Yata would never in a million years admit he liked the uniform. No matter Saruhiko actually looked good in it, he looked good in anything, and Yata hated everything that reminded him of the Blues stealing his best friend away.
It was just because Saruhiko always wore one now that Yata saw it in his dreams. Only because it was Saruhiko, not the uniform, that most of his more private fantasies saw the buttons half undone, Saruhiko looking disheveled, but not actually undressed. Yata didn’t actually want to imagine Saruhiko naked.
Then it wasn’t a dream anymore.
“Leave it on.”
“I hate everything about you. Your hair. Your clothes.”
Chuuya could almost believe it with how intent Dazai was on getting those clothes off him. A glove on the floor, thrown with venom. The jacket. The cardigan. The shirt. As if each item had personally offended him. Chuuya hadn’t let him remove the hat and now was glad of it.
Dazai’s fingers lingered against the choker, and Chuuya shot him a skeptical look when he left it.
“Everything?” he asked, finding a reason to grin smugly.
Dazai huffed with that disgusted look he reserved for Chuuya. “Everything.”
The choker stayed.