Unravel Me

5: Asymptotes

Dazai couldn't look at Chuuya without thinking about what he'd seen.

When they met for their tutoring session a couple of days after the incident, he searched the other boy's face for signs of distress, wondering if maybe his friends had felt even a shred of remorse and fessed up to what they'd done. Chuuya looked no different than he usually did, though, which meant he was probably still oblivious to the betrayal that was happening right behind his back.

It was stupid of Dazai to be so concerned about it. It was none of his business. It wasn't like he and Chuuya were actually friends or anything, so he'd probably never see Shirase and Yuan again. And even if he and Chuuya were friends, it wasn't something he should tell him he'd seen, right? That was the sort of thing that should come from the guilty party, not. . . your calculus tutor.

As he was scrutinizing Chuuya's features, Dazai couldn't help but notice all of the details he'd previously overlooked, not having had a reason to pay this much attention to him before.

Before, Dazai had thought that Chuuya was some preppy, pretty-boy jock. He'd only ever shown up in hoodies and joggers, after all, not the punk getup he'd been wearing at the club. Sure, he did have plenty of 'pretty' features—like the faint freckles that dusted his nose and the long lashes that matched his copper-colored hair—but these were intermingled with subtle hints of his true nature. His jaw was almost always clenched, like he couldn't really relax, and as Dazai watched him write his answers, he realized that his knuckles were covered in scars that he'd probably earned in all of the fights he'd been in over the years. And then, of course, there was the layer of toned muscles that covered his small frame. He kept that secret well-hidden under baggy clothes. Dazai never would have guessed that Chuuya was so strong, but now that he'd seen it for himself, he couldn't keep his eyes from trying to trace the lines of his biceps under his sweatshir—

"Is this right?"

"Huh?" Dazai hadn't realized how deep in thought he'd been until he was pulled out of his head.

Chuuya leaned closer to Dazai, shoving his paper in front of him on the desk, and aggressively tapped his pencil under the latest answer that he wrote. "This one. Is it right?"

Dazai couldn't help but tense up when the other boy crowded his space, feeling caught off-guard. "Oh. Uh, yeah, that looks right."

Chuuya sat back in his chair, cocking a brow at Dazai. "Jeez, what is with you today?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're acting different—jumpy, almost. Are you worried i'm gonna beat you up now or something?"

"What?" He laughed. "No."

"Really? You've hardly given me any grief. It's like you're afraid to piss me off now."

The corner of Dazai's mouth tugged up into a smirk. "You make it sound as if you miss having me pick on you. Do you like all of the little nicknames I've come up with?"

"Please," Chuuya scoffed.

"Chibi. . ."

Chuuya's expression quickly sank into a frown.

"Shrimp. . ."

He turned back to his work, trying to ignore Dazai.

"Booster Seat."

With a snap of his pencil lead, Chuuya whipped back toward Dazai. "Booster Seat?!"

"Oh, you like that one? I was spitballing this weekend and came up with it."

"You don't have anything better to do with your time than think of ways to piss me off?"

Dazai shrugged. "It didn't take long to come up with a decent list of material. You aren't inconveniencing me."