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Dazai Osamu is a boy.
The Black Ghost of the Port Mafia, the youngest executive of his time, the Demon Prodigy himself, is a boy.
It doesn’t take Chuuya long to crack it. He’s always known Dazai has had this unbothered, laid-back, cocky demeanor around him; but underneath it all, he’s just a boy like Chuuya himself is; sneaky, childish, and very very oblivious.
Because a normal childhood for Dazai is a myth; pure happiness in the port mafia for him is a myth, being not so lonely is a myth, and the oh-so painfully mundane and ordinary things about being a boy, a child...is also just a myth.
Which Chuuya does not give a flying fuck about. Myth or not, you’re supposed to at least know which button on the console does what, for the love of god.
It’s embarrassing, really, how he still lost to Dazai on their first trip to the arcade, when it was the bastard’s first fucking time ever being to an arcade, and he still beat him, even got to make him another bet with him and looked so fucking smug about it.
Because, as far as Chuuya can observe, Dazai doesn’t know how to enjoy hot afternoon walks in the city with a full stomach, doesn’t know what his own favorite ice-cream flavor is, doesn’t know what it means to obsess over simple things such as drooling over different muffins in a bakery window, the smell wafting out with every pass of customers through the heavy glass door.
“You’re no fun,” he had once said to Dazai when the brunet cluelessly stared at him, not understanding what had made Chuuya spit this assumption about him. There’s obviously no one more lively and flamboyant than Dazai; he’s the only reason why Chuuya even has a partner with whom he could argue on for days on end. And for Dazai, if that isn’t considered the definition of ‘fun’, if seeing Chuuya fuming and getting more and more flustered with every retort isn’t called ‘fun’, he doesn’t know what is.
He doesn’t know it when Chuuya drags him off (in the literal sense) to a crowded street fair one evening, jumping on his feet stall after stall, excitement buzzing around him as a stoic-looking Dazai could only stare in amazement—till Dazai’s the one dragging Chuuya’s arm everywhere after mere minutes of their arrival, fluttering about the mass of people like a six year old.
His eye that isn’t covered by bandages glittering with the delight of a kid, brown locks bouncing in the breeze every time he excitedly turns and—
Chuuya is dumbfounded because—
He’s such a kid. He’s so much of a kid. There’s this tiny little boy inside of him, who can’t decide if he wants his grilled corn buttered, doesn’t know how to hold the ring loop he’s gonna throw, and can’t choose between which color of frosting would taste better on his cupcake.
Chuuya sees it all in the way Dazai eyes his cotton candy skeptically, the way he crosses his arms over his chest and ruefully deduces the faultiness of the clawing machine, which a fifteen-year-old boy isn’t expected to, and—
“Oh my God, Dazai, get away from there—heyyy kid, yeah I am so sorry for this little, uh, interruption, go on with your siblings yeah?”
The little girl’s innocent eyes follow the pair curiously as Chuuya drags Dazai away with a hand hooked around his arm.
“Dazai! You can’t just go around telling little girls that all the ghosts in the ‘Trial of Terror’ are people in makeup, I swear to god—
“But chibi, they are. And for fuck’s sake, that name sounds so fucking ridiculous, it’s not even funny—
“What’s not funny is me babysitting you all day because you’ve been losing your head over everything that you see here — you’re a big baby, Osamu!”
“Mahhh, Chuuya’s so mean. Am not!”
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
“Am not—
Dazai Osamu, Chuuya makes his final decision, without a doubt, is a boy.
He’s still buzzing and bubbly even when they are having dinner, Chuuya buying a giant bowl of ramen with some tempura at a street stall so that they can share, partly because both were stuffed from all the snacks they gobbled down all afternoon, and partly because Chuuya’s wallet is getting lighter the more the dusk settles.
Anyone would have been out of their right mind to even think Dazai would pay for a day like this.
And Chuuya can see it in his confused amber gaze that he doesn’t really understand what it feels like to blow on the steaming noodles in the stifling cold air and then slurp them up with the broth, their breaths fogging in huffed breaths when the heat bites into the skin of the tongue. He can tell Dazai’s only now noticing the way that the warmth from the food spreads into his chest and his whole body as they ate, noticing how it starts to make him a little flushed in the face, and just seeing Dazai let out a contented sigh after finishing it, smiling faintly, is enough of a fuzzy warmth for Chuuya to feel down to his toes, though he didn’t actually eat nearly half of it.
After a few more games, a very much empty wallet, (Chuuya’s definitely getting payback one way or another) winning more prizes, and yet again stopping Dazai from embarrassing the magician pulling out a multicolored string of satin from his coat pocket, Dazai’s arms are filled with stuffed animals, bear plushies and the thousands of snacks he spoiled himself with-yet he’s still dragging Chuuya off so as not to miss the 9-pm fireworks.
But the little space of clearing made for the onlookers is already packed by the time they rush up to it, even Dazai, with his height, squinting and getting onto his tiptoes to look over people’s heads.
And suddenly, Chuuya is reminded of a much better idea than sulking while buried under people’s shoulders.
“Osamu,” he tugs on Dazai’s hand, where they have their fingers intertwined, “come with me.”
“But, Chibi, the fireworks, they’re already starting—
He pulls on Dazai’s hand and it takes the brunet off-guard that he sinks down till Chuuya’s lips brush against his ear, the smaller boy whispering among the noise, “Trust me, just come on.”
They walk up a slanted plane leading up to a kind of makeshift deck above the clearing space, overlooking the fair, the gasping crowd, and lit a dim yellow glow by the magnificent Japanese temple right nearby, Chuuya rolling his eyes at all of Dazai’s whines and protests that his legs are possibly detaching from his body from exhaustion right now, till the string of words is abruptly cut-off as he steps up onto the landing.
Smiling, Chuuya tugs Dazai forward, gesturing as if to say ‘go ahead’ towards the wooden railing at the front.
Dazai’s lips are slightly parted as he tilts his head skywards, gazing up in awe at the thousands of colors exploding in the sky. The world seems to be moving in slow motion up here with Chuuya by his side, their breaths hanging in the air and the breathtaking bursts of violet, blue, fuchsia and indigo against the dark of the night sky. He placed all of his plushies and snacks near the foot of a railing post, approaching Chuuya.
“It looks even more beautiful up here,” Chuuya says without looking at him.
“Yeah,” Dazai says breathily, but his eyes aren’t really turned towards the fireworks, the carnival or even the giant, glimmering ferris wheel to their left. Right now, he can only stare at Chuuya gaping at the fireworks, eyes shining and cheeks flushed from the cold. And as if Dazai’s heart hasn’t suffered enough, it skips a beat when the redhead leans back into his chest, sighing as he hugs his arms around himself. Reluctantly, Dazai’s own arms came up to slide around Chuuya’s torso.
“ ‘Samu?”
“Hmm?”
“We should do this more often, you know?” Chuuya gestures with a hand. “This whole…’taking-a-day-off-and-spending-it-however-you-want’ thing.”
Dazai chuckles, lips against Chuuya’s temple. “Mori will have my head.”
“As if you wouldn’t get around that.” A splash of turquoise sparkles explodes high above them, lighting up the sky in a brilliant blue-green but Dazai eye’s are caught on something else because—god, it’s as if a whole galaxy is trapped inside Chuuya’s irises, millions of stars floating in an ocean of sapphire and it’s enough to make his heart stop.
“Look,” Chuuya points but Dazai is only half listening.
I’m looking, he wants to say but it wouldn’t come out. I’m looking. I’m looking at the most wonderful thing that I could ever lay my eyes on. I’m looking at beauty interlocked within a person. I’m looking at a spark, a burning star, a miracle, someone without a clue.
I am looking at you.
“What—you’re missing the show—
Chuuya blabbers on, confused, as Dazai turns him around gently, hands on his hips and trapping the smaller boy within himself and the railing.
“Thank you, Chuuya.”
“For what?”
“For today, of course.”
He eyes Dazai skeptically,(fuck, he’s so beautiful with the fireworks and the nightsky as a backdrop) then huffs out a laugh, running a hand through chocolate-brown curls.
“Anytime, mackerel.”
“Can I return the favor?”
Chuuya smirks. “If it covers my time then yeah.”
And before they know it, they’re kissing, Chuuya shivering in Dazai’s arms almost naturally, that has nothing to do with the crisp of the air cocooning them. Dazai tastes the sugar of the cotton candy on Chuuya’s lips and his heart is up in his throat when Chuuya’s hands come up to grip the lapels of his coat, dragging him closer.
The ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ of the people below them, the floating laughter from the fair, the sound of the crickets in the trees nearby, even the explosion of the fireworks all muddle together in Dazai’s head while he’s in this haze of kissing Chuuya, hands on his waist as the other boy shudders against his lips, whispering “you—really don’t need to—thank me—”
“I do—
Chuuya laughs, and it sounds like happiness in notes. “Stupid,” he pulls back and places a hand on Dazai’s cheek, "booping" the dimple there with his thumb. “I’m always gonna be around to make you do weird shit, you know that?”
“Today wasn’t weird,” Dazai leans into his palm. “It was one of the best days I’ve ever had.”
Chuuya frowns, then his face immediately softens because—
He really is looking at a lost child, isn’t he?
Chuuya leans in till their lips are touching again, till he could melt against the softness of Dazai’s mouth on his and murmurs, “Which is the start of many more to come, idiot.”
And for this moment in Dazai’s arms, with their heartbeats in flawless synchronization. Chuuya’s world explodes into colors behind his eyelids, and he thinks the day might also be perfect.