Work Text:
Tell me how to feel about you now
Tell me how to feel about you now
When they were seventeen, they stole one of Mori’s fancy bottles and picked the lock to the rooftop of the tallest tower. Amidst frisky shoves and creative insults, they found a secluded corner to drink in honor of the fallen.
It was a strange night, bittersweet and hazy in his memories. And at one point when alcohol was coursing through his veins and dulling his senses, Chuuya straddled Dazai’s lap, tangled his fingers in his mocha hair, and gave him an experimental tug, eliciting an embarrassed moan from Dazai and turning his cheeks a deep pink.
Beautiful, I want to ruin him, he thought before leaning and wiping away the cheeky grin—that the bandaged bastard used as a shield—with a kiss.
It wasn’t romantic; it was quick, wet, and messy. It felt like a scream into the void and an “I don’t know what we’re doing” that shattered all his defenses.
It was overwhelming.
Yet, it was precisely what they needed.
No, Dazai never needed it.
It was only Chuuya—always only Chuuya.
Dazai nibbled and sucked on Chuuya’s lower lip, his hands greedily roaming over his body, stopping at the curve of his ass. Chuuya arched under his touch and a gasp—a moan or perhaps an exclamation—escaped his swollen lips.
Much better than defying gravity.
Much better than flirting with death.
It was a pity that they were both too afraid to express what they felt. Maybe if they had, if they had tried, things would have been different.
“No one can find out about this, Chibi,” Dazai warned, dazed.
Chuuya cupped Dazai’s chin and pressed their mouths together, trying to silence his stupid heart that kept thundering against his ribs, demanding more, more, more.
No, no one could find out.
Oh, let me know
Do I suffocate or let go?
When they were twenty-two, Dazai orchestrated their reunion in the dungeons.
Chuuya knew immediately that it was a trap, but he allowed it. He felt capable, he was different now. He had to be. After all, a wasted Petrus, an apartment full of memories, a heart whose pieces still bled, and a love story that had never really been about love could change anyone.
Yet, as soon as he descended the steps that separated them—four years, an abyss between them, and a stolen kiss at the end of the world—he realized he was doomed.
It was too easy to fall into Dazai’s stupid game again, to repeat the dance they knew by heart, as if time was not running against them, but had stopped to wait for them both. Chuuya couldn’t bring himself to blame either Dazai or himself for it.
So when he entered his apartment later—lights were out and silence was suffocating—Chuuya could only exhale through his nose and shake his head.
He tossed aside his hat, coat, and shoes, ignoring the ones haphazardly lying in the genkan and the brown trench coat hanging on his rack. Turning on the light on his way to the living room, it wasn’t hard to find Dazai; he was on the balcony, a liquor bottle resting on the edge, next to two crystal glasses.
Chuuya took a moment to watch him, to soak in his presence and etch him back into his memory.
Dazai had changed, though not completely. He had broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and stupidly long legs. His dark hair was fluffier, slightly waving at the ends, and his jaw was more pronounced, with no trace of the baby fat from the last time. Yet, he retained the same stupid little grin, the playful gleam in his burnt sugar-colored eyes, and that dimple in the left corner that stirred a swarm of bees in Chuuya’s gut. He was the same, and yet, different.
He was now on the side of the ‘good guys,’ likely influenced by his old dead friend. Chuuya didn’t make a sound as he approached; he didn’t need to, because just as he had recognized his presence, like a phantom caress on his spine, so had Dazai.
What would happen this time? How would they end up? Chuuya closed the distance between them and rested against the balcony door, arms crossed.
“A drink?” Dazai suggested.
“Out.”
Dazai glanced over his shoulder, a pout hanging from his lips. Thicker, more tasty. He wondered if his kisses still had the same power over him. He dismissed the thought; it was dangerous and pathetic, and he averted his gaze to the liquor bottle.
His chest tightened; it was the same bottle from that night on the rooftop, shitty Dazai.
“What are you here for now?”
“Chibi let me escape.” As if that explained anything. Of course, it did, but Dazai didn’t deserve to know that. “Chibi, Chibi, you let me escape. You could have cut me open and painted these ugly walls with my blood, but you didn’t~”
The same bastard as always. This thought, although disturbing, comforted him. He knew this Dazai, the manipulative one who took what he wanted and knew how to make you beg for it like the back of his hand.
“I can still do it,” he replied with a calm he was far away from feeling.
Dazai’s eyes darkened and a smile crept on his lips, stealing the air from Chuuya’s lungs. He approached slowly, tilting his face to one side and then lifting Chuuya’s chin with his forefinger until their eyes collided.
Chuuya felt trapped, even though he wasn’t. He was stronger; a glass door and his ridiculous partner were no real threat. Still, he didn’t move.
Dazai’s smile widened; less sharp, softer at the corners. It couldn’t be real. The sudden sweetness in his irises had to be fake; there was no other explanation. Dazai didn’t express his emotions that openly. On a good day, he would invent them, and on a bad day, he would twist them beyond recognition.
“Do it,” Dazai tempted him.
No.
But his body shouted yes. With a string of curses on the tip of his tongue, Chuuya grabbed the bolo tie and pulled the bandaged bastard down, trapping his mouth in a gentle lunge. No, it wasn’t gentle, he hadn’t intended it to be, but Dazai wrapped his arms around him and took control.
Dazai held him by the neck, his tongue caressing the seam of his lips like a silent question. Chuuya felt shivers, he didn’t want it to be sweet, his heart couldn’t stand it. He bit down, crushing their mouths together and gasped as Dazai pinned him against the glass door. He couldn’t breathe, his head throbbing and his skin burning where it touched Dazai’s. The pieces of his heart tore at his insides, reopening old wounds and creating new ones. From this one, if he allowed himself, he would never recover.
“I missed you so much,” Dazai whispered against his mouth.
It was too much, it wasn’t enough.
Chuuya threw back his head and closed his eyes. Dazai planted a kiss on his apple, nibbling and sucking the skin within reach, focusing on the spot that made Chuuya squirm and babble incoherently, just below his ear.
He stifled a sob and Dazai stepped back, fear nestled in his dilated eyes. It wasn’t real. He was faking it. It had to be a lie.
“Go away,” he barked with a broken voice.
“Chibi,” he pleaded.
“Go away or I swear I’ll kill you.”
They could no longer play. His heart couldn’t endure another round. He wiped away the telltale tears on his face and entered the apartment, unsure of what to do next.
Dazai followed at a safe distance.
“No one can find out about this.”
He was trembling, not conscious until Dazai rested a hand on his shoulder and he jerked violently.
“Chibi, please look at me.”
“Fuck off.”
“I missed you so much.”
“C’mon, Chibi, don’t do this to us.” Dazai hugged him from behind and planted feather-like kisses on his shoulder. Each kiss was accompanied by a dagger straight to his chest. “You want this, you want us—Tell me, tell me what you need, and I’ll give it to you.”
You, no masks and no twisted games.
He bit the inside of his cheek until the metallic taste of blood flooded his palate. His body burned under Dazai’s attentions because that bastard, despite the years that had passed, knew which buttons to push to make him melt like butter under the sun.
“Chibi, I need you,” he begged in his ear, making Chuuya shiver again. “I’m yours if you want me.”
How long?
“Liar.” Chuuya nudged Dazai to make him let go, then marked distance. “You’re not mine, you never were; don’t lie to me. Who are you trying to fool?”
Dazai tensed.
“You’re the liar.”
“Ha?! How dare you, you bastard?!"
“You're lying to yourself,” he insisted, taking a step forward, but then his eyes drifted to the right, and he furrowed his brow. “Roses?”
You don’t have to tell me
If you ever think of me
His stomach sank. Panic climbed up his back and extended its long fingers around his neck, choking him. Shit, fuck. He tried to stay calm, a difficult task with Dazai in his orbit. His hands were sweating and his heart stuttered before pounding at full speed.
He had completely forgotten about the damn roses. Even though he knew it was useless, as soon as Dazai noticed something, nothing and no one could stop him, still Chuuya tried to redirect the conversation.
He folded his arms and narrowed his eyes in annoyance. It wouldn’t work, Dazai could see past his lies, but—
“Can you be honest for once in your life? I know it’s a novel concept for you, but you can’t accuse me of being a liar when everything that comes out of your mouth is false.”
Dazai didn’t take the bait, why would he? Still, despite the nerves that were twisting his insides, Chuuya stood in his way, but the bastard walked past him anyway. He could stop him; he should, but would it do any good?
Maybe, just maybe—
“Roses, Chibi, really?”
“And that tone?” he was pissed. “What the fuck is your problem?”
There were five red roses in a vase, still surrounded by a white ribbon. Next to them, a note. A part of Chuuya, the one that was fucked to the core, the one that had shoved Dazai into a supply closet right after he’d promised himself he deserved better, and the same one that would destroy Yokohama to its foundations to get his bandaged ass to safety, he hoped that note had the power to destroy Dazai and turn his world upside down.
Maybe, just maybe—
“Tachihara?” Dazai scoffed, the disbelief in his voice annoyed him, but the hint of pain he thought he felt? Oh, Chuuya rejoiced in and made it his own. “Have you fallen so far? Chibi, what a disappointment.”
Chuuya clenched his fists, the seam of his gloves creaking in warning. Don’t do it. Don’t do it…
He forced a grim smirk and ran his tongue over his incisors.
“Tachihara, yeah. What’s the problem? Does it hurt?”
Dazai sneered and crumpled the note between his fingers. His face grew dark, and if it weren't for the tension in his shoulders and the way he looked at him, it would have seemed as if it hadn’t affected him at all.
But Chuuya knew him better, or had known him, who knew? Maybe he didn’t hurt him. Maybe his words, what they hid, what they protected so fiercely, didn’t give a damn to Dazai.
It hurt, it fucking hurt.
Tachihara had nice, round, and neat handwriting. When he handed over the flowers—just back from his mission and before his phone lit up with an alert that would turn his world upside down—his cheeks were flushed, and his hands were shaking. Yet, he looked at him as if he were the happiest man in the world.
Dazai had never looked at him like that.
Tachihara and he… Well, they weren’t official, not yet. But Chuuya had allowed him certain gestures; sweet kisses when saying goodbye, silly messages, and even a date.
Shit, what the hell was he doing?
“He wrote you a note.”
Chuuya snorted.
“You mind?”
“They’re roses,” he insisted, and the word “roses” sounded wrong between his lips, as if instead of talking about flowers, they were talking about something gross.
“Yeah, right, genius!”
“He gave you roses, Chibi.”
His heart stopped.
Chuuya knew what Dazai was trying to say to him. Precisely because he wasn’t ready to fall into the dynamic they’d nearly drowned in four years ago, and because he felt bad, not for Tachihara, but for wanting more, for still wanting more from someone who could never—and would never—give it to him, he bit down and tried to draw blood.
“I’m gonna give him a chance.”
Dazai didn’t react.
“And you better not get in the way.”
Fight for me, fight for us, or let me go, you selfish bastard.
The smirk that broke across his face had edges sharp enough to cut. Chuuya braced himself for the blow, hoping it wouldn’t be fatal.
“Tell me, Chuuya,” Dazai hissed, his voice dripping with poison. “You kiss him thinking of me—?”
Chuuya heard static and when he realized, he had thrown a punch at Dazai. He covered his bruised cheek, and the look he gave him—hollow, inhuman—was devastating.
“I’m sick of you,” he spat in disgust.
“You don’t like roses.”
“Go away, you moron.”
“You hate roses, Chibi, they make you sick,” he chuckled, and the little grin turned mischievous. “Does he know, does he know that your favorite flowers are red camellias, you prefer red wine, or that you hate the excessively sweet, can he read your soul as I read it, can he—? Tell me, how will he make you happy?"
“By not breaking my heart.”
Dazai paled.
“By not hurting me,” he insisted weakly.
Dazai recoiled, the backs of his knees colliding with the couch.
“Is that so hard to believe?” And he meant it. He wasn’t angry anymore, he didn’t even know if he ever had been. The wound in his chest was festering, and with every beat he wasted on that bastard, it was becoming fatal. “I deserve someone who knows what he wants, not someone who knows how to fuck me.”
“Chuuya, I didn’t mean—”
“My favorite flowers? You think that matters? I can teach him all that but I can’t teach you how to love me, you fucker.”
“Chuuya, wait.”
“It’s over,” he pointed out, a wild grin blooming on his face. “I don’t know why I’m sticking this out. Yeah, I let you get away, so what? It doesn’t mean shit.”
“You love me.”
“What difference does it make? I choose not to love you. I choose to stop here right now. I choose to try with Tachihara. Is that so difficult for you to understand? Yeah, we work in bed and on the battlefield, but what matters, what should matter, is everything else.”
“I know you.”
“No, you don’t know me at all.”
“Chibi, don’t lie to yourself—”
“No, Dazai. You left,” Chuuya reminded him, his voice failing. He shook his head and blinked to wipe away the tears that gathered on his eyelashes. “You left without looking back. I get it, okay? I get that you had to get out of the mafia, that you couldn’t do it anymore, but... You couldn’t say goodbye? Or communicate in any way? Dazai, you could have died in a ditch and I wouldn’t have known.”
“If I died, you’d feel it.”
“We aren’t in a bloody book! This is real life! I can’t know! The world doesn’t stop for any of us! Did you really have to disappear like that?”
“I’m sorry—”
“You don’t feel sorry for shit! That’s your fucking problem! You didn’t care about me then and you don’t care about me now.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you for one second—”
“I don’t believe you. Or I do, but I don’t care. I choose not to care!”
“What do you want me to do?” Dazai burst out, he put a hand to his chest and grabbed a handful of his shirt. His mask shattered. “Mafia neither forgets nor forgives, Chibi. If Mori had suspected—”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“But I’m back, we can…”
“It’s been four years, Dazai. You’ve changed, I’ve changed, but we? We haven’t, and I refuse to be stuck in the past. I refuse to fight for something that won’t work.”
“You give up?”
“I gave up four years ago, Osamu.”
Dazai shuddered.
“Do you think Tachihara will fight for you when he knows I’m back?”
“Is that a threat?” He wasn’t surprised, but a grimace creased his face anyway. “See what I’m telling you? Same old twisted game. You want me when you can’t have me.”
“He doesn’t deserve you.”
“Neither do you,” he silenced him curtly.
“You can’t—”
“You were not supposed to leave me! We were a team and yet, you left me behind, shitty Dazai! What did you expect!? That I’d welcome you with open arms? Yes, I love you, but I refuse. Do you hear me? I refuse to go through this again.”
“It won’t work. You and Tachihara—”
“I don’t care.”
“I can—” He swallowed, as if what he was about to say required a physical effort. His heart, his stupid heart, turned over, longing for what Dazai would never give him. “I can do better. We can—”
“Do you love me?”
“What?”
“It’s a very simple question.”
“I—”
Chuuya sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and dug his fingers into his neck. The physical pain, while annoying, did nothing to alleviate the one that nested in his chest, that took root and rotted everything in its path.
“I’m tired, go away, please.”
“Chuuya,” he pleaded, or maybe it wasn’t a plea. “We never needed words to understand how we felt. You see me, I see you. We are Double black, we are…”
“Nothing, Dazai. We are nothing.”
I guess it’s good to get it off my chest
Guess I can’t believe I haven’t yet
Tachihara’s smile was infectious; it crinkled the corners of his eyes and revealed all his teeth. Seeing it warmed Chuuya’s heart and made him smile back. It was beautiful, and he could easily fall in love with it.
Tachihara rubbed the back of his neck, ducking his head in embarrassment. A giggle rose up his throat and painted his cheeks a deep pink. Adorable. Chuuya felt bad for keeping his hands in his coat pockets when it was obvious that Tachihara was moving his hands and sneaking little peeks at him, looking for an excuse to intertwine their fingers.
Two weeks.
Two weeks had passed since that night, but Chuuya was still trapped in the memory of Dazai’s haunted gaze and worthless excuses. Those words didn’t mean anything, but—
“...Chuuya?”
You see me, I see you.
Chuuya gritted his teeth in disgust at the direction his thoughts were taking. Tachihara was here, he was kind, sexy, and loving; why was that not enough? He forced down the lump in his throat before it became unbearable and the tears. Tachihara touched his arm to get his attention. His first instinct, rooted in his time on the streets and in the mafia, was to pull away. Luckily, he didn’t.
He didn’t dislike physical contact; he craved it. Still, sometimes his head didn’t react well. Not everyone understood when he explained it to them; Dazai did.
But Dazai was always the exception to many things. Shaking his head, Chuuya tried to forget about that bastard. When he noticed sadness in Tachihara’s face, which was evident in the little wrinkles on his forehead, his chest constricted.
“Tachihara, I—”
“Michizo, call me Michizo,” he said. Then he demurred. “If you like. I call you Chuuya, and... No pressure. It’s just my name. I’m not asking you to marry me. Shit, why did I say that? Sorry.”
It was just a name.
“Call me Osamu again, Slug.”
“Why?”
“Because it sounds different in your mouth, stupid Chibi. It sounds better. It sounds more...human.”
“Shut up! You’re making it weird.”
“Chibi’s making it weird!”
Tachihara played with the piercing in his lip, then let out a breath through his nose. He slid his hand down Chuuya’s arm until he found his hand and intertwined their fingers. Chuuya allowed him to do so, giving his hand a light squeeze.
“Would you like an iced coffee? There’s a bakery near here. The owners are a bit stuffy, that’s for sure, but I promise you their cakes are the best in Yokohama!”
He knows that you hate the excessively sweet...?
“Sure, why not?”
If Tachihara noticed that his voice sounded a little strained, he didn’t comment. It was an awkward date. Chuuya crumbled his slice of cake—the chocolate sponge cake, filled with dulce de leche, was too sweet for his taste—while Tachihara yapped about the Black Lizard, the days off he planned to take in a few weeks, and a cottage in the suburbs.
Chuuya took a bite of cake and swallowed it with a sip of coffee to counteract the sweetness. Why hadn’t he ordered the tiramisu? It looked good. His gaze slid across the bakery at the display cases. He had almost ordered a canelé, but Dazai’s mischievous smirk invaded his mind, so he let Tachihara choose for him.
“Don’t you like it?” Tachihara asked.
“Huh?” Chuuya asked, confused. Tachihara glanced at him curiously, and a bit of cream on his upper lip. Chuuya paused, the spoon suspended in the air. He could bend forward and wipe Tachihara’s mouth with his fingers. “I like chocolate, but dulce de leche is too much.”
He could have done so many things; he did none.
“Oh.” Tachihara seemed disappointed. “Shall I order something else? The peanut butter tartlets are also very good.”
Chuuya dismissed the idea with a flick of his wrist. Tachihara didn’t look convinced, so Chuuya took a large bite of his cake and forced a groan of pleasure and a half-sideways smile. The tension in Tachihara’s shoulders dissipated slightly.
They left shortly after, hands intertwined. From time to time, they shared a look. Tachihara’s expressed so many things that Chuuya could scarcely take them in, and Chuuya’s... He wasn’t sure what Tachihara could read in his. It couldn’t have been good because, as they strolled through a park, his face fell, and the silence became awkward.
“Chuuya.” Tachihara’s voice sounded muffled, his gaze lost in the park as if he could find answers to all his problems among the children playing ball, the teenage couple on a bench, and the group of old men chatting. Then he turned to Chuuya and offered a clumsy grimace. “It was nice, wasn’t it?”
His heart sank.
“Tachihara…”
“We’ve had a good time,” Tachihara said, nodding at his own words. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels. “We have good chemistry. We get along great. We make a good team. But—”
“Sorry.”
Tachihara shook his head to downplay it. He was smiling, but he looked like he was about to cry, the way his voice cracked and the watery gleam in his irises.
“All cool.”
Chuuya averted his eyes; the pressure in his chest was unbearable. It wasn’t cool. Nothing was cool. Tachihara stroked his cheek with the back of his hand and winked.
“I like you a lot, Chuuya.”
“So?”
Tachihara softened his expression.
“But I can’t keep banging my head against the wall.”
Chuuya tensed his jaw; his eyes stung. Although Tachihara insisted on accompanying him home, he refused with a feeble excuse. He needed time to think, and walking home would do him good.
Somehow, he ended up in the Akutagawa brothers’ apartment, which was not far from the headquarters but secluded enough to be outside mafia territory. He shuffled up the stairs and hesitated just as he reached the door.
Gin opened it for him. They wore their black hair in a high ponytail and had changed out of their usual clothes into comfortable pajamas. They offered him a mug of tea and time to gather his thoughts.
“Tachihara and I—” No, not like that. He clutched the mug; it had a picture of a turtle and a silly message on it. He bit his lip until it hurt. Gin didn’t rush him. Chuuya sought their gaze. “We broke up.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Chuuya twisted his lips.
“More tea?”
Chuuya declined. He set the mug on the small table and fiddled with his fingers. Without his gloves, he felt exposed, but he had felt brave that afternoon, and now he had to pay the price for it. His fingernails were shredded; the one on his left thumb would never grow back. His knuckles looked no better, not to mention the shadow of corruption that marred his skin.
He hid his hands in his lap.
“What do I do?” His voice faltered. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t go on like this. It’s not healthy, but…”
“Have you seen Dazai again?”
Chuuya grimaced. Surprisingly—or perhaps unsurprisingly, given who it was—Dazai had kept his word and maintained his distance. If not for reports from his subordinates or Akutagawa himself, Chuuya would think Dazai had disappeared again.
Would he have preferred that? He wasn’t sure. At least now he knew Dazai was alive, just within reach yet a million lifetimes away.
“Do you want to...?” Gin fell silent, stretching their hand on the table, palm up. Chuuya considered it before placing his hand over theirs. Gin gave it a gentle squeeze. “Can I ask you something?”
“Who would stop you?” he teased.
“Chuuya, do you want to go back to him?”
Chuuya wavered.
In recent years, Chuuya had clung to painful memories to keep from falling apart. Dealing with a broken heart was simple; the problem was the good memories that came at the worst times—the shared laughter etched in his mind, still tugging at the corners of his mouth, or the dangerous pranks that made him laugh and long for the past, even if it hadn’t all been good.
He thought of the stolen moments, like breaks at the arcade down the street from his old apartment, or the time they stole a car and Hirotsu’s wallet. They pretended to run away, but they were really just fooling around for a few hours. Then there was that day at the beach when they rolled their pants up to their knees and let the cold water soak into their bones. He could still see Dazai’s beaming smile, with the annoying braces he had complained about nonstop for a week. There had been a spark of life in Dazai’s burnt sugar-colored eyes that had stolen Chuuya’s breath away.
Or like those nights when they found shelter under the blankets, their limbs intertwined, hardly any space between them. There, in the dim light, protected by the night, they were simply two teens. Sometimes, Chuuya would bury his face in Dazai’s chest, wrapping his arms and legs around his lanky body, letting the steady beat of his heart rock him to sleep. Other times, Dazai would lie on top of him, crushing him against the mattress. Chuuya could barely breathe, with Dazai’s hair in his mouth and his bony elbow digging uncomfortably into his side. Dazai's nose rested in the crook of Chuuya's neck.
He missed him.
He missed the Dazai who laughed out loud with watery eyes, hugging his stomach. He missed the Dazai who held him up when he couldn’t stand, when his past overwhelmed him, and when negative emotions weighed him down. He missed the Dazai who mocked him about his taste for mint chocolate chip ice cream and wine, and claimed that camellias were the flowers of cemeteries.
He missed the Dazai who could read him like an open book, the one who swore he could spend hours coming up with amusing ways to annoy him, the Dazai who filled the walls of the headquarters’ hallways with his face, and the Dazai who, rather than breaking the bones of the idiot who dared to insult him shortly after he lost his friends, offered to accompany Chuuya so he could do it himself.
He missed Dazai—the Dazai he had fallen in love with more than four years ago—and had finally returned to his side.
But still—
“No one could find out.”
“Chibi, don’t get confused. You’re my dog, and I’m your master. If I whistle, you come running. If I shut the door on you, you wait with your tail between your legs."
“That’s sissy stuff, Slug. What’s wrong with you?”
“Do you love me? It’s a very simple question.”
“I…”
Chuuya sighed exhaustively.
“Does it matter?” He laughed, but his laughter sounded hollow. Tears pooled on his eyelashes, and his throat burned. He swallowed, but he still couldn’t rid himself of the anguish clinging to his chest. “It doesn’t matter what I want, Gin. I asked him. I asked him if he loved me. And you know what he said?”
Gin subtly shook their head.
“Nothing. That’s the problem.”
“Can I tell you something?” Gin grinned and their smile cradled him, or maybe it was their words, what they said next. “You’re already hurting for him. So why not give him a chance? Last one.”
“But—”
“You love him. You miss him. He’s back, and it doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere. Chuuya, our lives are short. Why not make the most of them while we can?”
His lower lip trembled. He bit down on it and looked away.
They were alive, and the universe was handing them a chance, maybe their last but was it really up to him? Did it have to be Chuuya, again, who laid his heart bare?
Chuuya wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
“You’re asking me to walk straight into the fire.”
Gin titled their head. “You’re already burning.”
“What a bullshit metaphor,” he scoffed feebly.
Chuuya exhaled shakily and leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight. The silence stretched. He thought of all the ways this could end—badly, painfully, or even worse, quietly, without meaning.
He trusted Dazai, he would trust his bastard of a partner with his life, but his heart?
“Just one chance,” he murmured. “If he runs again… It’s over.”
“Then you’ll know you gave it everything you could.”
Keep me up with your silence
Take me down with your quiet
Of all the weapons you fight with
Your silence is the most violent
The lights were on when Chuuya entered his apartment. On the rack, next to his black overcoat hung a brown trench coat. The contrast—two different worlds coexisting—added a touch of domesticity that made him smile.
The radio played in the background, filling his chest with warmth, and the smell of hot food whetted his appetite. Just like the old days, but without the smoke and the howling of a certain Mackerel who refused to learn how to fry an egg. Still, he paused in the doorway—a heartbeat, two, three—not knowing what to do, what he wanted to do.
Chuuya, do you want to go back to him?
“Ah, shit, here we go again,” he murmured, his voice tinged with affection.
Dazai sat on the couch. His elbows rested on his knees, with his chin sinking into his intertwined fingers. His shirt was rolled up to his elbows, and the bandages around his arms were loose on his wrists. Dazai’s gaze was unfocused, looking so lost that Chuuya had to remind himself he couldn’t—and shouldn’t—surrender so easily.
On the small table were three cardboard boxes. From their aroma, Chuuya guessed they were from that Korean food place they’d enjoyed together a few years back. He had continued to go, refusing to let Dazai take that away from him. There was also a pastel pink box from a bakery two blocks away. As he folded his coat, he wondered if the brunet had picked out his favorite sweets. Besides, why lie, if it was a coincidence.
Dazai tensed his shoulders as Chuuya stepped into his field of vision; he lifted his head and lowered his arms. He blinked, and his eyes came to life; slowly, like a light bulb flickering before illuminating even the darkest corners.
“And this?”
“I thought Chuuya would appreciate a helping of tteokbokki with a nice cold beer.”
“You hate spicy food.”
Dazai rolled his eyes, reached forward and opened another container. The bulgogi in sweet soy sauce smelled delicious. Saliva pooled in Chuuya’s mouth, and his stomach rumbled, but despite the glint of mischief in Dazai's dark irises, he made no comment.
Chuuya decided he didn’t like this Dazai at all; the one who tiptoed around him, the one who held back and stayed quiet. A growl rose in Chuuya’s throat, catching them both by surprise. The blush spread down his neck and concentrated on his ears.
“Your sweet tooth is really pissing me off,” he declared embarrassed.
Dazai pouted. “Chibi has a bad taste.”
“Fuck off," Chuuya replied, amusement creeping into his voice. He walked around the small table. No matter how much space there was on the couch, Chuuya tapped Dazai’s leg with his foot to sit next to him. “I like you, of course I have bad taste, Mackerel.”
He didn’t need to glance at Dazai to know his expression; he could read it blindly. When the brunet was genuinely surprised, his eyes didn’t widen like saucers, nor did his jaw didn’t clench. It was more subtle, evident in the imperceptible spark that colored his face.
Once, during a mission that had gone wrong, they had to hide in the field until the extraction team arrived. Dazai had confessed then, hugging his knees and turning away, that he didn’t feel like the others, which was why his expressions sometimes appeared forced.
Chuuya disagreed then and still does. Dazai felt deeply, with a power capable of bringing down entire buildings. But for some reason—perhaps because his head worked differently or simply because he grew up in a shitty environment—he didn’t express his emotions like others did.
This time, Chuuya threw his head back. Dazai flinched at the sudden contact but didn’t pull away. In fact, he never moved away from Chuuya; on the contrary, he leaned closer.
“Don’t pretend with me,” Chuuya had whispered to him, his eyes lost in the blanket of stars above them.
“Chibi won’t think I’m weird?” Dazai had asked.
Chuuya had snorted.
“Chibi knows you’re weird, you moron.” Just in case, maybe because of the nerves in the pit of his stomach, or to thank him for showing trust, he had added quietly, “Let’s be weird together.”
Abandoning his memories, Chuuya opened the disposable chopsticks and took some bulgogi, hoping it would make his partner react. He expected Dazai to cry out or even throw himself onto Chuuya, resting his pointy chin on his shoulder and begging him to feed him or he would starve.
But that didn’t happen.
“Dazai...?” Chuuya called, lowering the chopsticks, he bent one leg and turned to the brunet.
Dazai seemed unfazed by Chuuya’s scrutiny as he tugged at the top of the bandages around his right wrist. Chuuya puckered in concern, but Dazai interrupted him before he could say anything.
“You know what, Chibi? I’m empty, hollow. I’m just skin, muscles, bones, and barely functioning organs. Something has been wrong for so long that I don’t even know how to try to fix it, if it’s fixable at all. I know I should tell you that I don’t love you, or hate you, or that I should just move on, but that would be a lie, and it won’t come out. I’ve tried, I promise. I said it out loud in my bedroom, and when I dialed your number—”
Dazai pulled harder on the bandages, digging his fingers beneath them for leverage. Chuuya covered his hand with his own to make him stop.
He didn’t push him away.
“I don’t know what I’m feeling. I don’t even know if I’m capable of feeling anything but this emptiness that’s eating me up inside, but I know I’ve spent the last four years thinking about you. I know that I feel at home with you, playing the console, sharing a drink, eating your vegetables cut into stupid shapes, or just existing, side by side with you. Home, Chibi, what an abstract concept.”
This time, Dazai looked up. Chuuya’s breath caught as his dark eyes rested on his own. They conveyed so many emotions all at once, layered on top of each other, as if they couldn’t agree, making it impossible to keep up.
Dazai swallowed hard. “I can’t let you go…” His voice failed him, and he tried again, but no sound came from his lips. Frustrated, he pulled back and let go of Chuuya, who didn’t know what to do with his hand now. “I don’t want to. I don’t want to. I refuse”
Dazai pushed back his bangs and ruffled his hair, a wild grin flitted across his face. “If I could, I would lie to you. I would tell you exactly what you want to hear to keep you by my side. I would even promise you that it would be easy to fall in love with you, maybe it would even be true. No, it's true—I think it’s easy to fall in love with you, I just... I can’t. I guess that makes me a good person, doesn't it? Because I try to lie to you, but the words get stuck in my throat when I try to give them form.”
Chuuya stroked Dazai’s face with the back of his hand. Dazai shivered at the skin-to-skin contact. When their eyes met again, Dazai stifled a sob and tried to hide, but Chuuya held his face in his hands. Dazai melted at the contact.
“I don’t know if I can love you, but I want to. I want to love you as you deserve, and it makes my blood boil to imagine you with someone else. I want to be good to you—hold your hand and kiss you all the time. I want to be by your side. I want to tell you everything I don’t know how to say. I want to wake up beside you. I want so many things, I don’t even know where to start, and it’s dizzying, but I know it will be worth it. I want... Oh, Chibi, I want us to be weird together.”
Chuuya caught the tears that gathered on Dazai’s eyelashes, coloring his sclera an unpleasant red, with his thumbs. Dazai’s lower lip trembled and he retreated a little more, as if he wanted to hide—or maybe he wanted to cling to the redhead a little longer, but he feared rejection.
“Dazai, Osamu, it’s okay—”
“I only want you and if you still want me, if you want it—” He took one of Chuuya’s hands and laid it on his chest, at the level of his heart, which was beating wildly, alive, terribly alive. “It’s yours, it’s been yours for so long I can’t remember a time when it wasn’t.”
Chuuya gasped.
He tried to make a joke, but it came out awkwardly. “That’s too corny even for you, you idiot.”
“That’s why Chibi loves me.”
“That’s why Chibi loves you, yeah. Now shut up before you embarrass both of us,” he grumbled, but did so lovingly, a small smile on his lips.
Dazai curled his own corners downward like the spoiled brat he was. Chuuya silenced his protest with a quick peck, but before he could pull away, Dazai grabbed him by the neck and captured his lips with his own.
The kiss was slow, pooled with everything Dazai thought he couldn’t feel but did, with all his might. Chuuya giggled against his mouth and broke the kiss with another peck, reminding that dinner was getting cold. As exhilarated as he felt now, tomorrow was going to be a very long day. Dazai tried to follow his lips, but Chuuya stopped him by covering his mouth with his hand.
In response, Dazai gave him a playful lick. Chuuya let out a squeak and tried to hit him, but Dazai quickly dodged it.
“Chibi is mean! Chibi is cruel! Chibi broke my heart!”
Chuuya wiped the drool off his hand and grumbled, “Damn, clingy bastard.”
Dazai took advantage of a momentary distraction to hug Chuuya tightly, drawing him close. Chuuya grunted, clutching the fabric of Dazai's blue shirt, torn between wanting to push him away for being so needy and wanting to hold him there for a while longer, maybe for the rest of their lives.
His stomach made the decision for them.
“Chibi hungry?” Dazai crooned, resting his chin above his head. Chuuya knew what he would say, and though he knew it, he indulged. “Stupid dog, he doesn’t eat unless his master gives him permission~”
It might not work; it might not be enough in the end and it might be that Chuuya was a fool, but Dazai had taken the first, most difficult step, and Chuuya chose to be selfish. But it wasn’t easy to make yourself vulnerable in a world where everything could be used as a weapon against you. For now, it was enough. It was more than enough.
“Chibi loves me,” Dazai hummed, his noodle-like arms around Chuuya’s waist. The bastard had insisted on eating dinner like this, with Chuuya on his lap, sharing chopsticks. With flushed cheeks, Chuuya cursed under his breath but nonetheless grabbed some kimbap for Dazai, who opened his mouth wide. “Hmm.”
Then he buried his nose in Chuuya’s neck.
“Don’t wipe on me, you creep!” Chuuya exclaimed.
“Chibi doesn’t appreciate my love tokens!” Dazai replied cheekily.
“Don’t talk trash, get off me!”
Dazai tightened his grip and bit Chuuya’s shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. Chuuya elbowed him, nearly toppling the small table, and their laughter and shouts echoed throughout the apartment.
Fortunately, it was soundproof.