Tempus Fugit

Routine

Why is it so easy?
Why is it so easy to fall into a routine with you?
When everything in my life was always in shambles.
You never tired of me
Even after so many years.

It was easy to form a routine with Chuuya, it was almost natural, how they manoeuvred around each other or worked in sync together.

It felt oddly thrilling to have such boring lives, to wake up and not have to worry about Mori or missions or dying or torture or anything, it was like they were two teens who were home alone together because their parents had gone on holiday, just like in the movies.

It was wonderful.

They would wake up together and then go downstairs and eat whatever their older selves had cooked for them. They'd then wander off and either do something together or separately, Osamu had given Dazai a new sketchbook so he could keep himself busy, Dazai drew every day and almost everything he found interesting.

Though recently his subject of interest was Chuuya, at first he did it quietly, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, that was until Chuuya caught him, and after bickering for a few minutes, both of them very cherry cheeked and irritated came to the embarrassing conclusion that Chuuya didn't mind being drawn and Dazai wanted to keep drawing him.

So he did.

Chuuya could be sitting at the kitchen aisle eating an apple and Dazai would sit and ingrain the picture into his memory, he'd then waddle to the living room and wouldn't dare move from the spot that he sat in until his sketch was to his liking.

Through drawing Chuuya he realised things about him he had never considered or even thought about, he noticed areas where he had more freckles or how he'd blink faster or chew on his lip when he didn't understand something, he noticed small faded scars on his face or arms or legs, that he had never bothered to take note of.

But now that he drew him he had to notice them, there was one thing, however, he really shouldn't be enjoying drawing Chuuya as much as he did.

He loved drawing his hair and how it flowed around the nape of his neck or the loose strands that never obscured too much of his face, he loved drawing his body when he stood up, the flow of his spine, the definition of his muscles; the best part was Chuuya wasn't even aware of how much Dazai had drawn him, he thought there were a few pages, maybe two or three, little did he know that at least twelve pages were full nothing but him.

Those previously blank pages were now full of his smile, his face as he slept, his hands around a gaming controller, sitting cross-legged and eating strawberries smiling broadly at the size of them, him scowling or blushing furiously at Dazai's jokes or prods.

Despite this Dazai found that he didn't care what face Chuuya was making, what he was doing because the reality was that Dazai liked looking at him, he liked drawing him.

Chuuya was his muse.

And neither of them was aware of it.

******

They spent their days doing largely the same thing, sometimes they would go and walk the streets just as the kids their age would leave School, just so they could at least taste some normality in their far fetched reality.

Sometimes they'd stay home and play video games together or Chuuya would do it alone and Dazai would watch him.

Then -more often than not- Osamu was the first to get home, he would usually kick back and relax, sometimes he'd let in little details of what he was doing at work, not much, but just enough to keep the younger ones intrigued, he'd then make an exit and go into that room that he had locked and stay secluded in there until Nakahara arrived.