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    Summary

    Chuuya hesitated, then slowly lowered himself, distributing his weight cautiously, like he was afraid of crushing Dazai by accident.

    The pressure hit all at once. Dazai made a soft, startled sound he couldn’t stop, and his hands curled reflexively into Chuuya’s shirt.

    “Oh,” he breathed, eyes squeezing shut. “Um—that’s—”

    Chuuya tensed immediately. “Too much?”

    “No,” Dazai said quickly, voice trembling. “Please don’t move.”

    There is no memory of being held. There is only the present: a couch, too much quiet, and Chuuya trying, clumsily, not to make things worse. Dazai discovers the absence inside him has edges. Chuuya discovers he can’t ignore it.

    or: touch, for dazai, has always meant violence, restraint, or pain. this is about the other kind—and the hollow it leaves behind once he notices it exists.

    Whumpuary 2026 - Day twenty-nine - Touch starved, “I need help.”

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