Dazai Osamu

Nakahara was a good lawyer. A very good one, in fact. Colleagues described him as a helpful person, well-versed in his field. He quickly found solutions to any problem, and management valued him for his hard work and flawless execution. In all his years of practice, Chuya had never lost a case, so they turned to him again and again for legal advice.

And all this always came easy to him.

Always—until Osamu came into his life again.

It was as if the brown-haired man was deliberately doing everything to ensure Chuuya lost this time. He wasn't helpful, he got in the way, he showed up at the most inopportune moments, and he acted as if everything was just amused. This infuriated Nakahara to the point of gnashing his teeth, but there was nothing he could do. All he had to do was win the case, and then decide what to do with Dazai. Legally, I suppose.

The situation was further complicated by the fact that Chuya had been living with him for the last few weeks.

It was temporary. At least, that's what he told himself every evening when he returned to Dazai's apartment. But the fact remained: after a hard day, he was now greeted not by peace and quiet, but by caustic remarks, disorder, and Osamu's satisfied smirk.

That evening the apartment door opened especially abruptly.

“I’m home,” Chuya said dryly, taking off his jacket.

“What happiness,” Dazai responded lazily from the room.

Chuya was about to answer, but suddenly noticed a thick folder with documents in his hands.

• What is this?

Osamu looked at the folder, then at Chuuya and smiled that same annoying smile.

— Information that you really need.

Chuya narrowed his eyes.

• Give it back.

"How rude," Dazai sighed, standing up. "Where's even a 'please'?"

• Dazai.

• Mm?

— Give me the folder.

He took a step back, not allowing him to reach the documents.

• Not for free.

Chuuya was silent for a second, feeling everything boiling inside.

• What do you want?

Osamu looked at him with a deliberately innocent expression.

• Kiss.