Chapter Text
It begins like this; Chuuya’s finished his paperwork for the day, Dazai’s gone god-knows-where, Atsushi’s chatting with him, sitting on the desk, legs swinging over the sides. It makes him look even younger, and Chuuya’s heart hurts thinking of the childhood Atsushi never got to have.
“Nakahara-san,” Atsushi is saying, and Chuuya’s already shaking his head.
“Chuuya is fine,” he says, patient, as though this isn’t his seventeenth time saying it. Atsushi is just too damn polite, but it’s sweet and born of trauma, he’s sure, so Chuuya doesn’t bother going beyond gentle reminders.
“Ah,” Atsushi says, and he flushes, again, before continuing as if nothing happened. “You’re not a very...touchy person, are you?”
Chuuya raises an eyebrow. Atsushi rushes to explain, words tripping over themselves in his haste. “I mean, I rarely see you- well- hugging anyone, for example. Except Dazai-san.”
“That shitty bastard throws himself on top of me,” Chuuya explains. He shivers just thinking of it. Cold, slimy hands everywhere.
“So you don’t like hugs?”
There’s something....disappointed in Atsushi’s tone. Chuuya softens. “Come here.”
Atsushi hesitates, so Chuuya repeats himself, opening his arms. Atsushi blinks, but hops off of the desk to slink into his arms.
Atsushi has a small frame, and he’s very slender. Chuuya resolves to treat him to more chazuke. He’d barely been more than ribs and bones when they’d met, which was concerning, but Chuuya was happy to see the situation was getting a little better. For now he just breathes, arms wrapped around Atsushi (and he’s cold, just like Dazai).
It’s oddly...nice.
Chuuya would die rather than admit it, though.
“What brought this on?” Chuuya asks lightly, trying his best not to sound concerned.
Before he can answer, Atsushi stiffens slightly, eyes locking with something over Chuuya’s shoulder. Chuuya’s protective nature kicks in, and he’s immediately whirling around, preparing to decimate whatever had put the tension in Atsushi’s shoulders.
But it’s just Dazai, looking positively angelic. “Chuuya!” he greets with wide eyes. “What’s this, I didn’t see you there? You’re too short!”
“Hah?! Why can’t you say ‘hello’ like a normal person, shit-for-brains? And I'm a normal height!”
“You’re fun-sized,” Dazai concedes, draping himself over Chuuya’s shoulders, ignoring Chuuya’s glare. Atsushi hops back on the desk, still looking a little too timid for Chuuya’s tastes. He wonders what had set him off.
“Get off of me, you bastard,” Chuuya snipes, doing absolutely nothing to throw him off. He’s just so used to this kind of thing; resistance is futile, but he has to say something to preserve his dignity.
Dazai pouts at him, face so close to his Chuuya can see his individual eyelashes. Gross. “Atsushi-kun gets to hug you, and I don’t?”
“Atsushi asked for permission beforehand.” Chuuya mutters. “Besides, this isn’t a hug.”
“Huh? Why not?”
“Hugs are reciprocal,” says Chuuya, quirking an eyebrow.
Dazai pouts again. “I can’t get one?”
Chuuya kicks him in the shins for that.
Of course not.
They’d both hate it. So much. And Dazai’s a stupid, cold, skinny bastard whose bones dig into Chuuya.