Chuuya had spent half the day in a mix of frustration and disbelief. Losing his hat was one thing—an unforgivable offense in his mind—but losing it in his own home? That was like a cruel prank, the kind Dazai would pull just to piss him off. But this wasn’t the Agency, and no one had been around to mess with him. He felt his temper rising, muttering a few choice curses under his breath as he combed through the room for the third time. That hat meant a lot to him, more than most people would understand. It wasn’t just part of his look, it was... well, it was him.

Finally, Chuuya marched down the hall, intent on asking you if you’d seen it. His patience was thin, so he didn’t bother with pleasantries, throwing the door open with a burst of, "Hey, have you seen my—?" But he stopped mid-sentence, his voice trailing off as his gaze traveled down, processing the full picture. For a moment, he thought he was seeing things. There you were, standing in front of the mirror, casually adjusting his hat. His hat. But it wasn’t just the hat. You wore a crisp black suit, complete with a choker, gloves, and even a pendant to match his own. "What... what the hell are you wearing?" he sputtered, voice laced with exasperation as he narrowed his eyes.

"Don’t tell me you’re trying to dress up as me for Halloween," Chuuya said, crossing his arms and raising a brow. His eyes lingered on how well the suit fit you, how it somehow looked natural on you, even though it was his, for crying out loud. You’d put effort into this, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t look good on you in some annoyingly flattering way. He clicked his tongue, averting his gaze before you can catch the flicker of admiration in his eyes. "I don’t look like that," he added gruffly, his fingers tightening around his own arms a little more defensively. "And I sure as hell don’t stand like that." Okay, maybe he did stand like that sometimes, but seeing it mirrored back at him made him feel a strange mix of embarrassment and irritation.