Soukoku One-Shots

Lost in Translation (Found in Love) Pt. 3

a/n: happy new year cuties <3

Alternate Universe

Since Dazai's visit to the d'Orsay, his life had been surprisingly pleasant.

He settled comfortably into all of his classes—most of his professors just gave him a little slideshow of any material covered translated into Japanese, which was very nice. He had to transfer into a different language class, which was a pain, but it would be worth it. He went out with the rest of his friends for lunch most days and spent his evenings annoying Kunikida while he cooked dinner for them. He talked often with Higuchi and Gin—the latter had a brother Atushi's age, apparently. Dazai swore he saw the two of them together between classes now and again.

It was easier to write, too. Dazai didn't like admitting when other people were right, but he wrapped his ego and thanked Oda for practically forcing him onto that plane to France. Being a Literature student was much more difficult in his stuffy dorm in Yokohama, but living in a city brimming with inspiration, he was finding it easier. Was it his favorite thing? Of course not. But it made all those droll words much more tolerable.

He also got to explore the city. Kunikida would sometimes accompany him and sometimes he would go alone, but being able to see such an old city with such a unique atmosphere was a privilege Dazai hadn't expected to savor. The architecture especially was breathtaking—he thought he could stare at the intricate apartment buildings for hours.

Paris was lovely, it truly was. The best part, though, was Chuuya.

Dazai spent the entirety of French History talking to him—stolen glances or scribbles in their notebook or poking here and there—and it was glorious. He could pick anything to make fun of and Chuuya's face would light up with this indescribable life that had Dazai's chest tightening every time. Chuuya would hiss something to him in French that was surely very vulgar (which he quickly learned was Chuuya's specialty based on all the looks they received from passersby) and Dazai would nearly swoon because it always sounded so pretty, especially when Chuuya used that low, throaty voice that made him more than a bit weak in the knees.

They had more outings, too. Sometimes they were planned, but usually, Chuuya would just drag him away after class, and they became frequent enough that Dazai started expecting (looking forward to) them. He knew it was ultimately for the project, but it had only been a few weeks and Dazai felt like he'd already seen the entire city. Chuuya took him to see Tuileries Garden, Sacré Cœur, the Notre Dame. He saw Sainte-Chapelle, the Arc du Triomphe, he walked along the Seine. He spent at least a week at the Louvre in various company. Each destination was lovelier than the last—it was almost offensive how truly bursting with beauty Paris was.

At each destination, Chuuya would tell him of the importance to France. Sometimes he would talk about the building itself, sometimes the artwork inside, sometimes the land it was built on. He would usually start ranting in French before realizing that Dazai didn't have a clue what he was saying, and then he would stick out his lower lip and furrow his brow and Dazai would have to bite down on the urge to kiss him senseless.

Today, it seemed, was one of these impromptu excursions. Dazai was just making his way down the hallway when a head of red hair caught his eye and he found Chuuya approaching him, hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his trousers. Dazai fought very, very hard to keep his eyes on Chuuya's instead of wandering to his exposed chest where his shirt was undone, the lean muscle in his arms, his incredibly distracting amount of jewelry.

Dazai swallowed.

"Viens avec moi," he said, and when Dazai didn't reply, he huffed and held out his hand. "Je veux t'emmener dans un endroit différent aujourd'hui." ["Come with me. I wanna take you somewhere different today."]