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They are eighteen and Dazai is scared. He had gotten too confident, too cocky in their abilities as Double Black that it almost cost him everything. The enemy had been stronger than anticipated and Chuuya had ended up using corruption, but this time, Dazai had almost not been able to reach him in time.
By the time he managed to annul his ability, Chuuya was covered in blood, his breaths coming in harsh waves as his body heaved with effort. As soon as Dazai managed to grab him, he collapsed to the ground, he looked like a puppet that had its strings cut.
Immediately Dazai sank next to him, frantically pressing his head against his chest in an attempt to hear his pulse. Thankfully, after a few moments, he is able to hear the faint beating of his heart. Relief washes against his entire body and for a moment he feels lightheaded. Images of Chuuya still and cold slowly erasing themselves from his head.
Usually, he would wait for the others to arrive, he would make his report and then finally he would be able to take Chuuya home. But this time, he didn’t bother waiting. He grabbed Chuuya from behind his knees and propped him against his chest, making sure he was secured with his other arm resting against his Chuuya’s back. He knew that if Chuuya were to wake up on the way home, he would complain, telling Dazai that he was not a girl and didn’t need to be carried in the way a blushing bride would.
But Chuuya was not in fact, awake, and moments ago Dazai hadn’t even been sure that he ever would be again, and so he lets himself indulge in the way Chuuya’s head rests against his neck, his small puffs of breath reassuring him that he would be okay.
If Chuuya had died, what would be of Dazai? Officially speaking, nothing would really change for him. He would continue working for the mafia as he had always done. His duties as an executive were different from Chuuya’s own, so they never really interacted much at work anyways. In fact, they only ever worked together when weaker teams needed back up, when there was no other choice but to use them as their final bet.
But how could he continue going with such a large part of him gone? What would he do with all the useless information he held about Chuuya deep in his heart?
Dazai knew Chuuya. He knew that Chuuya liked to eat italian food and drink french wine. He knew that he brushed his teeth upside down, and that when he got distracted small droplets of toothpaste would fall on the floor. He knew that Chuuya hated thunderstorms but loved the easy rains that would come with the summer, always letting his windows open to allow the breeze to brush through, even though later on he would complain about the wet floors.
If Chuuya were no longer there, these little facts he had cherished for so long would now be misplaced, just phantom reminders of a person that was no longer there.
But the worst of it would be the quiet. Chuuya was so alive in every single sense of the word, from his vivid red hair to his vivid blue eyes he was bright in a way Dazai had never known was possible. Despite how small he was (and as he was carrying him Dazai couldn’t help but notice how small he really was) Chuuya was the biggest person Dazai had ever met, his presence demanded attention and by god did Dazai give it to him.
If Chuuya were to die, Dazai knows that he would follow right behind him. Chuuya had always been concerned about his humanity, the fear of being a god or a monster or something in between an ever present worry in his mind. But Dazai had no doubt about it, Chuuya was as human as one could be, and without him Dazai was not quite sure what the appeal of humanity would be.
As soon as they arrive at his place, he makes sure to gently lay Chuuya down. He observes him for a moment as he sleeps. He looks so peaceful and calm that if it weren’t for the blood that was marring his face, Dazai could fool himself into a sense of domesticity.
He imagines himself as a normal man, arriving home after working at some boring job that he probably doesn’t care about to find his...partner? (he doesn’t let himself dwell too much on the possibilities of what Chuuya could be) asleep on the couch, dinner humming away at the stove and the sound of some long forgotten tv show playing in the background.
He imagines himself walking up to him and gently kissing his lips to wake him up, a soft smile making its way to his face as the other rubs his eyes in an effort to be more alert.
‘Welcome home, shitty Dazai’ he would say, because even in this perfect world Chuuya would still be Chuuya, but despite his words the fondness of his tone would give away the tenderness they share as warmth spreads through his body like honey and oh-
He has to stop himself there, the image too clear and his chest too heavy to continue.
He focuses on Chuuya again, the blood on his face now seemingly misplaced after the sweet daydream he had and he suddenly feels a pang of longing making its way through his chest. He walks to the bathroom and rinses an old cloth with water, making sure the temperature is neither too cold nor hot. As his hands wring the cloth, he catches a glimpse of his face in the mirror.
His face looks tired, deep bags under his eyes and blood splattered around his temple. But that is not what he focuses on, rather he compares himself to Chuuya. Despite the fact that Chuuya’s general features are sharper (from the way his jaw juts out to the strong bridge of his nose), he is pretty where Dazai is not. The difference is in the details, the way Chuuya’s features move around so sweetly as he thinks things through, the gentle shining of his eyes. Dazai looks strikingly hollow in contrast.
He moves away from the mirror and makes his way back to Chuuya, the notion of getting to see him again making him move quicker than he would like to admit. By the time he gets back, he is surprised to see that he is awake.
To the untrained eye, Chuuya would certainly seem asleep, his eyes are still closed and his breathing is rhythmic and slow. But Dazai knows him better than he can ever express and he can notice the differences. From the small wrinkle creasing his brows to the almost unnoticeable way he is shifting his legs, probably eager to move.
But for now, Dazai decides to indulge him, and so he pretends not to notice and continues on his endeavour to clean him up. He moves the cloth towards his face, his hands slower than he would like. The knowledge that Chuuya is awake enough to get his hands to hesitate in nervousness. But he refuses to let Chuuya win, so he continues his motion.
Once the cloth reaches his skin, Chuuya seems to relax somewhat. Dazai makes sure to be gentle, softly scrubbing the blood away from his face, but making sure to not put too much pressure. He is aware that Chuuya’s skin is not delicate, in fact there are many scars and calluses throughout, but despite this, he can’t avoid the tenderness that flows from his heart to his hands, making any gesture towards him inherently loving in nature.
Eventually, he is no longer able to bear the silence and so despite himself he says,
‘If Chuuya wanted me to pamper him all he had to do was ask, there is no need to pretend to be asleep.’
Crystalline blue eyes immediately open, as a deep flush taints his cheeks.
‘Dazai, you bastard, if you knew I was awake why didn’t you say anything!’
Chuuya sits up and Dazai leans away from him, an easy smile making its way to his face. The dark thoughts that had been running around his mind disappearing as Chuuya continues to yell at him.
‘A good master will indulge his dog every now and then, so if you wanted to pretend I thought it best to go along with you.’
He says flippantly, not quite ready to admit how much he wanted to allow the gentleness of the mood to remain even for a moment longer. Instead, he gets up, moving towards the kitchen, which catches Chuuya’s attention.
‘I am not your fucking dog, and what the hell are you doing to my kitchen, do you even know how to cook?’
Dazai doesn’t answer him, instead he busies himself looking through the fridge, to see if there is anything salvageable. Chuuya probably realises that Dazai has effectively ended the conversation, and so he lets him be.
Once he is done cooking (if reheating whatever leftovers they had could be called that), he notices that there is a soft melody playing in the background. Chuuya probably turned it on while Dazai was busy cooking. The song is nothing special, but Chuuya is humming along to it, he is hopelessly out of tune and he doesn’t even know the words but Dazai is once again stunned into silence by sheer amount of longing he feels.
‘Hey Chuuya.’
‘Hmm..?’
Chuuya turns around to look at him, his face softly illuminated by the moonlight and the light from the lamp they had turned on who knows how long ago. Dazai is struck by how beautiful he is, his features drawn into the sweetest gesture as he cocks his head in questioning, completely unguarded and trusting of Dazai. Suddenly he is overcome by a nervousness that has his toes curling against the carpet and his hands clenching against the fabric of his trousers. He wants. He wants so much and so deeply that it feels impossible to contain it all within himself. If he could he would open Chuuya up and crawl inside his body, making his home amongst the other’s ribs, intertwining himself with the very essence of his being.
When had he become so unbearably fond of him? He feels as though he can look at Chuuya forever and still find himself charmed by the smallest of details. Perhaps by the way his eyelashes brush against his cheek when he blinks, or the bump of his nose, or maybe even the tiny freckle by the corner of his mouth, which Dazai has to keep himself from kissing every time he looks at him. Every detail of Chuuya is so sweet that he doesn’t know what to do. He wants to tell him, he wants to tell him so many things so badly, the words threatening to rip themselves off his chest and spill out.
But even if he were to speak, what would he even say? That he loves him? That he adores him so much he can’t stand to see him hurt anymore, ever again? That he wants him to run away with him far far away where no one can ever find them?
His feelings are pointless, and even if Chuuya were to reciprocate them (and god the thought of it is enough to ignite some uncontrollable tenderness he never thought himself capable of) the mafia is no place for love. He can never have him in the way he so desperately wants to, no matter how much he wishes for it, he can’t just rip Chuuya away from everything and shelter him. Because even if Chuuya loves him, he also loves the mafia, he is loyal and dedicated and would not leave even if Dazai begged him to. And so, despite himself he simply says
‘Will you dance with me?’
‘What are you on about, mackerel’
‘Chuuya,’ he says, the desperation seeping into his tone ‘please?’
And there must be something about the way he looks or perhaps the tone of his voice, because instead of complaining Chuuya lifts himself off the couch he was sitting at, his movements awkward and stiff but no less charming to Dazai. He walks the small distance between them in what seems like days and days until he stops before him, his hand stretched out to Dazai, his cheeks flushed a pretty pink contrasting with the deep frown wrinkling his brows.
‘Are you going to take it or not, shitty Dazai.’
And oh, when he is blushing so sweetly Dazai can’t help himself from teasing him, wanting to see the colour deepen and stretch out, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. And so he brings his finger against his face, turning his head slightly so that he is looking up at him, he scrunches his eyes in pretend thoughtfulness, but he knows that the smile that is threatening to curl his lips probably gives him away.
‘Hmmm, I don’t know anymore. Chuuya is so clumsy I don’t know if he will be able to keep up with me.’
‘What the fuck is wrong with you, you were the one that asked me to dance so why-’
‘But!’ Dazai cuts him off, finally letting the smile make its way onto his lips, ‘ if you’re so desperate to dance with me I guess I will allow it.’
Before Chuuya is able to complain again, Dazai stands and grabs his outstretched hand, pulling him as close to him as possible, and leading him into an easy rhythm. From this distance he can smell Chuuya, the scent of blood and sweat mixing with the cologne he started wearing ever since Kouyou gifted it to him. The scent is fresh and masculine and it goes so well with Chuuya that Dazai finds himself a little dizzy from it.
He never wants to part again. If he could he would stay right here forever. Holding Chuuya close and letting his warmth seep all the way into his bones as they clumsily sway together to whatever shitty song is playing from the radio. He knows that as soon as they let go, he will immediately miss the warmth that only he seems to be able to provide, he already knows it will be unbearable.
So without thinking of the consequences he buries his head against Chuuya’s neck. The position is slightly uncomfortable due to their height difference, and it makes it harder for them to step around, but he wants to be as close as physically possible while he still can.
He would miss him. He would miss Chuuya so bad he has to hold the tears back before they make their way down his face. Chuuya seems to notice the change in his playful mood, as he turns his head, his lips brushing against Dazai’s ear. The warmth of his breath against him makes him feel like he could melt from the inside out.
‘You know I’m okay right? You got there in time, so don’t worry about it.’
Dazai wants to argue back, he wants to push him away and yell at him, he wants to tell him that he almost died, that if he had been even a second too late Chuuya would be nothing but a pile of flesh no longer containing the single most precious thing to Dazai. He wants to tell him that he doesn’t know how to be human without him, that he can’t keep doing this.
But instead, he simply holds him tighter, letting their swaying continue. There are many things Dazai can’t do, so this he allows himself to do. For now, he has Chuuya between his arms, he can feel his warmth and the way his chest rises and falls, he can hear his socks scuffling against their dirty floor. For now, they are both alive, for now that is enough.