

"Chuuya," you said, glancing back at him with a decisive tone. "Move this stuff, please."

Chuuya didn't shift from his spot, but with a flick of his wrist, the items blocking the door began to move aside on their own. The makeshift barricade slowly cleared, revealing the doorframe. You swung the door open to face the person standing there, giving them a bold, unapologetic middle finger. Without a word, you slammed the door shut again, the sound echoing sharply through the house.

Chuuya snorted, a playful edge in his voice. "And then you call me a bad influence."

You turned over your shoulder, ready to shoot back a retort, but the words faltered as you caught sight of him. His appearance was striking: a sleek black turtleneck hugged his torso, its smooth fabric accentuating the sculpted lines of his physique. Over it, a white suit jacket draped with an air of refined sophistication, sharp lapels, and tailored fit highlighting the grace in his movements.

The white pants, perfectly tailored, elongated his legs and complemented the ensemble with an impeccable finish. The distinction created a dynamic visual effect that drew the eye to every detail of his appearance. The subtle sheen of the suit caught the light, creating a play of shadows and highlights that added depth to his already commanding presence.

His hair, styled with deliberate care, framed his face with a perfect balance of messiness and control, while his expression, a blend of casual confidence and playful mischief, completed the look.

Chuuya left his bowl of popcorn on the couch, the kernels scattered slightly as he stood and walked over to you. His movements were swift and deliberate, each step reflecting the grace of his tailored suit.

"Staring is rude," he said, a playful edge in his voice as he approached.

"Mother, how many times does he tell you that a day?" your son's voice broke the moment, his tone curious and slightly amused.

"A lot," Chuuya replied with a knowing smile, his eyes twinkling with a blend of pride and mischief. "But it's understandable."

You glanced at Chuuya, taking in his effortlessly stylish appearance once more. With a genuine note of admiration, you admitted, "Yeah, you do look good."

Your son tugged at both of your clothes, his impatience evident in his sharp movements. "Can you stop flirting and focus on the stalker in front of our house?"

You were about to defend yourself, a retort on the tip of your tongue. "We're not flirting—" 

But Chuuya's sudden shift in attention cut you off. His gaze snapped toward the door, his expression shifting from casual to alarmed. "Dazai is outside of our house!" 

Chuuya's voice held a sharp edge of irritation, his eyes narrowing as he processed the situation. Your son's eyebrows arched in surprise as he absorbed Chuuya's words. 

"Our?" he echoed, his confusion palpable. "Chuuya, you know this is not your house."

"Not the point." He sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes. "I thought it was a milkman or something."

"I mean, are you wrong? He did disappear to get milk a few years ago."

Your son didn't understand the joke and Chuuya didn't find it humorous. Yet, beyond the doors, a faint, melodic chuckle drifted through the air. The laugh was soft and fleeting, like the flutter of a hidden bird.

"Good one, love," Dazai's voice chimed from outside, light and teasing as if he were basking in the summer sun himself.

You turned to Chuuya, a raised eyebrow questioning the next move. "Will you throw him out or shall I?"

"I will," Chuuya says, his voice carrying the weight of an unspoken promise. As he opens the door, the last light of the setting sun spills in, painting the room in hues of amber and rose.

With a low whistle that cuts through the serene evening air, Dazai teases, "Aren't you dressed up nicely for something that isn't a date?"

"Go the fuck away," he cuts through the warmth of Dazai's playful demeanor. The summer air seems to hold its breath, the golden light now tinged with an undercurrent of tension as Chuuya's words hang in the fading sunlight.

Dazai, undeterred by the sharpness in Chuuya's voice, turns his attention to you. The warm evening light bathes you in a gentle glow, casting a soft halo around you as if the summer sun itself is highlighting your presence. Your outfit, a perfect match to Chuuya's in its careful elegance, enhances the harmony between you two.

Dazai's gaze lingers, and his smile melts into something more profound. He studies you intently, his eyes reflecting a mix of admiration and nostalgia. Each moment his gaze rests on you, it deepens his feelings, drawing forth a tide of warm, evocative memories. The more he looks, the more he is reminded of shared moments and unspoken connections, his heart swelling with a poignant sense of familiarity and affection.

Dazai's trance is abruptly shattered by two jolts of reality. It comes as Chuuya's foot connects sharply with his stomach, a sudden burst of pain that crumples him to his knees. He gasps, the warmth of his earlier feelings quickly replaced by a stinging, bruising reality.

The second shock follows swiftly—a stream of cold, unexpected water splashes across his face as your son, armed with a bright plastic water gun, giggles mischievously. The playful attack adds a layer of absurdity to his trouble, forcing Dazai to snap back to the present with a jolt.

As he struggles to regain his composure, Chuuya's and your son's expressions darken, both preparing to continue their fun. Just then, the arrival of Kouyou's car cuts through the charged atmosphere. The sleek vehicle pulls up with a soft rumble, its headlights slicing through the air. 

Kouyou steps out of the car, her presence commanding immediate attention. She waves the driver away with a practiced gesture, her eyes already scanning the scene with a sharp, discerning gaze. The arrival brings a pause, a momentary reprieve from the looming conflict, as Dazai, still kneeling and damp from the water attack, looks up with a mixture of relief and apprehension.

Her gaze shifts from Chuuya, poised for more action, to your son, still grinning with his water gun, and finally to Dazai, who is struggling to compose himself on the ground. Intrigued by the unfolding drama, Kouyou's eyes twinkle with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

"Dazai–kun, what a surprise," Kouyou says, her voice smooth with a touch of amusement as she strides over. Her elegant steps carry her to where Dazai is still kneeling, wincing from the impact and the splash of water. She pauses beside him, her gaze steady and inquisitive.

"Certainly the last person I would expect here," she continues, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in the scene. "But I guess the unexpected is your charm." 

Kouyou's gaze shifts to Chuuya and your son, her curiosity piqued. With her tone a blend of genuine intrigue and mild reproach, clearly eager to unravel the situation, she asks, "Why is he here?"

You shrug, a subtle shift of shoulders that speaks volumes in the twilight. The soft golden hues of the setting sun stretch across the room, wrapping everything in a warm embrace. With your voice blending with the serene evening air, you remark, "Must be bored and decided to bother me for entertainment," 

Dazai rises from his crouched position, brushing off his clothes with a practiced ease. His smile, warm and disarming, lights up his face as he reaches for your hands. His voice carries a gentle earnestness, "Come on, you know that's not true. I came here to mend things between us."

Yet, you pull your hands away with a deliberate movement. The firmness in your tone cuts through the summer warmth, "No, you came here to sabotage my date with Chuuya."

The words hang in the air like a cool breeze, contrasting sharply with the lingering warmth of the evening. Kouyou, observing the scene with a blend of amusement and curiosity, watches as the sun casts long, contemplating shadows.

"I thought you said it wasn't a date," Dazai remarks, his eyebrow arching in a mixture of curiosity and challenge. He folds his arms with a relaxed confidence, the evening light washing off his smile as he watches the scene unfold.

You intertwine your fingers with Chuuya's, the connection between you a subtle yet firm declaration. With your other arm, you pull him closer, resting it comfortably against his arm. The gesture is intimate, a silent assertion of your bond.

Dazai's gaze shifts to you, his eyes narrowing with a flicker of jealousy. Yet, you see through the veil of his emotion, understanding that the jealousy is born not from any personal grudge but from the deep-seated rivalry he harbors with Chuuya.

"I changed my mind," you say, your voice silky with a hint of playful malice. As you flash him a smile—a mirror of the sweet, seductive expressions Dazai often uses while flirting—the effect is striking. The smile is so perfectly replicated that it's almost unnerving, its charm twisted into a stomach-turning, eye-gouging, soul-eating grin. The depth of your mimicry is both impressive and eerie, a reminder of just how effectively you can wield such expressions.

Chuuya, catching the cue with ease, draws you closer with a gentle but firm arm around your waist. He looks at Dazai with a steady gaze, his voice a playful challenge.

"How could you not?" Chuuya says, his tone rich with affection. "After all, we've spent so many years together. I doubt anyone is as close as we are."

"How close are we talking about?" Kouyou inquires, her smile momentarily hidden behind the graceful drape of her long sleeve. Her gaze is sharp and intrigued, reflecting the subtle playfulness in her tone.

Dazai stands to the side, his expression a turbulent mix of envy and contemplation. His eyes, once bright with mischief, now hold a shadow of hurt and reflection. The playfulness has faded, leaving behind a deeper, more unsettling recognition of his feelings.

"Closer than anyone would ever guess." 

A/n; This is getting harder to update than all five of my WIPs together.