Chapter Text
Life has always been mundane, for Dazai at least.
He has always been detached, and has always looked at things with the absence of interest. He has an uncommon view of living, and he hasn’t found a reason to stay.
He didn’t remember much of his childhood. He thinks he’s inclined to only store potentially profitable information in his brain. The rest goes to the residual trash, and it just so happens that his memories before he reached ten are included in this category.
He admits, though, that there are few points in his life that aren’t trifling.
He remembers meeting someone who served as his haven when he left home. Someone who stole the stars to hold galaxies in her eyes; who give too much than she receive; who was too eager to live that in trying to live, she got bereaved of life.
She taught him many things, the two most prominent being deception and charisma. She knew too much— things that Dazai thought she shouldn’t have known, and affairs that Dazai wished she didn’t pried into. There world has always been strict with compensations. There’s always a price to pay.
“Should I patch you up?”
He couldn’t hear his voice. His hands were shaking. There was ringing in his ears and the metallic stench that was breaching his nostrils grew stronger every passing second. Another bead of blood from the wake of a lead-filled rain drops onto the crimson puddle under them. It disorients his senses the longer he stares.
She said bandages help in bruises, but as he wrap another strip around marred skin, Dazai wonders if they could also mend bullet holes.
The mental image of her once spirited eyes that were drained until bloodshot remains ingrained in his brain— replaying like a damaged, vintage tape.
Dazai couldn’t look away.
Until the new bandages get sullied.
Until her remaining breath was exhaled.
From that day on, he wore his first lie in the identity of Dazai Osamu, and buried the last truth of Tsushima Shuuji with her.
From that day on, he decided he would embrace death so nothing could frighten him, so he would leave this oxidizing world painfully in bliss.
Dazai realized two things.
One, he likes to think, especially when he knows he has the upper hand. His stay in the Port Mafia is a little less boring, as he’d say, because he always get to have his head plotting restlessly. It’s entertaining to play with puppets and watch them get tangled in their own strings. It’s entertaining to predict and watch things unfold exactly how he assumed they would. With this line of work, it served as a great diversion from the thoughts and memories that sometimes attempt to rupture his system and elicit a clench in his chest. He’d rather be numb and have them shoved at the back of his head.
Second, of all dilemmas and mind games he had intricately solved, nothing can quite intrigue him more than his new partner do.
Now, meeting Chuuya was not rainbows and unicorns. He didn’t began seeing the world in colors, nor did time stop when their eyes met, unlike all the other stories dramatically describe first meetings to be.
Meeting Chuuya was normal and unintentional, but quite enthralling in a way he was piqued to know more.
And Dazai takes note of what makes him different from the rest.
First, Chuuya value his bonds with people dearly, despite being in an organization that has emotional attachment in the least of their concerns.
Honestly, Dazai doesn’t understand the appeal. He would rather brush off such intimacy as a liability, and something he would not gain from. Still, in the aftermath of Chuuya unleashing corruption for the first time, he finds himself retrieving him and carrying his frazzled body to see his dead friends for the last time.
Chuuya is sentimental. He still has the signature bracelet of the Sheep. He always has the funny-looking hat with him, and he wears the choker Dazai gave him in a jest. It was an inside joke between them, or for Dazai, at least. He has him in a leash, and Chuuya follows heedlessly without hesitation. It was meant to be a mock, an insult— but Chuuya loves to keep tangible things no matter the motive behind them, even when he’s so adamant in refusing he does.
”Why are you still wearing that?”
“Hah?”
Dazai gestures to his neck. “That.”
”My what? My neck?”
“You’re pretty bad at humor, Chuuya.”
When he takes a step forward, Chuuya instantly recoils with a defensive fist stretched. Dazai smirks at the apprehension. Nonetheless, instead of retreating, he still advances towards Chuuya and latches a finger around the black material arched around the latter’s neck. “This.”
Up close, he watches the subtle bob of Chuuya’s adam apple. The man tries to fidget away from the close contact, but Dazai only ends up tugging along. “Well, why wouldn’t I? It’s mine,” Chuuya reminds him viciously.
He has the brunette’s bony wrist in a vice-grip as he peels him from his choker. ”Also, it serves as a reminder why I have to put up with the likes of you. So as long as we have to work together, I am bounded to you.”
Dazai’s lips curl into an amused grin. “Bounded.. to me?” He laughs humorlessly. “How sweet.”
He still couldn’t grasp the concept of attachment, and he convinces himself it’s better this way.
Dazai learns further that Chuuya also feels remorse. He mourns. He easily gets attached. In essence, he’s driven by his own emotions and often times he wear his heart on his sleeves. An open book, yes, but so remarkably human— contrasting to him who physically is but emotionally not.
Also, did he fail to mention Chuuya’s almost always incredibly stubborn?
“Stop fucking trying to kill yourself!” Chuuya spits. He has utter fury in his eyes, his grip wrinkling Dazai’s collar as he drags him out the lake. “Do you want to know why I’m so fed up with your bullshit?”
He clenched his fist tighter. Dazai remains limp in his hold, coughing the water he ingested as he got roughly shoved up onto a wall. “Some of us don’t get to be human. Some of us aren’t lucky enough to have a choice. But you.” Chuuya presses a finger on Dazai’s chest, anger dissipating when he feels the vibration of his heart. He’s alive. Asshole, but alive. “You have everything I ever wanted. So if a mission goes wrong or those thoughts in that brain of yours get too loud and you have shit to say, come and find me. Understand?”
Dazai didn’t answer. He doesn’t want to think yet.
”I still think you’re a little shit but I’d listen,” Chuuya hisses. “After all, I’m your partner, aren’t I?”
For the first time, Dazai feels speechless. There’s a strangled argument sitting at the back of his throat, but he nods subconsciously. “Yeah.”
Dazai thinks Chuuya got it wrong.
Chuuya probably is the most human person he had ever met, despite being modified as a vessel of a god, and despite Chuuya questioning his own humanity frequently.
Ever since he realized, Dazai often finds himself staring and observing Chuuya– trying to mimic him in hopes of navigating better what being human is.
“What are you looking at, idiot?”
Dazai blankly stared at the body bags in front of them and crouches beside Chuuya. “Oh nothing, I just figured if I want to be human, I could look at chibi to remind me how.”
He anticipated a grimace, or maybe a snarl. What he expected least is to hear a hitch of a breath amidst the roaring rain.
“You think I am?”
With Chuuya’s shoulders hunched and his body quivering as he paid respects to his fallen comrades, Dazai would’ve never guessed this was the vessel of Arahabaki— the calamity people make him out to be.
Dazai withdraws his coat to drape it on his drenched partner, but the latter abruptly stands and shoves it to his chest. “Don’t do things because that’s what you think is expected. Do things because you want to.”
The words drown in the heavy rain, but they remain echoing in Dazai’s ears.
Like a book with endless of pages, Dazai uncovers more and more of Chuuya.
He discovers Chuuya is too trusting and unyielding. Whenever their operations went south and they find themselves driven to a corner, Dazai would propose giving up and leaving the last decision to his partner.
His answer never changes.
Despite nearing his limit, he’d still throw his life willingly on Dazai’s care without much of a second thought. Reckless? Yes. Dazai finds that level of trust new and terrifying, especially since its directed at him, but he finds himself coming to Chuuya’s aid, still. He finds himself not betraying that trust, always.
“Rash. Too rash, Chuuya. Couldn’t you spare us the trouble next time and just free us from this world?”
“I want to live,” the redhead croaks in his arms, and Dazai holds him tighter. “And I want to show you it’s not bad trying.”
Dazai’s lips stretch from its usually thinned line into a small, genuine smile. His eyes crinkled with mirth. “Of course you do.”
As someone who operates with reason, he has always wondered why he salvages Chuuya. Maybe he saves him because he couldn’t save himself. Who knows, really. But as he carry a half-conscious redhead back to their infirmary instead of just leaving him behind after relieving him from corruption, the answer became a little clear now.
He wants Chuuya to live.
When Chuuya talked about grief, he failed to mention how agonizingly painful it was. Dazai have always hated pain.
Looking back, he thought being in the place closest to death, to hell itself— the mafia, is right where he should be. He’d always thought there was no better place that could clinch his goal better. Now, he finds that philosophy laughable, because why did he end up losing more than he had bargained for?
When death itself paid a visit to his good friend, Odasaku, Dazai thought it was unfair. He was the one who wanted to be emancipated from this world, and yet others got the short end of the stick instead.
Dazai arrived when he’s one breath away, and he couldn’t fathom the realization that it’s been the second time the mafia took something from him. The second time he witnessed it first-hand.
The second time isn’t any better like it’s ought to be. It’s not. He felt a prickle on his skin and an ugly strife settle in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to puke.
He anticipated it happening but he couldn’t do anything to avoid it from happening. He just.. really kept on losing something— as if it has been written in the stars that anything he ever wanted will cripple the moment he has it.
With that said, he’d just have to detach himself from all favorable things because in the end, they will be taken away from him, right? It’s inevitable. Everything is temporary. They won’t be able to stay, right?
Including Chuuya.
The instant he acknowledged the thought, he felt like he got hit with a bucket of cold water. The icy, unfriendly sensation seeped into his head and immobilized the knobs in his brain.
For the first time in his life, he felt terrified.
He hated how it felt. He’s always not good at receiving such emotions and interpreting them. And so before he could even think, his legs started to walk mechanically.
Away, that’s all he knows.
All he has packed with him are Oda’s resolve and the vengeful clarity of Chuuya’s memories.
He left, but a part or him stayed.
And he could only hope Chuuya held it close.
Being good feels weird. He unveils his unused eye from the bandage and squints to adjust from pitch black, to the heightened colors of the day.
When he unshed from the darkness, his first thought was how startlingly out of place he was basking in the light. People were sickeningly see-through, and it’s quite hard to register the idea of them being authentic without hiding any ulterior motives.
When he was told to wait for two years to clear off the blood on his ledger, he often finds himself observing people and frequenting bars. He avoided lupin. He wanted to chat with Odasaku only after he made progress. So far, he has none.
Two years is an awfully long time, Dazai thinks, and he wonders just how much can he restrain himself from indulging on sweet temptations.
Just like now.
His skin itches for the umpteenth time today. At first, he traces his finger from his wrist to his arm. This time, he runs a jagged edge across it— finally unable to deter himself any longer.
The first time is experimental. It felt like a caress. It felt as if he was testing waters. He wants to explore more.
The second time was purposeful. He finds himself adding pressure until he feels his skin break, until he sees the addicting color of red paint his pale wrist.
The third time, he has a strong urge to sink it deeper, but before he could pierce it through in one go, the glass shard was snatched from him. Brutally, if he may say so.
“Don’t even think about it,” a stern voice growls.
When he lifts his head a little, he wished he didn’t, because he first catches sight of a familiar choker.
His first thought is why.
Why is he still wearing it?
And as if his guest feels a pair of eyes boring holes onto his neck, he perches a gloved hand on Dazai’s chin and tilts his head. Dazai’s gaze adverts until they lock eyes. Then, he has no choice but to welcome those raging, bright azure eyes once more. Ah. “Am I really never going to escape something as dreadful as you? Chuuya?”
Leave. Why won’t you leave?
And yet the grip on his chin tightened, compelling him to stand and drawing him even closer.
Dazai was holding onto the walls he meticulously built and the barriers he set. And yet here Chuuya is, barreling into his life again quite easily. Dazai has never felt this frustrated before.
“The only one who’s dreadful here is you, fucking traitor.” Chuuya seethes. It’s the first time he sees both of his partner— ex-partner’s eyes, and yet he already restrains the urge to gouge them out. “I’ve always known you’re a piece of shit but congratulations, you outdid yourself once again.”
“Save your breath, Chuuya. How about do us both a favor and kill me instead?” Dazai grins, animalistic. “Much better if you have your gun with you, because I’d really prefer dying without having my windpipe crushed from your ferocious little—”
“How unfortunate for you then, because I am not going to act on my own volition without the organization’s instructions and I’m not giving you the pleasure of dying ignorantly after making me suffer for years.”
“Ever so the loyal dog, aren’t you? If you aren’t going to kill me then leave.”
What are you here for, then?
“When even was your last decent meal?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m never hungry,” He spats, at the same time his stomach growls to argue.
Chuuya rolls his eyes. “Keep lying to yourself. Can you be honest for once?”
“It is true. I don’t need to eat.”
“Trying to resort to starvation to die, huh?” Chuuya cocks his brow and shakes his head. “Whatever. It’s not going to work. You’re coming with me.”
Why do you keep coming back?
“I am not going with you, nor to your ridiculously luxurious penthouse. You’d have to force me to, and you’d be charged of kidnapping by then.”
What an idle little threat. It’s laughable, really. He knows it takes more than that to frighten someone professional in a field of atrocity, but right now, he frankly doesn’t care anymore.
“If you’re worried about my penthouse being too close to the headquarters, we won’t be going there.”
It’s a lost cause. Dazai doesn’t want to protest anymore. He was too tired.
“You’ve always been so stubborn, Chuuya.”
Chuuya only smirks as he tows him along. “Then thank fuck I am.”
Chuuya indeed kept his promise. He didn’t bring him to his penthouse, nor did he book a stay to a private, expensive suite. Dazai was certainly not expecting to lodge at an abandoned warehouse in a quiet neighborhood especially since it’s Chuuya— but here they are. There’s a roof on his head, the location is quite far off for port mafia to tail, and he wouldn’t have to go bar hunting to kill time. Basically, it ticks all the boxes. It’s a simple condition he preferred, fitting for something as trivial as comfort and as temporary as living.
“You’re aiding a traitor. You know what that means, right?”
There was no response. Dazai watches Chuuya wordlessly stride on the small kitchen and rummage through canned goods he had in store. Dazai never knew Chuuya had a warehouse. He never thought he’d also live to see the day where he wouldn’t have to lock pick Chuuya’s door or breach his security system just to terrorize his space. But then again, here they are.
“You would get yourself dismissed, or worse, executed. Do you understand the magnitude of the situation you got yourself into?”
Chuuya scoffs as he hands over a bowl of canned crab and utensils. “Don’t get cocky, I’m not your apprentice.”
The brunette accepts them wistfully. “And yet here you are.”
“And yet here I am,” Chuuya echoes.
Dazai pokes his food and stares at Chuuya for a good measure, as if trying to analyze his ex-partner’s unusually nice deed directed at him. The latter only raises an eyebrow from the apparent inspection and crosses his arms leisurely.
“It’s edible, brat. I didn’t put poison in it if that’s what you were thinking.”
“I actually really wished you did.”
That earns him a scoff from the redhead. “Of course you do.”
The quiet was deafening then, and Dazai tries to eat, but he finds it quite difficult when Chuuya’s still here— watching him with a frown and furrowed brows. It’s almost as if he is deciphering something and waiting for the right time to pry. Dazai internally debates what to say to make Chuuya confess what’s been bugging him, or at least, make him stop. To test the waters, he settles for a little insult.
“Stop thinking. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Oh shut up.”
Dazai only smirks and refocuses on his bowl when he figured they’re going to leave it at that. It turns out Chuuya has other plans, though, because not long after, he finally sighs. “You know, I understand why you left.”
Dazai almost flinched, but he composes in a split-second and busies himself with a spoonful of crab. He counts the seconds until Chuuya continues. “But, still, I don’t understand why. Why?”
“What was hard to understand?” The corner of Dazai’s lips tug to a practiced smile, but his eyes stayed remotely still.
“I trusted you with my life, why couldn’t you trust me with this? Why didn’t you tell me.”
— that you were leaving.
Hurt. Betrayed.
Chuuya doesn’t even sound angry.
Dazai wished he was. Chuuya was always easier to read that way. It was always easier to answer that way.
However, this tone is foreign. Dazai hasn’t formulated the best way to respond to it, nor has he learned how to properly exploit it, so he remains silent instead. After all, this wasn’t the first time Chuuya has rendered him speechless.
“You always want the easy way out.”
The next mouthful was a little harder to break down. Was the bite he swallowed too big or was there just a lump in his throat clogging in his passageway?
Besides, who doesn’t want the easy way out?
“Anything I would never want to lose is always lost. Everything that is worth wanting will slip from my grasp the moment I obtain it. Isn’t it practical to flee than lose more?”
“But I’m still here, aren’t I?” Chuuya murmurs.
Dazai feels his chest constrict and his mouth run dry. Maybe he misheard him. “..What?”
“I’m here, idiot.” Chuuya repeats, louder this time. “So stop saying shit like you have nothing left. As long as I’m here, then you have something to keep. Like it or not, you gotta deal with it. So you really better stop pissing me off, okay?”
Dazai’s mind blanks. After all, it’s always been difficult to wrap his head around the concept of staying. May it be for things, or much less, people.
So how come Chuuya’s here, promising he would stay as if he can defy what’s already been written in the stars. Nothing’s permanent. Dazai thinks it laughable, really, but he also finds himself leaning towards Chuuya’s reckless promise.
Well, come to think of it, he really can’t picture Chuuya gone. Chuuya always makes his presence known. He always barges into Dazai’s line of sight, and his companionship feels like he has no bounds. For every mission, every fallout, every argument— he’s here.
Somehow, it swells Dazai’s insides with hope, and he tries to smile.
I believe you.
“I didn’t know you were sappy, Chuuya.”
“Hah?!”
You will stay, right?
”And very difficult to deal with.”
Chuuya scoffs, seemingly unaware of the beat red painted on his cheeks. “I’m glad you’re having a hard time trying to figure me out. Almost makes it up for all the bullshit you put me through.”
Days with Chuuya in the forsaken warehouse pass by like a blur. At this point, Dazai’s getting more and more accustomed to the idea of Chuuya staying; to the thought that maybe, he could keep this one thing.
Being with Chuuya is notable. When he opens the closet, he’s greeted by an equally divided space that accommodates two people. There’s an array of neat, branded garment on the left side, whereas his own cheap, tan trench-coats are shunned in the right corner. When he visits their cramped kitchen, he always spots a brandy on the tabletop or an expensive beverage on the counter.
Sometimes, he even thinks Chuuya only stops by his suite to bag more clothes, or he has surrendered it, even.
Like he thought before, Chuuya always makes his presence apparent, and somehow, Dazai doesn’t mind. In fact, he craves for it, especially at times Chuuya goes home late. He understands when Chuuya needs to fly overseas and look over affairs. They usually last for a few weeks, sometimes they dread over about a couple of months, but it’s okay. Chuuya keeps him updated about his whereabouts.
Things are different when Chuuya only has minor operations in Yokohama, though, and has completely went radio silent.
Dazai paces around their tiny living space. He’s an awfully patient man; he’s never been this jittery before, but ever since he estimated the amount of time Chuuya needs to run his errands, he just couldn’t settle down.
He should be back home by now.
And his predictions are always true, unless something out of the ordinary happens.
Dazai purses his lips and stares at the door, waiting for a familiar bundle of fiery locks to burst through.
He has prepared a page-worth of mockery to tantalize the other— sitting at the back of his tongue and ready for release, but it all seems to dissipate the moment he hears the dangling of keys and the doorknob twisting.
The door swings open the same time he greets, “Welcome home, darling.”
“What the actual— Jesus Christ. You startled me!”
”And you’re late,” Dazai counters with a flick on Chuuya’s chin. He runs a critical gaze over the man’s state, sighing when he sees a few bruises that he’s now sporting.
The redhead’s eyebrows furrow, confused that Dazai brought it up. “Am I?” He disrobes his blazer and coat and hangs them on the coatrack, while he keeps a watchful eye trained on Dazai as the latter grabs a first-aid kit from a compartment. “It’s literally only for about half an hour, though.”
“Wrong.” A sigh. “Math really isn’t Chuuya’s asset.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes. “Shut the fuck up. Then what? An hour?”
Dazai shakes his head. He latches a band aid on a wound on Chuuya’s arm and glances at him with a grimace. “1 hour and 23 minutes, to be precise.”
Chuuya’s face morphs into disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”
”No, I am actually very serious.”
”You keep track of time for me?”
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s even rare you get home on time these past few—“
“Say, Dazai. What do you even do while I’m gone?”
Dazai pauses.
He processes the question and backtracks to the sequence of events throughout the day.
First and foremost, there wasn’t much investigation or mission to do back at the agency. He only has reports to write that keeps piling up since last week ago, and he gleefully dumped them on his dear mentee. Kunikida conducted a meeting and had Atsushi to persuade him to come, but he brushes it off and makes a beeline to the warehouse instead.
A completely simple, and unconventional day, he suppose.
Then, he checked the time. He tries to relax but he keeps fidgeting. He wants to try cooking but he doesn’t know how so he—
“Wait for you to come back.”
Looking awfully taken aback, Chuuya’s eyes widen— his eyeballs almost threatening to pop out from their eye sockets. Dazai seems to be surprised with his own response as well, but he doesn’t take it back. He only straightens up after he finished the last band aid and walks away, feigning nonchalance.
“Now what do we have here,” Chuuya rasps with a glint of tease as soon as he recovers. “A caring housewife,” he drawls. “You say that as if I’ve been to war.”
“Well, we both know being in the mafia puts you on the same footing. And it’s far from being a housewife, actually. I’m just being a helpful pet owner.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes and joins him in the kitchen. “Say you’re helpful next time you learned how to cook.”
On cue, Dazai jut his lips to a sulky pout and lunges himself onto the smaller man. “How mean!”
“Get off.”
“We both know you can push me off if you really want to. But, that’s not what you want, don’t you?”
Despite his complaint, Chuuya indeed doesn’t bat away the arms that snaked on his neck and the weight that is now clinging onto him. He walks around the kitchen to grab the ingredients he needed with ease. “Isn’t this your poor excuse to slack off and be a clingy, useless cat?”
“No~” Dazai singsongs. “You see, I’m a visual learner, and I’d understand it better when I get to see how you do it.”
“You’ve been saying that since two years ago. You’re insufferable.”
“It’s my strong suit.”
”Unfortunately,” Chuuya adds, and they both laugh.
To Chuuya’s surprise, Dazai does pay attention this time. He runs a stream of commentary and asks sensible questions throughout his cooking. He even reaches out the ingredients Chuuya need next.
Dazai ends up surprising Chuuya more than he intends to. In a span of a week, he starts progressing into an uncharacteristically helpful house-cat, much to Chuuya’s chagrin. From trying to learn how to cook and helping him clean their dishes, to even offering to give him a back massage after an exhausting day at work.
A fucking back massage.
Despite admittedly having the weight on his shoulders lightened, Dazai’s new behavior is starting to throw Chuuya off.
So, he decides this is the day he pries into the matter at hand, and waits until they are settled on the bed. After they dimmed their lights and shuffled close, he shifts toward Dazai’s direction.
“Okay, cut the crap and spill.”
“Spill,” Dazai echoes and as the same time his eyebrows furrow. “What?”
“You’re being so fucking weird today. No, for days, in fact. So you tell me genius. Did something happen? What are you thinking?”
Dazai blinks. He didn’t even notice he was doing something different, and it’s absolutely distracting how Chuuya can pinpoint one sudden shift in him, whether minor or not.
Dazai opens his mouth and purses them back. When the silence turns deafening, he finally closes his eyes and gives in. “Join the agency, Chuuya.”
The redhead sits upright. With his eyes closed, Dazai could even say Chuuya is staring at him with a disbelieving look when he says, “This again?”
“Just think about it. Once you give a final answer, I won’t interfere with it, and we would never have this conversation again,” Dazai supplies as he tries to purse his lips— a vigorous attempt to restrain the strangled persuasion just beneath his teeth.
There was a momentary silence, until Chuuya’s shoulders slacken and he collapses back to the comfort of their mattress. There are too many things to consider, Chuuya thinks, but he finds himself gravitating to one answer. “Someday.”
Dazai’s eyelids fly open and he turns to face him. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously, but in one condition.”
“Let me hear it.”
Chuuya contemplates. He presses his lips into a thin line. “Promise me.. that you would try to continue living, against all odds.”
Dazai’s eyes twitch. “Against all odds?” There’s mirth lingering in the brunette’s tone. The request keeps repeating in his head, trying to distinguish any hint of humor behind it. “Aren’t you asking for too much, Chuuya?”
“And so were you. But think about it too. So far, you’re doing great, aren’t you? We’re doing okay. We’re just going to continue doing it.”
Dazai wordlessly stares at Chuuya’s lips as they mouth out words of encouragement. Like a venus fly trap, Dazai finds himself stranded in them.
“I’m here, okay? You don’t have to worry. Are you even listening?”
After drawing out a long sigh, Dazai murmurs, quite inaudible but Chuuya hears. “I’ll try.”
“The promise?” He clarifies.
”I can’t promise but I’ll try.”
”And that’s good enough for me. For now, what do you say we sleep?”
“Alright. Whatever you say, Chuuya.”
Chuuya covers the duvet over them and maneuvered closer.
And as they stay sprawled on the expensive mattress, with their limbs entangled and bodies pressed, Dazai finally learns one thing about himself after years of learning about Chuuya.
That maybe he is capable of loving, and being loved.
And that scares him.
“Hey Chuuya?” He asks momentarily, tone hushed and unusually hesitant.
Chuuya stirs to wake and rasps a rather mildly irritated “What?”
Dazai pauses for a bit.
”Can you make another promise for me?”
“What is it this time?”
Chuuya nods at him to urge him to continue. On cue, Dazai chews on his lips before he sighs. “Can you stop using corruption? No, can we stop resorting to that anymore?” The unsought anxiety begins to creep onto his skin like vines, and he tries to articulate further. “We both know it’s going to take a toll, sooner or later. I’m sure Mori-san knows, too. That’s why you’ve been receiving more critical operations nowadays, because he wants to take advantage of the card in your sleeve before it wears you out, or worse, before it becomes untamable.”
Chuuya watches him trail off. He remains unblinking as he processes the subtle apprehension in Dazai’s voice. He cards a hand through his hair.
“You’re doing it again.”
Dazai lolls his head sideways out of pure curiosity. He wets his lips. “What is?”
”That,” Chuuya gestures to him. “That sudden worry. Where is it stemming from? I have always returned back home in one piece, have outsmarted my enemies the way you’ve always wanted me to. So, I don’t understand why are you always at the edge of your seat these days.” Chuuya inhales a sharp breath. “Why are you asking me of this request?”
“So, to summarize, you still want to use corruption despite its consequences, Chuuya?”
“Oh my fucking God,” Chuuya exclaims, sitting abruptly. The haze of sleep now fully gone and he twists to turn his head back towards the brunette’s direction. “That’s not the point!”
“Then what?”
Chuuya face palms. “Just— I don’t understand why are you suddenly worrying out of the blue. In the middle of the goddamn night. Do you know something bound to happen and what’s at stake?”
”No, it’s not that. You know why.”
Chuuya finally erupts at that. “No, I really don’t!” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You seriously need to stop acting like everything you think of is at the scope of people’s comprehension, okay? You gotta help me out. You need to tell it to me so I could understand.”
“I care.” Dazai blurts out and Chuuya stills. “Just that and nothing else. You can stop shouting now, Chuuya.”
The all buildup frustration from his body suddenly gets washed away and Chuuya deflates. He exhales to calm down after Dazai’s reason registers to him and he lies down again. “You know I’m here, right? I’d stay, I promise,” He reassures.
Dazai doesn’t budge. He keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling, but Chuuya knows he’s listening.
“If it helps, I could only use Arahabaki when you’re present, and when I know I have you at my back. But I also really don’t like the feeling of losing sanity and exhausting my body. Maybe give me one last chance to use it, and then, I’d promise.” He concludes. “There, happy?”
“Sure.”
“Really?”
“Satisfied..I think.”
“Okay cool, now can we go back to bed for real this time? Stop thinking for tonight.”
Dazai ponders for a second before his lips turn into a sheepish grin, and he purrs, “Sure, Chuuya~”
He nestles on the crook of Chuuya’s neck, breathing him in— inhaling the scent of home and belonging. Chuuya cages him with his arms in return.
When Dazai feels the steady, rhythmic vibration of Chuuya’s heartbeat, he finally relaxes.
This is too good to be true.
Today marks the fourth year ever since they shared a home, two years since they’ve made promises they were adamant to keep, and one year since they’ve devoted themselves to each other as lifelong partners.
Though Dazai doesn’t really care about numbers and dates, Chuuya has always treated this day with utmost specialty. From excusing himself at work for a leave, to even buying Dazai a bouquet of red camellias last year.
Now, Dazai traipses around their kitchen swiftly with calculated steps, all while a gentle smile dances on his lips from reminiscing the fond memory. He went home early to prepare for their dinner, and he aims to deliver a hearty meal for he and Chuuya to enjoy.
He’s nowhere near Chuuya’s level of cooking proficiency, considering the fact he’s never had the opportunity to try, but he trusts his dexterity to at least make something edible. Chuuya’s been so keen on implying the last he would’ve wanted to go home to is a burnt kitchen. Dazai may have always retorted negatively or childishly sulked when Chuuya insists he’d cook, but he complies still. In a way, he used those times as a training ground, all in preparation to carry out the responsibility of today’s supper.
He prepares Chuuya’s favorite— a bottle of Romanée-Conti, and places it on the table. He also taste-tests every process on the food that he makes. They come out pretty appetizing to look at and even close to how Chuuya makes them. Not only does he mentally applaud himself for a job well done, but also sniggers a smile in anticipation of Chuuya’s reaction to his first— and absolutely successful attempt in cooking.
Nothing must go wrong, and everything’s going well so far, except, a phone call chimes when it shouldn’t be, and he pauses his pace to look at the caller ID. It rings twice more before he got to answer.
“Miss me, Chibi?”
Dazai then hears a faint chuckle from the other line. Chuuya rumbles softly, but it gets overpowered by the clangor in the background.
“..What did you say?” Dazai tries to familiarize the distorted sounds he hear. He recognizes whirs, followed by traffic alarms and one loud metallic bang. “Are you in another mission right now, Chuuya?”
“Shit—” Chuuya grunts, and Dazai pictures different potential scenarios unfold. The redhead only lets out frustrated curses when things don’t go as expected. “Yeah, yeah. I said.. I did accept— the operation. They need me.”
Dazai pales. He makes an effort to shove away the familiar knot that’s beginning to settle deep in his stomach. “You’ve always been so stubborn, Chuuya,” he rasps, but the latter is so caught-up in action to even catch the tone. Dazai sighs. “Tell me you didn’t forget the date.”
“…Happy anniversary,” Chuuya’s sheepish voice evokes from the static-ridden speaker of his phone. “I have a gift..”
Dazai nods and squeezes his eyes shut. “Okay.”
“Remember my promise of using corruption one last time?”
Dazai doesn’t like where this is heading. “Yes, why?”
“I’ve been saving it every mission, thinking of when is it best to use it..”
Dazai’s breathing hitched, his fingers going lax and the spatula he was holding resounds a faint thud across the kitchen when it fell.
“Tell me you’re kidding,” the brunette deadpans. He glances over their wall clock and turns off the stove.
“I may have to use it now. In return, I’d stop using it just like I promised. Then maybe, I could try for that stupid agency of yours.” Dazai can almost feel the proud smile plastered on Chuuya’s face, pressed against the phone as he whispers, “It was supposed to be my surprise for today, but it was getting a little late, so I thought I’d say it now.”
He says it so soft, so tender, and how ironic to the situation he’s currently dealing with. Dazai feels a pang in his chest.
”Idiot.”
“Hey… Everything’s under control, mackerel.”
“Have you forgotten, Chuuya? I am not onsite. Didn’t you say you’d only use it when I’m around?”
Chuuya’s rapid breathing resonates from the speaker, and Dazai grips his phone tighter. Is he running? Is he trying to evade something? The throbbing feeling inside Dazai amplifies every second.
“But you’d come right?” Chuuya still has the nerve to ask.
Dazai feels driven to a corner, trapped. When it all comes down to this, he knows he only has one answer.
“Yes.”
“That’s the only thing I need to know. I’m going. Can’t wait to see you. I’m hanging up.”
“Wait, wait for me, Chuuya. Where are—“
The other line beeps.
“—you.”
Dazai’s eyes gape in horror and he rushes outside with a heavy chest.
A part of Dazai blames Chuuya for recklessly putting his life on the line, and even more so for being high in adrenaline that he forgot to mention the most important detail. But, the bigger, more rational part of him can’t help but think he’s the one who’s supposed to be held accountable— for overlooking this from happening and for underestimating Chuuya’s stubbornness. Right now, Dazai’s at the edge of his seat, and he could only hope Chuuya waited for him to arrive, at least.
It took him long to exploit information about the location of Chuuya’s most recent mission, and it took him even longer to get there.
When Dazai finally steps into the said place, he scans the crowd— fast and calculating. His body moving autopilot as he flounders through the ravaged buildings and ruins.
“Chuuya?”
Anything. Any sign at all.
He brushes pass mortally-wounded people, scrambling to get to a safer zone, some even glancing back to his direction. He didn’t bother stopping by to inquire. Maybe he was scared to hear their answers.
“He’s alive.” He shakes his head and shoves those thoughts away, and makes a beeline through a dismantled building’s hallway.
“He’s alive.” He convinces himself as he pass by some familiar-looking faces. Oddly enough, they are all looking at one direction with a disturbed expression. Dazai finds himself rerouting and trudging towards there instead.
“He’s—”
He stops.
There, at the center, he spots a small statured boy who looks badly battered. He’s laughing maniacally as he continues to rampage and fabricate gravitons with a crazed look. Dazai doesn’t even think twice. He runs.
”Chuuya!”
Dazai first takes notice of the fact that Chuuya is bleeding profusely, more so than he has ever bled on the aftermath of corruption. His hair is disheveled and his clothes torn. When Dazai finally grabs hold of his arm to stop him from his aimless advances, Chuuya immediately went languid as if all his strings were cut loose.
“What did I say about waiting for me to arrive? Why are you so stubborn. You didn’t even tell me where you are..” Dazai nags as he inspects Chuuya’s mortally-wounded physique. He hauls them to a more leveled ground and tries to tend to his injuries.
Moments later, Chuuya coughs painstakingly. “We won.”
“I know. That— that’s great.. That’s… no wait, why—”
Chuuya seems to be out of his lucid state. He has registered Dazai’s words earlier and is now capable of holding a conversation. So why.
Dazai gently traces his hands to different areas of exposed skin, but the marks of corruption doesn’t dissolve. “Why isn’t it working.” Was I not able to nullify it?
“It’s working.” Chuuya tries to sit, but he clenches his abdomen just as fast with a pained look.
”No, don’t move yet. I— it hurts a lot, right? And you’re bleeding.” Too much, Dazai notes. The spreading of red doesn’t stop, and it impairs his head every passing second. He could almost see a ghost from his past as he hastily unveils a strip of bandage from his arm. He wraps them around Chuuya’s deep cuts.
“Here. This will do for now.”
Dazai clutches the pale skin, like he’s trying to imbue no longer human again on the red imprints that are leeching off Chuuya’s life.
He has never been this desperate before. Was I too late again?
“No, no, no, no.” He chants. His head is spinning too fast for him. It already stirred up a conclusion of what awaits a few moments now, while he’s still here trying to plead the skies not to take this from him. Not this one. Not Chuuya.
Chuuya laughs like he just got the memorandum of Dazai’s inner turmoil. Dazai doesn’t fancy tangible things, but he would love to bottle that sound.
Chuuya murmurs incoherently, his breathing shallow and curtail, and Dazai instantly leans in. He didn’t catch what he was saying.
“What? Hey… hey, Chuuya. I’m listening.”
He needs to hear everything Chuuya has to say.
“I’m here.” The shrill noises die down in his ears. All the sounds he’s willing to hear are anything evoked by Chuuya. “I’m here.”
“I know. You always are.”
“Yes.” I’m not. If I were here prematurely you wouldn’t be battling for your life this moment.
“Yes, I’m here, Chuuya.” His lips tremble and his eyes burn. “So stay, okay?”
You promised.
“It’s our anniversary..” Dazai says quietly.
“I know. I.. I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry.” The words feel like ash on Dazai’s tongue— foreign and unused, but he wants Chuuya to know. Wants the sincerity to be engraved on Chuuya’s skull. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” His hands shake as he cradles Chuuya’s head and holds his hands.
Dazai tenderly brushes over Chuuya’s calluses— the marks imprinted after every battle they bonded with, after every corruption. He’s grown to like them over the years, but now he can’t even stare at them longer. He brings his chapped lips to kiss his knuckles lightly. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” Chuuya wheezes. He shifts to look at Dazai in the eyes, and stretches a bloodied hand to caress his cheeks. Dazai instinctually leans into the touch. “It’s not your fault, ‘kay? Dazai…”
“Shuuji. Tsushima Shuuji .” Dazai presses his forehead onto Chuuya’s. He feels the smear of blood but he doesn’t care. “You always want me to be honest, right?”
Chuuya’s eyes flare wide. “Shuuji… huh?” He smiles then, his tired eyes morphing into tiny crescents. “Reach for my pocket.”
Dazai immediately gratifies his request and fishes out a hoop studded with tiny diamonds. It shimmers amidst the dark.
“A ring?” Dazai’s voice comes barely a whisper. “What an idiot.”
Chuuya chuckles low, his breath fanning against their little bubble. “I have… two promises, didn’t I?” He coughs. Dazai purses his lips and nods vehemently.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry…I–,” Chuuya gasps. Dazai listens as he struggle to puff out little breaths.
“–I couldn’t keep… the other one.”
Chuuya’s hand fell from Dazai’s face, leaving him alone in his whirlwind of emotions as he embraces the harsh reality.
Dazai hears the faint wails of the ambulance on the background. The siren drowns out the longer he stares at Chuuya’s empty eyes.
“I love you, Chuuya.” He whispers on top of Chuuya’s head. Finally. “Did you hear me?”
The silence prickled his skin more than the cold.
Because today marks the fourth year ever since they shared a home, two years since they’ve made promises they were adamant to keep, and one year since they’ve devoted themselves to each other as lifelong partners.
Today, marks the first day Chuuya didn’t stay.