bsd oneshots from ao3

(Soukoku) to me, ten years later

As the minutes of the lesson passed, the ceaseless buzzing of the classroom and the unlimited amount of energy the students increased, which would be a rare sight if the class was under their teacher's supervision. Having no vicious Kunikida who would glare at the class with red flames pirouetting in his eyes was an unbelievable chance worth taking.

Paper planes were being manufactured with great precision at one end of the classroom and flown to the other end, hitting several annoyed students on the way and earning a good amount of foul-mouthed words in return.

Osamu Dazai sat leaned back at a dangerous angle in his chair, soft sunlight filtering through the paned glass and splaying across his fair skin and brunet locks, highlighting his sharp, lucid features, along with the leather-bound cover of the book he read.

The book had a vice-like grip on his mind, its twisted reality began to distort his own; reading it was much like being slapped with a wet kipper—shocking, attention-grabbing, but not entirely pleasant, although he preferred that greatly as opposed to interacting with the hooligans that comprised this school's student body.

One such hooligan was Chuuya Nakahara.

Standing at an unbroken, unabridged five foot three inches, a whole head shorter than his intermittently occupied counterpart, Chuuya was indeed short.

Nonetheless, the boy was gorgeous; with curled ginger locks that always danced in between various tones and tints of warmth. His bright blue eyes collected and bore tragically every wrongdoing that had been poured upon him, framed with melancholy and flecks of icy light jostling throughout.

He sat directly to Dazai's right, staring. His gaze wasn't intentionally cold, though his face somehow lacked the mobility others had. With eyes that would rest on a point, even a person, he would stay like that longer than the average person. It wasn't something he ever noticed himself, but to his classmate, his childhood rival, Dazai, it was obvious, and he felt a spark of contamination by association he wasn't exactly proud of.

"Whoever painted the walls in here must have had an imagination bypass, but then again isn't that the education system all over?" Dazai said, nonchalant as can be. "Fill our minds with facts we can google instead of teaching us how to think, question facts, experiment, explore... it's pointless."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," Dazai sighed, waving his hand in dismissal. Chuuya visibly eye-rolled, resting his cheek against his palm with his expression twisted into that of irritation, blasé, and perhaps even an inkling of concern for his longtime 'rival'. Chuuya wouldn't dare call him a friend in the presence of others.

"Yeah, you're blabbing again," he spat.

"It's almost lunchtime, my brain is short-circuiting, and I need food in my system in order to formulate coherent sentences, my dearest Chuuya."

"Go down and get food then, you social misfit."

"Too lazy."

"As expected," Chuuya sighed deeply, arching his back and leaning up to stretch the tension out of his muscles. The pressure of school was proving almost too much for him to handle, his final year before the stress of school grew into the monstrous stress of university.

All Chuuya wished for was a quiet day, one that would be feathers without hurry, moving this way and that in the air, happy to change direction according to the wind. Just as the feather would in its own sweet time be at rest upon the earth, so the sun would also rise and set high in the sky. Yet in each gifted moment between them, there was such freedom, an infinitely branching path with no paths at all.