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Everybody knew that Dazai Osamu was one of the most feared people in Yokohama.
Known as the Demon Prodigy, he was the tactical genius of the Port Mafia and the other half of Double-Black: the title for the vicious duo that had decimated an entire gifted organization in a single night. His name was spoken with reverence and fear, and his brutality was second only to the Boss of the Port Mafia himself. He could slice someone to pieces and not so much as flinch. He might even smile.
So why the hell was he bleeding out in Chuuya’s doorway?
“Slug?”
Chuuya blinked, focusing back on Dazai’s face—pallid and sporting a tight-lipped smile that only barely disguised the pain he was clearly in. “Are you just going to keep staring?” he asked wryly. “I realize I’m quite handsome, but—“ Dazai cut himself with a short intake of breath as he sagged forward, nearly crashing straight into Chuuya.
“Holy shit, Dazai,” Chuuya hissed, immediately propping Dazai up and looking down to see the bloodstain spreading on his suit jacket—nearly invisible thanks to the way it was swallowed up by the black. Chuuya cursed under his breath as he practically dragged him into his apartment. “What the fuck happened to you?”
Dazai’s smile was pained as Chuuya heaved him toward the bathroom. “I was stabbed,” was the simple reply.
“You were what?”
Dazai sank onto the toilet lid with an unceremonious snort as Chuuya immediately went to his sink cabinet and pulled out a first aid kit. “Stabbed, chibi. Don’t worry—“ he cut himself off with a pained hiss. “Not by anyone else.”
Chuuya’s fingers stalled for a few seconds from where they were unbuttoning Dazai’s suit jacket—almost unnoticeable, but Dazai noticed everything about Chuuya. He resumed taking off the jacket with almost no change in his expression—almost, because the way his lips tightened just slightly and the way his scowl deepened were obvious to Dazai. “You did it.”
Not a question.
Dazai huffed a pained chuckle. “No one else could do something like this,” he gestured vaguely to the gaping slice in his stomach, which was exposed in all its bloodstained glory now that Chuuya had wrestled off all of Dazai’s clothes. “Except you, of course. Brutish hatrack.”
But Dazai could see the way Chuuya began biting the inside of his cheek, jaw taut and face pinched in concentration and something else. Worry? Irritation, Dazai concluded swiftly and shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind.
“I didn’t think you liked pain,” Chuuya muttered, and Dazai bit back a mangled gasp when Chuuya pressed down hard on the wound with the gauze he held.
“I don’t,” was the quiet reply. “That’s why I’m here in the first place.” He let out a lazy half-chuckle, but they both knew it was fake.
Chuuya snorted, though, tossing the gauze away before he picked up a small bottle of alcohol “If you really wanted to kill yourself, you should have gone for your jugular.”
“I know,” Dazai whined, and even as he bled out in Chuuya’s bathroom he managed to be as endlessly irritating as ever. “But bleeding out isn’t a very appealing way to go, so I thought I’d try something else.”
“And didn’t that work out just splendidly,” Chuuya muttered, pressing an alcohol-soaked piece of gauze into Dazai’s gash and causing a sharp intake of breath as he bit down the pain.
“That’s mean, slug! I’m dying and you’re making fun of me. So cruel.” Dazai’s voice was scratchy and hollow—it was a pathetic attempt at their usual bickering and neither one was in the mood for it.
Chuuya continued in silence, finishing cleaning the wound and beginning the stitches while Dazai sat white-knuckled and said nothing. The pitter-patter of rain on the rooftop and windows was all they heard and it was uncomfortable, to be in each other’s presence without saying anything. They were always talking—bickering, strategizing, threatening to kill each other. There was never any room for silence, and they were both nearly suffocating under the weight of it.
“You shouldn’t do that,” Chuuya murmured, so quietly that the gaping quiet nearly swallowed it up.
But Dazai heard it. “Do what?”
They both knew it was a ridiculous question and a pitiful attempt at nonchalance, but Chuuya, for reasons Dazai couldn’t think about, decided to indulge him. “Try to kill yourself.”
Hearing it out loud was different than having the unspoken words hanging in the air between them like a dense, suffocating fog, and Dazai found himself huffing a weak chuckle. “Oh? And why not?”
He sounded dead, Chuuya thought when he heard that.
“Because then you can’t love anything,” was Chuuya’s answer. It was even, measured, unwilling to give a single clue as to what Chuuya was thinking or feeling. Dazai wondered vaguely if Chuuya had learned that from him.
Dazai snorted. “When did you become so sappy?”
“I didn’t, I just grew up.”
That cold reply had Dazai stiffening, but Chuuya didn’t look up and continued stitching.
“It takes a lot of strength to love anything, especially when it’s a person. It means you’re vulnerable, and it means you can get hurt. Hell, you probably will,” Chuuya huffed. “But it’s also pretty damn great while it lasts.” Images of old friends in a billiard room flashed before his eyes and the smallest, fondest smile tickled the corners of his lips.
“I don’t see your point,” Dazai murmured.
“My point,” Chuuya sighed, still refusing to meet Dazai’s gaze, “is that you should start trying to care about yourself. Then you can start loving other things—maybe other people, but I’m not sure a heartless bastard like you is even capable of that—and that might be a little better than slicing yourself open and making your worst enemy stitch you up,” he snorted, biting the thread and dabbing more gauze in more alcohol. The silence was back, more suffocating than the last and just as thick and eery. Chuuya dabbed at the wound with careful hands and Dazai watched him beneath half-lidded eyes.
“Bullshit.”
Chuuya blinked and for the first time in the long minutes since he’d found Dazai at his door, looked up to meet his gaze. “Huh?”
“I call bullshit,” Dazai repeated, more determined and less throaty than before. His eyes were foggy with pain, but behind that was some kind of emotion Chuuya couldn’t identify, and a small part of him was scared of what he’d find it to be if he tried.
“I’ve never loved myself,” Dazai admitted shamelessly, voice thick in a way Chuuya hadn’t heard before. He sounded almost vulnerable. “But you? Oh, god,” Dazai reached out and suddenly, his fingertips were brushing Chuuya’s cheek and caressing his face and Chuuya was frozen in place, completely stiff as he stared at Dazai. Written on his face was something Chuuya had no idea what to make of. “I love you so much I forget what hating myself feels like.”
Chuuya’s breath stalled and he thought he felt his heart stop. The hand on his cheek fell and now Dazai was avoiding his gaze and Chuuya was still frozen, unable to move or say or do a thing. His thoughts were too loud, practically beating themselves to death against his skull. All he could do was stare at Dazai’s pallid, blood-streaked face—and in that moment, with the moonlight filtering in through the window and stroking his cheeks, Chuuya vaguely wondered how he hadn’t noticed how beautiful Dazai was until now.
Dazai heaved himself up, hissing as he clutched his stitches and made to step past Chuuya, who still couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Dazai was slow to make his way to the door but just before opening it, he turned and offered Chuuya a long look and the smallest of smiles. A grateful smile, Chuuya thought looking back on that moment.
“Thank you, Chuuya.”
Something let go of him. Some tether, some shackle, something let him stand, let him rush toward Dazai in a burst of emotion he didn’t want to name.
Dazai leaned against the door as Chuuya stood in front of him, so close that their bodies were nearly touching, and his features were softened with confusion as he stared down at Chuuya.
“What?” was all he managed to get out.
Dazai scowled and crossed his arms over his chest in childish irritation. “Thanking you once is vomit-inducing enough, so excuse me if I don't—”
“You love me.”
Dazai paused.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “I do.”
Chuuya’s breathing was nearly as uneven as Dazai’s as he searched his partner’s face for any sign of a bluff. When he found none, Chuuya stumbled backward a step with a blood-stained hand in his hair, disbelief washing over him in a bone-crushing wave. Dazai watched this almost with concern as his brows knit together, but Chuuya was looking like he’d just seen a ghost. “Chibi, are you—“
“What the fuck?” Chuuya shouted, spinning to face Dazai with anger lighting up his eyes with the most vibrant blue. “You love me? The hell?”
Dazai blinked. Of course. Of course Chuuya didn’t love him—how did he manage to trick himself into thinking that there was even the slightest chance he did? Dazai was unlovable. He was a liar and a manipulator and a murderer and Chuuya was honest and passionate and kind. Why would Dazai ever expect someone like that to love someone like him?
“You can’t just show up at my apartment half-dead and tell me you love me while I’m tying off your stitches because you stabbed yourself! That’s not how it fucking works!”
Dazai didn’t say anything. He couldn’t say anything. His mind was too loud and his heart was too fast and his body was frozen in place.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Fuck, what am I supposed to say to that?” Chuuya spun to face Dazai with disbelieving eyes and despite it all, Dazai had to remind himself that now was not the time to be admiring how devilishly handsome his partner was with moonlight in his hair and fire in his eyes.
Instead, Dazai cleared his throat and tried to ignore the rapid pounding in his chest. He wanted to tell Chuuya to forget he’d said anything, to insist he’d go home and be just fine, but he knew Chuuya and he knew that he’d have none of that. So Dazai stayed where he was and waited.
Chuuya looked up at him eventually, though, with furrowed brows and an irritable scowl. “It took you almost bleeding out to finally say that? I knew you were an idiot but god-fucking-dammit, Dazai, I didn’t think you were this stupid.”
All thoughts eddied out of his head. Dazai’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. An intelligent “what?” was all he could manage.
Chuuya rolled his eyes, arms crossed over his chest as he eyed Dazai with an unamused frown. “It took you three fucking years to finally say it. Do you know how many sleepless nights you’ve caused me? Mackerel bastard,” he added in a quiet mutter before opening the bathroom door and practically shoving Dazai out. “Move, I’m fucking exhausted.”
Any words Dazai wanted to string together got stuck in his throat and between his teeth, so all he could do was watch dumbly as Chuuya tossed his hat onto his bed, running a hand through his hair with a long-suffering sigh.
After a few moments, though, Chuuya eyed him with narrowed eyes and frowned again. “Are you just going to stand there?”
Dazai blinked. “You…” he trailed off and Chuuya arched a brow, but he couldn't continue.
Chuuya snorted. “Thought it was obvious. Aren’t you supposed to be a genius?”
Dazai gaped.
“You’ll catch flies, y’know.”
At that, Dazai blinked furiously and began sputtering. “Chuuya! You can’t just confess your love like that and then look at me like I’m an idiot! At least I was romantic about it. You’re a brute!” he exclaimed, shaking his head while Chuuya watched with an amused smile.
“You are an idiot. I can’t believe you didn’t realize I’ve been in love with you since we were fucking fifteen,” he snorted.
Dazai paused. “Fifteen?”
“Yeah, and it’s been the worst three years of my life.” Chuuya rolled his eyes.
But when he glanced back at Dazai, he was looking at him with a peculiar expression that Chuuya couldn’t dissect, and then he was stepping toward him until they were close enough that Chuuya could smell the blood on his bandages and the scent of his shampoo. “Can I kiss you?” Dazai asked, so quietly that Chuuya would have missed it had he been a mere inch further away.
But then Chuuya’s face spread into a wide grin. “You never had to ask.”
They met in the middle, with Dazai leaning down and Chuuya standing up on his toes as Dazai wrapped one hand around Chuuya’s waist while the other rested at his nape. Chuuya smiled against his lips, twining a hand through Dazai’s hair and pulling him down, tugging on his hair in the process and drawing a deep sigh from Dazai. They stumbled backward and Dazai bumped into the wall as they ran their hands up and down each other while their lips crashed together again and again and again amidst the raging seas of their emotions and the thundering of their hearts.
Chuuya’s hands were impossibly careful as they flitted up and down Dazai’s exposed torso, almost nervously, and Dazai’s own touches were just as unsure. But then Chuuya moved to cup Dazai’s face, nibbling on his bottom lip and being so impossibly gentle that Dazai nearly melted.
That’s when Chuuya pulled away, just enough that they could look each other in the eye, and smiled something soft and tender and raw. “Let’s get to sleep,” he murmured, and his breath fanned over Dazai’s neck and collarbone as he settled back on his feet.
Before his hands fell, though, Dazai reached up to hold one and pressed a kiss to the inside of Chuuya’s palm with a small smile of his own. Dazai watched Chuuya as his eyes softened and he let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head as he made his way toward his bed. Dazai followed and they were under the covers within minutes, legs tangled together as Chuuya curled himself into Dazai’s chest, comfortable with the lanky arms wrapped around him. Dazai pressed his head into Chuuya’s hair and sighed, still unsure of whether this was reality or some kind of twisted dreamland.
“You’re terrible,” Dazai murmured into Chuuya’s hair. “A terrible slug.”
Chuuya snorted half-heartedly at that. “You’re the terrible one. I stressed for three years about this, y’know.”
“And I didn’t?” Dazai began carding gentle hands through Chuuya’s hair, chuckling lowly. “Do you have any idea how stressful it is to be in love with someone so angry?”
“Oi!” Chuuya exclaimed, pushing Dazai’s chest away slightly. “At least I’m not a manipulative bastard!”
“Oh? But I’ve never manipulated you."
“Bullshit!”
He chuckled, pulling Chuuya back to his chest. Chuuya let him, to his surprise, and Dazai began to run idle fingers up and down his back. He wanted to savor these quiet moments between them—something fragile and precious that they would only ever share with each other. Chuuya seemed to feel similarly because he immediately relaxed and huffed a small sigh. “You’re the worst.”
“You’re worse,” was the immediate reply.
They descended into complete silence after that, intertwined like star-crossed lovers as they began to slip away into dreams.
“I love you.”
The words were quiet, whispered into the dark just before Chuuya fell into the depths of sleep, and Dazai wasn’t sure if he heard the reply when he whispered into Chuuya’s hair:
"I love you, too."