Dazai had gotten Chuuya out of training more times than either of them could count. Whether it was faked injuries, conveniently timed distractions, or outright manipulation of schedules, the brunet always seemed to have a plan.

Somehow, Chuuya ended up with better sleeping arrangements than the crowded barracks, and it was no secret who was behind that stroke of luck.

The two had snuck out of the courtyard under curfew more times than any superior dared to admit, and still, Dazai never faced consequences. His favoritism toward Chuuya was glaringly obvious—borderline shameless—and at this point, everyone knew trying to separate them was futile.

There was no use regulating what had long since become a force of habit.

—

That evening, Dazai was scheduled to attend a formal dinner—some stiff military affair he had no real interest in, save for the wine and the chance to show off. As usual, he had invited Chuuya over while he begrudgingly prepared himself, groaning at the sheer number of buttons he had to deal with.

Chuuya stood in front of him now, fingers carefully working at the knot of his tie. His touch was delicate, focused—but firm.

“Ow, ow— not so tight!” Dazai whined, his voice lilting with mock pain as he squirmed slightly.