It was finally the end of the day. Chuuya dismissed his last class with a quiet sigh, the room emptying in a rush of chatter and scraping chairs. Once the final student slipped out the door, another teacher stepped inside; his husband, Dazai.

Dazai dropped into the chair across from Chuuya’s desk as if he belonged there, which, in his mind, he did. He rested his chin in his hand, watching with exaggerated patience while Chuuya marked the last of the assignments.

“When you’re finished,” he drawled, voice already laced with complaint, “can we go somewhere to eat? I’m starving…”

His eyes followed the movement of Chuuya’s pen, as though glaring at the paper might make him grade faster.