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— — — — —
1.
Springtime at Yokohama is so much warmer compared to the places they’ve previously lived in. It truly is the right decision to finally settle down here—or so he’d like to think. Yokohama is indeed warmer, but why is it that his blood pressure feels so hot right now?
Paul Verlaine, a retired spy, tries his best to rein in his temper.
Never towards his precious, precious son, of course. No, right now, his temper is flaring up at the brat that’s currently attached to his darling like some overgrown koala.
Before he can lose his temper and start scolding this brat, Chuuya blinks up at him with watery eyes. His navy blue uniform has patches of dirt on it, but his sailor cap is unstained. He looks very adorable as always—the excellent aesthetics of this preschool is one of the reasons why they’ve chosen to enroll Chuuya here.
“Dad, are you mad?”
He instinctively blurts out, “Of course not.”
It’s the absolute truth, but he kind of regrets saying it, since the brat then triumphantly turns to his son, squishing their cheeks together in the process. “See! I told you, chibi, my predictions are never wrong.”
Chuuya’s face wavers between being awed and annoyed. He doesn’t push the brat—Dazai Osamu, child of their next-door neighbor—away. More accurately, he tries to wriggle, but the other’s bandaged arms are surprisingly spirited and manage to not get dislodged.
Dazai presses ever closer, until their noses are smushed together. “You know what this means, right, Chuuya? Since I won our bet, you’ll be mine forever, okay?”
He sighs at the brat’s impertinence and tries to draw his son closer to him by his free arm. He’s faintly surprised by the fact that Chuuya doesn’t actually start running for him, and instead stays rooted there, glaring at the brat.
“I only agreed to do one favor for you!”
“Uh-huh. And that favor is to be mine forever.”
“Y, You cheater!”
A part of him is torn between wanting to continue recording the sight of his son going on an all-out brawl and wanting to pluck him away from this brat that has a too-dangerous glint in his eye. He compromises by letting the recording extend for a minute, before using more force in picking Chuuya up and hoisting him against his chest. He pointedly glares at where the Dazai brat continues holding onto his son, one hand wrapped around his child’s ankle.
Following the principle of ‘out of sight, out of mind’, he focuses on Chuuya as he asks him for more details as to what just happened on his first day at his preschool. He’s already been informed by the principal, but he wants to hear his son’s side too.
…Though there really is not much to say on this matter. His son has apparently been goaded by their neighbor’s kid into destroying the fence separating their preschools.
“Dazai said that I’ll look cool if I did it,” Chuuya ends his explanation with that, looking close to tears. “But how can I look cool with dirty clothes?!”
“Don’t worry, darling. You’re my son so you’re always going to be cool.” He pats his son’s back and nuzzles his ear to calm him down. Then, he looks down and notices Dazai’s dark look, that single visible eye firing laser beams at him. Specifically, at the spot where he’s rubbing his son’s back. His lips twitch and he pats Chuuya again, delighted in the brat’s expression darkening.
Hmph, that will show him.
During dinner, Arthur listens in on Chuuya’s energetic retelling of his first day at school, and his first meeting with a ‘mackerel brat’.
“Seems like you’ve made a friend, Chuuya-kun,” is his husband’s conclusion after the reenactment of the victory over a fence. Understandably, this causes Chuuya to make a series of disgusted faces, fists flailing as though punching away the concept of friendship between him and Dazai.
Then, Arthur turns to him and reminds him, “Isn’t it just like our first meeting? Didn’t you try to snipe me with a pellet gun the moment you’ve seen me?”
“I could do it again, if you wish,” he retorts with a sniff. “I resent the implication that the brat is in any way similar to me.” The two of them make quick work of cleaning up the dining table, while Chuuya’s gone ahead so he could start with his nighttime bath. “You haven’t seen the look in that hellspawn’s face, Arthur. He looked like he wanted to eat our child alive.”
A pause.
“Back then, didn’t you also look at me that way? So he really is similar to y—”
A few minutes later. “Um, Dad? Why is Papa on the floor? Wouldn’t he feel cold there?”
He pats his son’s head, mussing up his curls. “Don’t worry about him, darling. He’s just busy contemplating adult things.”
— — — — —
2.
“That mackerel wrote that he had a p-p-prostheatric dream that we’re going to be married in the future,” Chuuya complains while waving off his tiny fists that still has an imprint of a gold star for class participation. Mostly due to Verlaine personally talking with Hirotsu-sensei and letting the older teacher know just how much Chuuya adores golds and stars, and also how much Verlaine’s family is donating to the school. “I don’t want to be married to a mackerel, he kicks people in his sleep!”
Said ‘mackerel’ is right there, one hand latched onto one of Chuuya’s wrists. For a young kid, there’s a smug expression on his face, as though it’s an honor to be able to latch on to his flailing, complaining son. (And he’s damn right.)
“Is that so?” He leans down and plucks Chuuya away from the brat. “Don’t worry, you can sleep with me and Arthur forever. We won’t kick you in your sleep.”
He side-eyes the brat and resists the urge to crow in victory upon seeing the other’s expression. It should be worrying to see someone so young look so murderous, but it is what it is.
By bedtime that day, Arthur reminds him, “Back when we were kids, didn’t you pretend to be a fortune teller and gave me a ‘prophecy’ where I won’t feel cold anymore if I held your hand?”
A few moments later, Chuuya comes in, bringing along his Baki-chan plush toy. “Dad, why is Papa on the floor?”
He pats his son’s head, carefully combing through his hair. “Don’t worry about him, darling. He’s just busy contemplating several life choices right now.”
He’s a bit surprised to find Chuuya scrambling to tug at his father’s night-shirt. “Papa, if you’re going to think lots, make sure you do it in bed, the floor is cold!”
He’s not like Arthur, whose body is kept in a near-perpetual state of hypothermia. But he does know that his heart is so much colder compared to everyone else’s. It’s thawed enough for Arthur, and not for the first time, he feels warm as he watches the only two people that matter in his life.
Chuuya’s hands are now on his hips as he’s seriously lecturing Arthur about how he should sleep in the middle of the bed, so that he can be wrapped around in double warmth.
He picks up Baki-can and settles the plush toy against Arthur’s back. “That way, both you and Papa can be in the middle,” he proposes, then makes sure to snap a picture of their family cuddling and oh-so-accidentally tagging a certain brat who would stew in jealousy upon seeing it.
— — — — —
3.
When he comes home after spending an hour smoothing things over with the principal of Yokohama Middle School, he spots Chuuya seated on the porch. It would have been a lovely sight to greet him, if only there’s no clingy brat squeezed beside his son.
He hears them bickering as always. It is such a shame that both their attention spans are finely attuned to each other’s presence, that they don’t notice his arrival. It’s not exactly eavesdropping, because he doesn’t even bother to hide himself.
He witnesses Chuuya fuming even as his hands are steadily wiping a cotton ball wet with alcohol against the faint scratches on the brat’s wrists. Dazai has the gall to complain, “Ow, chibikko is so rough! Truly such a brute!”
“And this ‘brute’ is the one who saved your ass, so quit complaining!”
He’s partly annoyed that Chuuya continues to allow and accept this nickname. Ever since he’s graduated from primary school, he’s started blushing in embarrassment whenever he and Arthur call him ‘darling’.
“Aw, is my dear prince asking for a reward?” Dazai asks, fluttering his eyelashes in a way that makes him want to whack the other’s head.
Thankfully, Chuuya’s indeed his son, even if the same blood doesn’t run in their veins. Chuuya whacks the brat in the head and thwaps the back of his hand too, for good measure. However, Chuuya doesn’t capitalize on it and doesn’t ask to be left alone for the rest of their days. Instead, what he says is, “Pfft, as if I could trust anything you give as a reward!”
“Mm, I see, I see, princes typically get kisses as rewards, right?”
“Huh? What the hell are you—”
He sighs and oh-so-accidentally kicks the umbrella stand in such a way that a half-dozen curved handles should knock some sense into this hellspawn attempting to kiss his son. He really should talk to Mori-sensei, suggest homeschooling for this brat, or maybe a boarding school at the other end of the world. Dazai’s smart enough to skip studying, and therefore has too much free-time trying to become a lecher at a young age, how terrible.
And it’s also terrible, how his darling son instinctively rises up so he can punch away the umbrellas before they could hit the brat’s head. Very terrible, because it leads to that Dazai practically sparkling at his son, beaming up a, “Oho, is this your way of saying that you really want that reward?” And then, quicker than humanly possible, Dazai then plants a quick peck on his son’s lips.
Chuuya ends up screaming bloody murder.
It takes him several hours to recover from being made to witness his darling’s first kiss be stolen so brazenly. Hours, because Arthur’s had to do some overtime, and therefore hasn’t plied him with backrubs and wine. The only good thing about this entire situation is that his husband has set up a foot massager beside him, and he only has to sit back and wait for a grand buffet to be served to him.
Plus, in the meantime, he gets to sit beside his son who’s blushing profusely at being made to sit through his reminders of how he’s too precious and too young to settle for a fishy brat. And then they move on to discuss the reason why he’s had to visit their middle school to begin with.
His son has apparently demolished a group of bullies that have tried to beat up Dazai. A whole wall has perished along with the bullies’ dignities.
“You do know that it’s just—” he swallows down several insults, “—Dazai-kun’s schemes, right?”
That brat is definitely the sort who’d want to see Chuuya go charging through to rescue him.
“I know, that shitty mackerel is an annoying, scheming bastard, but…” The blush that has already receded returns in full force. Chuuya squirms in his seat, before looking to the side, not daring to meet his eyes. “…He’d be even more annoying if he actually gets injured, so…”
Oh no, oh no.
Not even ten new bottles of wine can salvage this.
Later, after he’s dropped a kiss on his son’s forehead to wish him good night, he skulks to his bedroom, thinking of plans on how to forcibly transfer the hellspawn away from Yokohama.
Arthur’s been regaled with the tales of today’s heroic act during dinner, and his hands are blissfully cool over his temples. With his head on his lap, he starts to relax. The head massage does feel nice, especially since Arthur also uses the chance to comb through his hair.
“Didn’t you used to hire bullies so you’d have a reason to complain about them to me?”
…Not so nice, after all.
He tugs down Arthur’s face using his hair, winding the dark locks over his fingers. “Arthur, I know that you’re also fond of that Dazai brat, but he isn’t worthy of our son.”
“Chuuya-kun does like him though,” comes the too-calm answer.
“Our son wants to beat him up and I happily support it.”
Arthur laughs in-between their kisses. “I wonder where Chuuya-kun got his violent, dishonest tendencies from?”
“I’ve stabbed people for less,” he reminds his husband sweetly.
“I know,” and another puff of laughter, and for the meantime, his worries about his son’s romance prospects are swept away to the box that he keeps inside his mind.
— — — — —
4.
He looks on in displeasure at the uniform that’s gaping by the collarbones, no thanks to a certain brat’s machinations. Dazai’s practically a giant snake wound around his son’s body, arms hanging over petite shoulders, cheek laid out over red locks. A mutinous expression is on Chuuya’s face, but there’s also a light pink flush on him.
He scrutinizes his son’s appearance. He doesn’t see any telltale purpling bites nor does he spot any limp on him. Small mercies perhaps, that his darling is impervious to Dazai’s attempts to get into his pants.
For now, it seems that Dazai’s success has been kept above the waist, with the top two buttons missing from Chuuya’s gakuran. It’s apparently graduation tradition to ask for a beloved one’s second button of the uniform—for it’s the button that’s closest to one’s heart during the entire three years of high school.
Arthur is the one who fusses over them first. ‘Them’, because Arthur does have a soft spot for the hellspawn, especially since Dazai keeps on bribing him with books—some first editions from centuries ago.
He, on the other hand, really cannot accept this brat who keeps diaries about his son, brags about them, even. Such a lack of shame. The entries are so painfully blatant about their yearning, even if they’re couched with nonsensical things such as ‘today’s chicken karaage is too salty, chibikko should be glad I ate them off his bento’.
…In any case, he’s already warned Arthur to not say anything about how he’s also kept a growth diary for their adopted son. It’s his right as a father to dote upon his son, after all.
Unlike this brat, who thinks it’s his right to simply steal the top two buttons from Chuuya’s uniform. Then, he spots the scarf that Dazai is uncharacteristically wearing. His eyes meet with brown ones. He moves lightning-quick and untangles his own scarf so he can bundle Chuuya in it, delighting in the seething from the thwarted brat.
“It would look unsightly on your graduation pictures,” he offers as an explanation when Chuuya tries to pass his scarf to Arthur whose body temperature is always on the low side. “I simply want you to look the most beautiful for the photos.”
Upon hearing the praise, Chuuya flushes a bit, as he’s always been surprised by compliments towards his appearance. The adorable expression doesn’t last long though, because Dazai then quips, “Mm, will Chuuya even fit in the frame? Is that why you’re insisting on this hat, chibi, so that something will show up in the photos?”
The two end up causing a commotion, as always, Chuuya goaded into chasing the brat all over the place.
Arthur pokes his cheek as he looks on, watching his son get further entangled with the brat. “You still disapprove of Dazai-kun?”
“Of course I do.” A gusty exhale. “Our son deserves someone who isn’t such an annoying, scheming brat.”
The hand moves on to wrap around his shoulders, squeezing him against his husband’s side. “He did seriously ask us for permission to be Chuuya-kun’s roommate.”
“Because he’s a coward who can’t admit that he does want to ask for permission to court our son.” He sighs as he watches the brat annoy Chuuya into drawing him to a headlock, the closest the brat could get into asking for a hug in public. Truly disgraceful. He’s already lodged hundreds of complaints about the brat over the years, but he hasn’t run out of them yet. “He didn’t even top the national exams and yet he claims to be a super genius.”
Arthur’s voice is knowing. “The top scorer has to sit on the stage during the ceremony, right?”
He glares at his husband. “…you truly dote on that brat.”
“For someone to willingly score lower just because he doesn’t want to be seated away from our son during a two-hour ceremony…”
He cuts in, “I think that the Edogawa brat does seem like he could kick Dazai’s ass when it comes to exams.”
“…It does remind me of a certain someone,” Arthur says as they both watch Chuuya try to strangle Dazai with the scarf in the distance. “Someone who scored lower in the final exams just so he wouldn’t be the student representative and can therefore sit beside me the entire time.”
“You’re remembering wrong,” he denies, but tellingly doesn’t try to break away from his husband’s hold.
— — — — —
5.
It probably is too late, but he still tries. “My darling son, if you simply wish for a loyal companion, I can just give you several dogs.” He glares at the sloppily tied necktie on the other groom. “At least they come house-trained.”
Dazai hisses at him, but there’s that annoying smug look on his face. He then turns to his son, teasing, “See, even your dad thinks that you’re enough of a dog you can get married to one.”
“Shut the hell up and fix your stupid tie!”
If one has been luckily spared of their several years of courtship filled with screams, punches and death threats, one would think that they’re actually fighting. But both of them have pleased smiles on their faces, and Chuuya even helpfully straightens out the tie for his fiancé. Husband, in less than an hour.
“Eh, but you were the one who climbed me in the dressing room and ruined my suit…”
“B, Because you were so annoying!” And then, a quick glance at him. “Not that we did anything, damn it!”
Dazai rolls his eyes. “Chuuya, everyone knows we’re going to get married, they all know we do a bunch of things, such as—”
Thankfully for his ears, his son is quick to silence the brat. Further creasing the other’s suit, but that’s why they’ve ordered ten suits each for them. Everyone’s who’s ever been in their vicinity would expect several clothing malfunctions just because of the sheer amount of rolling around they do together.
He’s not looking forward to seeing ‘Dazai Osamu’ be linked to his son’s family register. He really isn’t. He promises himself he’s going to be the meanest, pettiest father-in-law ever. But then, he watches Chuuya smile despite the fact that his mouth is saying “I’m gonna kill you so dead if I find out our wedding cake has bandages in it”.
A bit later, he doesn’t even bother refusing to accept the handkerchief Arthur passes to him, as he dabs at his eyes upon seeing his son, resplendently happy, as he says, “I do.”
— — — — —
+1.
Chuuya rolls his eyes hard enough that they almost tumble out of his eyesockets and into the pavement.
There’s a mini-congregation behind him, his fathers swinging by Yokohama in-between their second honeymoon just so they could witness this day. Mori-san has brought his new husband along with their two adopted kids, citing their mansion being so lonely ever since Dazai has gone ahead and married him. Elise and Kyusaku are currently rolling all over the ground in half-laughter, half-even more laughter. Ane-san, his closest friend and confidant from work, has also shown up in support.
“You do know that you’re making a fool of yourself, right? Fuck, I never want to be associated with you ever,” Chuuya swears as he watches his husband make a spectacle of himself.
Dazai wobbles out, exaggeratedly leaning backwards with one hand at his hip, and another hand rubbing at his bulging stomach. At the very fake stomach, but Dazai treats it as though he’s lugging along a boulder, jutting out his lips in a mournful pout. “Oh, after you’ve knocked me up, now you wouldn’t even help me? You’re so cruel, chibi, no wonder you’re so short.”
“I would love to knock you the fuck out,” he mutters, but he approaches Dazai anyway. But it’s so he could punch the fake pregnancy bulge. Definitely not because he’s actually amused by this idiot’s silly antics. “Also, if I find out that they’ve rescinded their approval of our adoption application out of concern that the children are going to grow up in a crazy environment…”
“Pfft, relax, chibikko, they’d think that we’ll provide a wonderful home environment.” A shit-eating grin. “After all, our household already has a child-sized—”
He definitely doesn’t bother softening the blow and he definitely doesn’t feel bad when he sees the shitty mackerel crumple to the ground. He walks back to where Paul and Arthur are, all of them waiting to be called again to complete the adoption process.
Two kids, because according to Dazai, it would stop them from turning into Paul who’s so overprotective over a single kid. Chuuya’s not exactly oblivious over the enmity between his father and his husband, but he supposes that it’s because they’re too similar in many aspects. Even if they’re further than heaven and earth apart when it comes to certain things, such as fashion tastes and level of coolness.
While waiting for Dazai to stop dramatically wailing about being abandoned by his husband, he leans against Arthur, sharing his body warmth with his perpetually-cold father. His parents have been touring the warmer southern islands recently, and he only hopes that it’s brought more heat to him.
“Are you sure you really don’t wish for dogs instead?” Paul asks him with a sigh, sidling up to his other side and squeezing him between his dads. “I’m worried that your kids will grow up as bratty as him.”
“He could be useful when reaching for the higher cabinets,” Chuuya says with a roll of his eyes. But after several years of marriage, it’s inevitable that his will to never let slip any of his fondness has completely eroded. “And he’s even learned how to wear suits properly.”
“…You truly do want to raise a family with him.”
Paul’s usually more on the teasing, sarcastic side, but this time, he sounds gravely serious. From beside him, he could feel Arthur smiling. It’s infectious. He spots Dazai fighting and losing against his younger step-siblings. He ends smiling brighter.
“…Yeah. It’d be a shame if I can’t use the child-handling skills I’ve honed while dealing with the mackerel for years.”
Dazai perks up and bounces over to him, clinging to his front like a giant leech. He’s never been able to separate himself completely from him, and it’s only gotten worse as the years have gone by. “Ne, our super lovey-dovey husband telepathy told me that you’re praising me, Chuuya. Come, let me hear it again and again!”
“You heard it wrong, I was busy insulting you.”
“Mm, but I could feel your happiness so you’re definitely lying!”
“What the fuck do you mean, I’m happy when I’m insulting you, shitty Dazai.”
“Oh, you truly are so mean, Dazai (small).”
“The ‘small’ is unnecessary—!!!”
Even while they bicker incessantly, surrounded by all this warmth, it’s hard to deny that he is very happy indeed.
— — — — —
end.