Chapter Text
There was a chill in the air as the teens walked back from their mission. It had gone well, they had gotten the intel they needed, and both had managed to keep up the guise of a shameless, teenage, hetero party-going couple.
Dazai rubbed at his arms, the thin pullover he had on over his dress not doing much to keep him warm. The slight nip in the wind felt good, though. Refreshing, freeing. Exhilarating even, although that could just have been the post-mission adrenaline kicking in.
"I need a drink," his partner lamented aloud, breaking the rather companionable silence between them. Dazai hummed his agreement, then suddenly ran ahead on a whim and turned to face Chuuya with a manic grin. He felt alive.
"Let's get wasted tonight."
Chuuya stopped walking, then grinned in return.
"Fuck yeah."
-----
"Chuuya," Dazai breathed out. The boy above him tasted like whiskey, smelled like cigarettes, and felt like a dream. He grinned down at Dazai. They were both drunk out of their minds, high on adrenaline. Chuuya's hand was up Dazai's shirt, and Dazai's hand was in Chuuya's pants.
"Do you want this, or is it just the alcohol talking?"
Dazai huffed and canted his hips up to meet the other's. "Does that even matter?"
Chuuya sighed softly. "A little, yeah."
He pouted, pulling Chuuya back down for another breath-stealing kiss. "I do," he whispered. "I do want this, want you to make me feel like a woman. I want you, Chuuya, please."
-----
Chuuya sat at the edge of the bed, a cigarette between his fingers as he let out a long exhale of smoke. Dazai was curled up on his side, watching him and admiring the new scratches lining the shorter boy's back with an odd sort of pride.
"I should've known that Chuuya's pullout game would be weak."
"Oh, shut up," Chuuya scoffed, flicking ashes at him. "You literally begged me. You're on the pill, right?"
"Mhm. Mori swears by it."
"Good."
They sat in silence for a while, before Chuuya sighed and put out his cigarette.
"We should get cleaned up."
"Mm."
"Are you gonna get up or what?"
Dazai yawned. "No, too sleepy. C'mon, we have the room to ourselves until tomorrow night. We can clean in the morning."
"That's gross."
But he crawled next to him anyway.
-----
"You're late," Dazai said, a mock cheerful tone to his voice as the older man approached.
"Yeah, yeah. Sorry."
Dazai pushed a glass of whiskey over to him, taking a sip from his own as the man settled himself.
"No Ango tonight?"
"No," he replied, sipping at the alcohol. "Something came up."
"I still don't know what you see in him," Dazai sighed. "We both know that something isn't all right there. Not gonna lie, Odasaku, I didn't take you for player."
"I'm not a 'player.'"
"So... what? You think you can 'fix him?'"
Oda looked away. "Is something bothering you, Osamu?"
He scoffed. "So that's a yes. You two are the same," he mumbled. Oda raised an eyebrow.
"Does this have something to do with that new kid? What's his name. Kaeya?"
"Chuuya."
"Ah. Is that a yes?"
Dazai didn't answer right away, instead taking a slow sip of his whiskey, savoring it.
"Hypothetically," he started, casually, not meeting Oda's eyes, "if someone were to become pregnant in the Mafia, what should she do about it?"
Oda's eyes widened. "Dazai."
"Answer me."
"..."
Dazai slammed his glass down, turning to face his friend with tears running down his face. "Answer me, Odasaku!"
The older man felt his heart break.
"You need to leave, Dazai. I've been saying this for ages."
"...I can't."
-----
Dazai left.
It hurt, more than he had thought it would. He expected something else, somehow. Maybe a sense of freedom. But he just felt sick.
He felt sick as he rigged the bomb beneath Chuuya's car.
He felt sick as he met with the agent.
He felt sick as he stared at that line that fucked his life even worse.
And he felt sick as he threw up the little contents of his stomach.