Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

January 26th, Twenty Hours Since the Release of Arahabaki

Chuuya is exhausted by the time he gets back to his apartment on the day (or day after really now) of the release of Bygone Days. Despite taking the morning off, the rest of his day had been one thing after another. He’d done the livestream, then after that it had been a ton of press. Chuuya had thought he was prepared for it after this many years of being in the industry, but he had forgotten what it was really like, the ferocity of being the center of attention like that. 

It had been slightly overwhelming, but he’d also kind of liked it. It had been so long since he’d gotten to talk about music that was his and his alone. He no longer had to direct the credit towards whosever album it was, he could soak it all up himself. Even when he’d got irritated about some of the more prying questions (about one song about one person in particular), he’d never stopped smiling.

Chuuya has been making music for practically a decade now, but he’d still been slightly nervous about the release. This music is also different than anything he’d released before, it’s way more personal. Even with Corruption, he had never felt like he was exposing himself this much.

It makes the satisfaction that people are connecting to it ten times as meaningful. Every time someone has told him how much they like Arahabaki, how they could relate to the doubts and insecurities or just the fear of deserving to be alone, Chuuya doesn’t have the words to describe how it makes him feel. Maybe there is always going to be a part of himself that will feel a little bit empty, but it’s never been easier to face than it’s been right now.

But unlike with Double Black and Corruption, Arahabaki isn’t taking over the entire album. He’d also heard how people recognized their own losses in A Shadow of a Hat Lightly Dances or their own complicated relationships with family in Be Cautious of Blood Relatives, They Can Be Deleterious to Your Health (which he hopes reaches his mother’s parents so they know just how much they can go fuck themselves). 

Then there are also the songs he’d written about the people who are in his life. Kouyou had shown up before the livestream unexpectedly and marched up to him and said hotly, “How dare you not warn me about that song.” Then she’d wrapped her arms around him and practically squeezed the life out of him.

“You’re welcome,” Chuuya had somehow gotten out even though he could barely breathe. Kouyou had been a little misty eyed as she’d pulled away, in public, which was a practically unheard of display of emotions from her. She’d had to get back to work shortly after, but the full smile she’d flashed at him as she went made Chuuya sure Ane-san had accomplished exactly what he’d wanted it to.

Tachihara on the other hand had been extremely open with his emotions about Real Friends Are Willing to Destroy Your Kitchen With You. He’d punched Chuuya in the arm immediately when Chuuya had approached him and Gin as they set up their instruments before the livestream so that they’d be ready to play Port Mafia Black. Kajii and Higuchi hadn’t shown up yet.

“You asshole,” Tachihara had said enthusiastically, laughing and shaking his head. Then he’d dragged Chuuya into a hug. “I love you, man.”

“He cried,” Gin had added, smiling at the two of them while rolling her eyes. “A lot.”

“Shut up,” Tachihara had said without any heat, giving Chuuya another squeeze before pulling back to hold him by the shoulders. His grin had been enormous. “I don’t even know what to fucking say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Chuuya had said, smiling back just as widely. “Consider it a thank you for putting up with all my shit all these years.”

“It has been an honor to put up with your shit,” Tachihara had declared, voice wobbling a little bit at the end. Then he had released his shoulders and shoved him away. “Get out of here. I can’t even look at you right now.”

Chuuya had laughed but started to walk away to get set up himself. Then he’d been surprised when Gin had pulled him into a hug too.

“It’s amazing, Chuuya,” she had said softly. “All of it. You should be proud.”

“Thanks, Gin,” he’d replied, voice catching a little himself. “That means a lot.”

“Now go get ready,” Gin had said, tone back to her usual nonchalance as she let him go. “You’ve got a show to put on.”

Chuuya had rolled his eyes, waving a hand behind him as he went. He’d felt even more full of energy though as he ran through his warm ups. He’d kept finding himself smiling like an idiot.

The livestream had been a blast. Even though Chuuya greatly prefers singing it front of a real audience, getting to perform the songs all out had been awesome. He’s glad Mori had come up with the idea. It had been a perfect way to jump back into the spotlight full force.

After he’d finally finished all his appearances and interviews, Mori had surprised him by asking him to meet him at the office before the launch party. Chuuya had still been in a good mood as he walked into Mori's office, appreciating the grand ocean view out the window as always.

“Chuuya,” Mori had said, his voice about as warm as it ever got, “Congratulations are in order. The album is on track to be an tremendous success.”

“Thanks, Boss,” Chuuya had said, laughing a little. He’d taken a seat in one of the chairs across from his desk. “But what did you really want to meet about?”

Mori’s grin had turned sharper, clearly amused. “I had an idea. You’re not set to tour until a few weeks from now, but how would you feel about doing some free shows leading up to that?”

Chuuya had looked at him blankly for a moment. “You want me to do free shows?”

Mori had grinned ever wider. “It’s a good move from a PR standpoint, gets you back out there with the fans.” He had leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “It will also drive up album sales even more. Then the people who aren’t able to obtain a ticket to one of the free shows will be clamoring even more to buy one for the real tour.”

Chuuya had shaken his head, snorting a little. “Of course they would. How did you manage to book more shows on such short notice?”

“It appears after this last year a number of our partners who own venues are clamoring to get back into our good graces,” Mori had replied with a shrug, amusement still clear in his eyes. “So, are you interested? First one would be in L.A. tomorrow night.”

“Absolutely,” Chuuya had said, smirking at Mori. More time on stage isn’t something he’d ever turn down, especially in L.A. It had sounded like the perfect way to get back to performing, at home and feeling better than ever before.

“Excellent,” Mori had said with a nod. “I won’t keep you then. Enjoy the release party.” 

Chuuya hadn’t moved to leave yet as he stood though. “I wanted to thank you, for everything these past years,” he’d said, looking Mori in the eyes. “I appreciate it.”

“You earned everything you were given,” Mori had said lightly. “It isn’t every day you meet an artist of your caliber, or an executive.”

“Boss, just accept my gratitude,” Chuuya had said, rolling his eyes.

Mori had smiled then, almost fully genuinely. “Very well. You’ve made your point.” He’d gestured towards the door with an air of mockery. “You should hurry along if you don’t want to be late for your own party.”

Chuuya had given him a lopsided salute and turned to go, chuckling a little to himself. Few people had the opportunity to see all the different sides of the boss, and Chuuya appreciates that he’s one of them.

The album release party had been insane even by his standards. The place had been packed, and Chuuya had barely had a moment to himself. It had felt like every person there had wanted to speak to him and give him their thoughts on the album. 

It had been extremely flattering but also a little draining. He’d spent the last few years at these types of parties drinking with his friends. He’d barely gotten to exchange more than a couple sentences with them at this one. It had been a surprise when he’d escaped to the bar during a free second and literally bumped into Kajii.

“Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour,” Kajii had said with a smirk. He’d raised a hand to the bartender. “Can I get a red wine with those beers? Top shelf shit.”

Chuuya had raised his eyebrows at him. “I thought I was banned from drinking red wine in crowded places.”

“It’s your fucking party,” Kajii had said as he passed him his glass after the bartender brought their drinks. “Spill on whomever you please.”

“Are you volunteering?” Chuuya had asked, taking a sip of the wine. He’d been pleased with the taste, it was indeed top shelf shit.

Kajii had grabbed one of the beers and raised it towards him. “Cheers, Baby Red. Guess people really are into all that sappy shit you write.”

“Cheers,” Chuuya had said, rolling his eyes and clinking their drinks. He’d leaned against the bar, sighing lowly in contentment. Kajii had mirrored him, taking a drink of his beer.

It would have been a normal minute between friends if it were anyone other than Kajii, who didn’t do quiet moments. So Chuuya had given him an expectant look as Kajii picked at the label of his beer with fidgety hands.

“So, uh, Tales of Baby Red and The Lemon Fucker,” Kajii had said, voice more than slightly awkward and still looking away. “That’s about me, right?”

“Who the fuck else would it be about?” Chuuya had asked incredulously. 

“I just wanted to be fucking sure,” Kajii had said roughy. His face had gotten very red. Then his voice had become softer, though he still refused to look at Chuuya. “You know, I remember being so pissed when I heard they were putting you in The Black Lizards. Never thought I’d get a brother out of it.”

Chuuya had almost choked on the sip of wine he’d just taken. Kajii had just laughed and thumped him on the back. Chuuya had been about to reply when someone had appeared in front of them, hands on their hips and glaring.

“What is taking you so long?” Higuchi had asked indignantly. She’d reached around Kajii to grab the other beer from the bar. She’d lifted it and taken a long swig. Then she’d given them both a strange look. “What’s with your two? Oh, is this about the song? Kajii’s been very weird about it all day.”

“I have fucking not,” Kajii had said, not that either of them bought it. Higuchi had given him a pitying pat on the arm that he’d tried to swat away.

“Album is sensational by the way,” Higuchi had said lightly, directing it at Chuuya, “Not that I expected anything less.”

“Thanks, Guch,” Chuuya had said with a smile. No matter how many times he’d heard it, it still hadn’t worn off, and it was even better coming from a musician he respects.

“So are we not talking about you writing that love song about bandages?” Kajii had asked, raising his eyebrows and half-smirking at him. “Because I mean, called it, but have-.”

“I’ve got to work the room,” Chuuya had said, cutting him off. “Catch you two later.” Then he’d quickly walked away with as much dignity as he could.

That had been his approach throughout the day, avoid any and all questions about Dazai. It hadn’t exactly been easy either, what with Chuuya publicly declaring he was in love with him in a song. Everyone had wanted to know what Dazai’s reaction had been. 

Chuuya hadn’t known how to tell them that he apparently hadn’t even had one. 

Maybe it had been foolish, to think that Dazai might feel the same way he does. It had been so long, and there had been so much animosity between them these past years. But then Chuuya would remember the way Dazai had looked at him when they’d sang Corruption at that fundraiser, and he’d been unable not to hope.

That hope is gone now though. Chuuya still doesn’t know how he feels about his strange encounter with Dazai earlier. Him showing up to demand whether he was okay hadn’t been something he’d expected. It had been carefully kind, in the way that Dazai showed kindness. Chuuya hadn’t experienced it in some time.

It does mean something to Chuuya that he’d cared enough to check on him. Dazai’s blatant concern had made him feel known once again. Dazai had been the only one to see how hard Arahabaki had been for him back when he was sixteen. It had made sense for him to think it could damage him still.

Chuuya’s heart had almost stopped when he’d walked out and seen Dazai standing in his living room. He’d wondered for a second if his hopes had not been unfounded. But Dazai hadn’t been there to discuss the song he’d wanted him to be.

Of all the ways he’d anticipated a possible rejection, a freakishly polite one had not been on the list.

All of the bizarreness aside, it really comes down to this, Dazai does not feel the same way. That’s blatantly obvious at this point.

Chuuya hadn’t expected it to hurt so much either. Underneath the high of the album, there is a quiet and lingering devastation. A voice, whispering, he doesn’t love you. 

It’s hitting him harder now that he’s alone in his apartment and there aren’t any distractions. Chuuya has heard a million songs about unrequited love in his life. He’s had one by Dorothy Park lurking in his head since his rejection. The sun's gone dim, and the moon's turned black. For I loved him, and he didn't love back. 

Chuuya sighs and turns on his tea kettle, throwing his jacket and keys on the counter. He lets the water heat up as he goes to change. It’s a strange dichotomy he’s living in currently, on top of the world and heartbroken simultaneously. 

He pours himself a cup of tea and grabs his phone to check all his unread texts and messages while he waits for it to cool. He’d been too busy too keep up with all of them. He flicks through them as he tries not to sink into melancholy.

Maybe this is actually a good thing, Dazai rejecting him. Maybe this is the final push he needs to actually get over him. Maybe Chuuya could never move on because he’d kept his feelings to himself, and now that he’s let them out he’ll be able to let them go. It had always felt impossible before, but maybe this is what he’d been missing. This isn’t the outcome Chuuya had wanted, but maybe it would be good for him in another way.

He’s brought out of his musings by a text from an unknown number. It’s off-putting because despite how many phones Chuuya has broken in recent years, he is much more careful with his phone number. He does not give it out lightly. It had been one of the very first lessons he’d learned at PMR, the value of privacy when it came to certain things.

Chuuya’s eyes narrow as he opens the message, noting the L.A. area code.

[Unknown Number 8:23pm]: Hi, this is Atsushi Nakajima. We’ve never met, but I’ve always greatly admired you and your music. Your new album is truly incredible. Also, I think this is something you deserve to see.

Chuuya’s frown deepens as he reads. He’d let go of any grudge he’d held towards Atsushi Nakajima once everything had gotten sorted out with the ADA and The Guild last fall. His kindness towards Kyouka and especially Lucy had also endeared Chuuya towards him. Lucy is always very tight-lipped about it, but it’s clear how Atsushi is one of the select few people she lets underneath her very hard outer shell. 

Chuuya has no idea what the fuck he could be sending him though. He clicks on the attachment with a strange mix of trepidation and anticipation.

He almost drops his phone when he realizes what he’s looking at. Suddenly Chuuya feels wide awake.

Dazai is humming as he pours himself a large coffee before he heads to work the day after Bygone Days had been released. He hadn’t really slept the night before. Possibly because he’d spent the night replaying the video of a certain song. That had possibly led him down a rabbit hole into watching other videos of a certain duo until the sun was already up and there really wasn’t any point to sleeping anymore.

He’s jittery for reasons other than lack of sleep though. Dazai is usually one to plan things out in advance, but when the opportunity had presented itself yesterday he’d jumped on it immediately. He’d gone with speed rather than nuance, but that’s only served to make him even more impatient. It’s an odd combination with the flood of relief and giddiness that he’s been feeling since he’d heard I’m Not Allowed To Comment on Ongoing Port Mafia Records’ Legal Disputes, But-. 

There have been times in Dazai’s life where he’s felt content but nothing to this degree. He kind of feels like singing from the rooftops. And also like vomiting. Requited love is more visceral than he’d imagined it to be.

“You’re a bitch, you’re a bastard,” sings Dazai lightly as he slips on his coat. “You’re the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”

He’s cut off from the next line by someone barging into his apartment. Dazai blinks in shock at the intruder. It takes him a second to recognize that it’s Atsushi.

“Dazai,” says Atsushi, sounding slightly out of breath. He looks it too, leaning over his knees a little where he stands.

“What’s going on?” asks Dazai once he gets over his shock. His nerves start to overtake him, and he sticks his hands into his pockets to hide the slight trembling. He’d been impatient, but the threat of the result is bringing the need to throw up back again.

“I, uh, I think I might have messed up,” says Atsushi, looking frazzled and biting his lip. Then his eyes widen as he takes in Dazai’s apartment, the tiny area filled with a great number of books on various surfaces and his bell set that has piles of dishes on it. “Do you always keep your place like this?”

Dazai has to restrain himself from snapping his fingers at him to get him to focus. “What did you mess up?” he asks, barely keeping his voice neutral.

“Oh, right,” says Atsushi, frazzled again as he winces and pulls his phone out. “Yesterday after we were done talking, I did something I probably shouldn’t have.” He gives Dazai a sheepish look. “I was really upset, not that that’s an excuse.” He takes a deep breath. “I sent Chuuya Nakahara that song you wrote about him."

“And what did he say?” asks Dazai, feeling like his blood is pounding in his veins. His voice comes out almost demanding.

“It was wrong of me, and I should have respected your-,” starts Atsushi before he stops and gives Dazai a confused look. “Wait, you’re not mad?” Atsushi’s eyes narrow. “Did you plan this?” He crosses his arms. “You could have just asked. Or done it yourself! Or-.”

“Atsushi,” says Dazai, allowing himself to display how anxious and high-strung he is, “What did he say?”

“He, um, didn’t really say anything," says Atsushi, deflating a bit. “I didn’t even get his reply until I woke up this morning.” He walks over to Dazai and offers him his phone. “He sent back this strange document full of weird symbols.”

Dazai feels like his heart is in his throat as he takes the phone and brings it up to read. He’d be concerned if it were anyone other than Atsushi seeing him like this. 

[Chuuya Nakahara 4:07am]: Thanks kid. Beast Beneath the Moonlight was incredible. If you ever do anything to hurt Lucy, I’ll rip your face off. 

Dazai wants to smile and roll his eyes at the both of them for wasting time complementing each other’s music. His stomach is in knots as he opens the attachment Chuuya sent. His text having zero acknowledgement of his song has made him even more on edge.

Then once he realizes what it is, he’s laughing again, hunched over with the force of it.

Edits, Chuuya had sent him edits. He’d taken Dazai’s song and edited it. It’s far better than any words Chuuya could have sent.

But despite Kouyou’s attempts to make him alter it, Chuuya’s preferred style of songwriting is still undecipherable to everyone except himself. And Dazai, of course. No wonder Atsushi hadn’t known what to make of it, it’s practically unrecognizable as anything resembling music.

“Are you okay?” asks Atsushi, staring at him with wide eyes and more than a little concern. 

“I’m fantastic,” says Dazai, trying to control his laughter. He quickly sends himself the edited version and hands Atsushi his phone back, still chuckling a bit.

“Are you sure?” asks Atsushi, clearly unconvinced. He takes his phone back and looks at the attachment again.

“Just peachy,” says Dazai, bringing out his own phone. He sees the text from Atsushi’s phone as well as something else, a news alert. It’s announcing the surprise concert of a certain artist, tonight in L.A. Dazai’s smile somehow grows even wider. Apparently the universe is tossing him a bone after all of its sabotaging antics. 

Dazai shoves his phone back into his pocket and starts moving around his apartment in a slightly frenzied manner. He quickly calculates and plans as he gathers his things. “How did you get in here?” he asks Atsushi as he moves about.

“Oh, uh, Kunikida gave me a key in case of emergencies,” Atsushi replies, watching him with a baffled expression.

“Excellent,” says Dazai, shoving the last of what he’ll need into his coat pocket. Beyond not being black, trench coats also had the benefit of holding a lot of items. He starts towards the door and flashes Atsushi a grin. “Can you lock up behind you then? And tell everyone I won’t be in today?”

“Where are you going?” asks Atsushi, tone a mixture of worry and disapproval.

“Sorry, Atsushi,” says Dazai lightly, opening the door and glancing over his shoulder as he leaves. He smirks at his friend. “I have to go pick up my dog!”

“You don’t have a dog!” calls out Atsushi in confusion from behind him.

Dazai gets a sense of déjà vu as he sneaks around backstage at Chuuya’s show, feeling a bit like he’s fifteen again in Seoul, South Korea. Although he hadn’t been quite as recognizable back then. Now he has to draw up his hood and move quickly so that no one pays attention to him.

He really hasn’t even had time to be nervous up until this point. It’s all been a scramble to put this plan into motion. He’d had to make a recording of the song while incorporating Chuuya’s edits and then scheme into getting on stage at Chuuya’s concert. It had been a while since he’d had to be so duplicitous for personal gain, he’d enjoyed it more than he’d thought he would.

Dazai has been getting texts from Atsushi and later Kunikida throughout the day, but he’ll explain everything to them once it’s all done. This is something he has to do himself. He’s laying it all on the line this time. 

The crowd is lively tonight, the screams and cheers have been thunderous. Chuuya is completely in his element, playing and singing with his extraordinary talent and charisma. Dazai has been disappointed he’s been too busy to really pay attention. But blackmailing the man in the sound booth had taken precedent (he had given a brief thought about the morality of the action before quickly dismissing it, the ends more than justified the means.)

Chuuya has just finished The Moon Awaits Her Executioner when Dazai finally slips into place, shrugging out of his disguise sweatshirt and adjusting his stolen microphone in his ear. He’s oddly less nervous than he’d been this morning, this time it’s more anticipatory. He’s never been so eager to be at someone’s mercy before.

“Thanks, everyone,” says Chuuya, smiling at the audience as he takes a drink from his water bottle, leaning agains the piano. “You guys have been an amazing crowd tonight, seriously. I always love playing in L.A, but this has been phenomenal.” 

Chuuya always looks like he belongs on stage, and it’s always been somewhat striking. Dazai is a little annoyed how affected he is. The pang in his stomach as Chuuya laughs and slips some hair that’s fallen out of his ponytail is distracting, and he’d like to focus right now. This is possibly the most important performance of his life.

“L.A. is also home to the Pacific Ocean, the inspiration for this next song,” says Chuuya, putting his water down and starting to head for the piano bench. Dazai gets a jolt of adrenaline as he realizes it’s time. “I’ve always-.”

“Mic check, one two, one two,” says Dazai airily as he walks on stage, his voice cutting Chuuya off. The other boy freezes as he sees him, but the audience absolutely explodes. The screams are almost palpable.

“Hello, Los Angeles,” says Dazai smoothly, focusing on the crowd rather than Chuuya, who are yelling and shouting in earnest. “Sorry to interrupt. My name is Osamu Dazai, for those of you who don’t know me.”

He can’t resist looking over at Chuuya at that, who is rolling his eyes and shaking his head. There’s a hint of a smile on his face though, and that tiny expression lights a spark within Dazai.

“I was hoping I could ask a favor,” says Dazai, walking towards the piano and Chuuya, like a moth drawn to a flame.

“Were you now?” asks Chuuya, leaning back against the piano in an expectant way, an air of self-satisfaction in the gesture.

Dazai has to subtly clear his throat. “There’s this new song I wrote. I was hoping to get your thoughts on it.”

“Pretty sure I already gave you my thoughts,” says Chuuya lightly, standing up straight to look Dazai right in the eyes. There’s amusement in them, but also something deeper, something that Dazai wants to drown in.

“Yeah, but I know you work best when you hear something in person,” answers Dazai breezily, having to rein in the force of his reaction. He turns to face the crowd again. “Would you guys mind?”

There is an immediate outburst of enthusiastic cheering. Dazai tilts his head at Chuuya to get his response, the hint of a smirk on his face.

“Fine,” says Chuuya, no hint of annoyance in his voice. He shrugs casually. “Let’s hear it.”

Dazai winks at the crowd, gesturing to the side of the stage for the man to start his recording. “Thanks for allowing me to hog your stage time,” he says to Chuuya, fighting to keep his voice light and upbeat. It’s difficult with the lyrics that are about to come out of his mouth. He shifts to speak in the direction of the audience, “Here’s Swan Song.”

The music starts. It’s soft, slow, soulful. It definitely wouldn’t belong on Once More With Feeling. In fact, it’s unlike anything that Dazai has written in years. It’s the earnest kind of melody he has always shied away from, one where the words mattered more than the notes.

Dazai starts singing, for once carrying more about the delivery than whether he sings the vocals flawlessly. He walks forward towards the audience as he begins.

“I’ve never cared much for honesty or candor,” he sings, not putting any effort into putting on a show but with sincerity. “For veracity can be a scourge.”

But as I know that you are sick of lies

I will attempt to let my feelings and lyrics merge

Dazai continues, angling towards Chuuya more, not quite singing to him, but not quite not. 

Wherever I go, I never seem to escape you

A bond from which I cannot abscond

And the song you wrote demands an answer

So consider this my formal response

The music fades for a moment, and Dazai sings quietly, “The first thing I think of, when I think of you is-.” He turns to face Chuuya fully, singing louder and more emphatically. 

A karaoke bar in Yokohama

Before anyone knew our names

I dragged you there as a distraction

Little did I know that nothing would ever be the same

Because I had already recognized 

That I would never tire of the sound of your voice

But the second I heard it intertwine with mine

There was never any longer any choice

I had already decided not to die

But it wasn’t until I made music with you

That I truly started to live

Dazai pauses before he continues, singing more softly but with no less emotion. Chuuya’s eyes are focused completely on him, giving him the push he needs to keep going.

And when I hear the word love

You are who I think of

Because it wasn’t until I met you

That I understood what it meant

The music gets ever slower, more somber. Chuuya is clearly making an effort to keep his expression blank, to allow Dazai to finish without interfering. But there’s a trace of something warmer in his posture that he can’t hide. Dazai continues on, the style more complex than he usually attempts, pushing his voice to hit the notes.

But I never told you, never let it show

Because the weak fear happiness itself

Once something is gained it can be lost

And I couldn’t face the word without your help

But the harder I tried to hold on

The more I pushed you away

And by the time I left

I didn’t think you even cared whether I stayed

“And if there is a coward among us,” sings Dazai solemnly, looking right into Chuuya’s eyes now, “It has only ever been me. Terrified of what uneasiness lies in being loved.” 

“But I have come to recognize,” continues Dazai, voice almost catching with the weight of the words, “That there are people in this world who are more than worth every risk of grief or sorrow.” His voice softens. “None so much as you.”

Dazai can’t help the slight smile that comes out with the words, and the answering lift of Chuuya’s lips turns it into a full grin as he reaches the climax of the song, the music shifting to a faster and brighter tone. Dazai sways with it as he belts out the lyrics.

And I know that you said that you’d rather never hear my voice again

Frankly, I’m sick of it too

The only music I’m interested in making after this

Is if I get to make it with you

His voice rings out as the instruments start to fade. Then the bells come in with an upbeat jingle and Dazai adds smugly, “And not that it’s a competition, but I definitely loved you first.” Dazai winks at the audience as he finishes.

The audience roars as the music wanes, but Dazai is only semi-aware of it. This song is for one person, and that’s the only person who’s reaction Dazai cares about. Chuuya is still wearing a mostly blank expression though. Dazai has never felt this vulnerable and exposed in his life.

Chuuya walks forward and grabs him roughly by the wrist and starts dragging him offstage. He says to the still screaming crowd over his shoulder, “If you’ll excuse us for a moment.”

Chuuya stays quiet as he pulls him along, flicking off his mic. Dazai does the same, the need to vomit is returning again. He pushes it down as he and Chuuya arrive backstage. The area is thankfully devoid of anyone else.

Dazai swallows roughly as Chuuya faces him, preparing himself for whatever Chuuya has to say. He still hasn’t let go of his wrist. The contact is making his heart pound ever harder.

Chuuya doesn’t say anything though. He uses the hand that isn’t holding onto Dazai’s wrist to grab the back of Dazai’s neck, yank him down, and crash their lips together.

It takes Dazai a split-second to react, for his own free hand to anchor in Chuuya’s hair so he can kiss him back just as voraciously. Chuuya makes a pleased sound, and Dazai tries to pull him ever closer, almost yanking Chuuya’s hair out of his ponytail with the force of it. 

Dazai isn’t sure if he’s breathless from the kiss itself or the overwhelming amount of feelings he’s experiencing. How many times had he thought about this, had told himself he could never have it? That hadn’t stopped him from wanting it though. Things rarely live up to expectations, but this surpasses any Dazai ever had. 

It’s a little messy, both of them are sweating from performing, Chuuya more so than him. Errant pieces of Chuuya’s hair keep getting in the way. The way their lips slide together is slightly desperate, Chuuya still has an iron grip on Dazai’s wrist.

Then Chuuya huffs a quiet laugh and things shift, soften. Chuuya kisses him slower, deeper, his grip loosens. Dazai’s heart flutters with the gentleness of it. He adjusts his hand in Chuuya’s hair, still holding him close but no longer squeezing so tightly.

The tenderness might be Dazai’s undoing. Chuuya stops holding his wrist and slips his fingers into his, the gesture so blatantly affectionate Dazai’s breath stutters. He feels Chuuya’s lips lift into a smile against his, and Dazai’s chest tightens sharply. 

He surprises himself by being the one to pull away first. He doesn’t go far though, just separates them enough so he can say, “I hadn’t listened to it yet.” His voice is quiet and wrecked. “I heard Arahabaki on the radio and I raced over there.” Dazai raises their linked hands so he can press his lips to the back of Chuuya’s, speaking against it. “I hadn’t even listened to it yet, I was too busy panicking about whether you were okay.”

“I thought you were a bit too calm about it,” says Chuuya, smile lifting into a smirk, his tone full of fondness, “Even if you didn’t feel the same way.”

“I do,” says Dazai immediately, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together. “I really, really do.” 

They linger like that for a moment. Dazai runs his thumb lightly along Chuuya’s hand where it’s still clasped in his. Their breathing evens out, and Dazai’s pulse starts to resemble that of a normal human’s. The contentment doesn’t fade at all though.

“I can’t believe you had that Atsushi kid send me your song,” says Chuuya eventually, pulling away and snickering a little. "And that last line definitely wasn't in the version he sent me."

“There was the chance that you wouldn’t look at it if it came from me, if you believed I had truly rejected you,” says Dazai without shame, shrugging casually. “I didn’t want to take that chance. I just wanted you to know. I was sick of waiting.” 

Chuuya’s smirk turns into more of a real smile, but the smugness lingers. “Been a while since you’ve manipulated someone for me.” He squeezes Dazai’s hand lightly. “For the record, I would have still looked at it if it came from you.”

“Noted,” says Dazai, cheerfulness not a sham for once. He can’t think of anything else to say though. He just smiles at Chuuya like an imbecile.

“Stop mooning,” says Chuuya, rolling his eyes and letting go of Dazai’s hand. His smirk is back in full force as he walks back towards the stage that Dazai had honestly half forgotten about. “I’ve got a concert to finish.”

“Chuuya.” Dazai speaks before he thinks. Looking at Chuuya isn’t helping him think either. Dazai doesn’t have the words for everything he’s feeling in this moment.

“Watch your high notes,” he ends up saying. His voice somehow comes out normal sounding. “You were a bit pitchy at the end of The Moon Awaits Her Executioner.”

“I fucking love you,” says Chuuya without hesitation. Which is truly unfair because Dazai doesn’t have anything to counter that with. He can only stare at Chuuya in shock while Chuuya laughs and walks back on stage.

“Sorry for the interruption,” says Chuuya to the crowd, slipping back into his stage persona with ease. He sounds a mixture of exasperated and fond that makes Dazai feel a bit like he’s seventeen again. “You know how boyfriends can be.”

Dazai had thought the crowd was loud when they played Corruption together after over five years. He’d thought they’d been even louder when he’d showed up tonight. But the screams after Chuuya’s announcement put that amount of noise to shame. Chuuya winces a little at the roar, but he never stops smiling.

Dazai doesn’t either. Happiness is a feeling he isn’t all that familiar with, not like this. It drowns everything else out. Dazai should probably be checking his phone and dealing with all of the people and things he still has to handle. Instead, he just settles in to watch the rest of the concert of his favorite singer.

It’s interesting getting the chance to properly snoop about Chuuya’s apartment. Dazai had been so tense and anxious the last time he’d been here he really hadn’t looked around that much. Many things are different, none of the furniture is the same except for the grand piano in the living room. The hat sitting atop it makes Dazai pause for a moment, then he’s distracted by going through all the books on Chuuya’s bookshelf. Unfortunately most of them are about music rather than anything interesting.

It’s not all unfamiliar though. The disorganization of the place hasn’t changed, there’s a smattering of CDs, clothes, and mugs everywhere. Then there’s Chuuya’s fancy tea kettle and the same ugly blanket on his updated couch. The things Dazai does recognize make him smile (and he doesn’t even have to hold back now that he’s alone.) 

After the concert had ended and Chuuya had finished soaking up all the applause (which had gone on a bit too long for Dazai’s patience), he’d come straight up to Dazai and told him that he had shit to do and to wait for him at his apartment.

“You already know the code to get in,” Chuuya had said, both mocking and smug. Dazai had rolled his eyes and agreed then Chuuya had taken off without another word. Dazai had been a little caught off guard, but then exited quickly before he ended up stuck talking to any of the PMR employees or press lurking about the place.

Chuuya is taking his sweet time though. Dazai has finished inspecting the living room and is now going through his kitchen. The dishes are a mix of high end and plastic, and there’s very little actual food. Chuuya had always accused Dazai of only eating junk when they were teenagers, it appears their roles have reversed. There is however an entire cupboard devoted completely to tea.

He’s about to start putting the teabags in the wrong boxes when Chuuya walks in, eyes immediately going to him in the kitchen. He rolls his eyes as he approaches Dazai.

“Stop messing with my shit,” he says, but there’s no bite to his tone. His hair is wet, and he’d changed out of his concert clothes into jeans and a t-shirt that Dazai is sure cost more than a month of what he makes at the ADA.

“You were taking too long,” says Dazai, though he puts down the tea to lean against the counter. 

Chuuya lets out a half-snort. “I got out of there so fast I’m going to have to do damage control tomorrow.” He walks up to Dazai and cups his jaw with his hands, kissing him lightly.

Dazai tries to follow when Chuuya pulls away, and Chuuya laughs at him. He takes one of Dazai’s hands and tugs him out of the kitchen. “C’mon,” he says, still laughing a little. It’s not mocking though, it’s a little dazed if anything.

Dazai allows Chuuya to pull him along without protest, his mind a jumbled mess of things. His throat feels a little dry as they reach the bedroom. 

Out of the entire apartment, this is the room that is the most changed, mostly because Chuuya’s old bedroom was a tiny little room that fit a twin bed and not much else. Now the bed is almost comically large, and the view of L.A. out the windows is stunning. The moonlight streaming through brightens the room so that everything is visible even without turning the lights on.

Chuuya leans in to kiss him again, but Dazai stops him with a hand to his chest. Chuuya’s face freezes and he lets go of Dazai’s hand, and Dazai immediately shifts his hand on his chest to grab his shoulder before he can pull away.

“There are things we should probably talk about,” says Dazai, tone clearly disappointed. But being in Chuuya’s bedroom had the unpleasant sensation of reminding him of the last time he’d slept in the same room as Chuuya, the night before he’d left for Japan and everything had fractured so rapidly.

“Probably,” agrees Chuuya, visibly relaxing. His smile turns sharper. “Or we could save the talking for the morning.” He steps closer and lowers his voice, “I heard everything I needed to in that song.”

That is remarkably hard to argue with. Dazai’s gut clenches and he lets go of Chuuya’s shoulder to wrap his arms around his waist, pulling him in and kissing him. It’s different than their frantic kissing backstage or gentler ones since. There’s a different severity, an intent behind the way they press together, separate, and return.

Dazai’s desire has never been quite so sharp. There are people he’s been with who’s company and bodies he’s thoroughly enjoyed, but not like this. Everything feels heavier, but instead of dragging Dazai down it’s entrancing him. It’s too much and not enough simultaneously. He’s overwhelmed and desperate for more.

Chuuya seems to feel the same. His touches are both rough and affectionate, pushing Dazai towards the bed as he runs a hand through his hair almost shyly. Dazai lets out a small sound at the gesture, and Chuuya’s eyes darken as he pulls aways to whip off his shirt, tossing it behind him carelessly.

“That’s new,” says Dazai, eyes caught on the small lizard on Chuuya’s hip, running a thumb over the tattoo lightly. He catches the small shiver Chuuya does at the motion.

“It’s not the only one,” says Chuuya, voice coming out somewhat strange. It makes more sense as he turns around and Dazai sees the symbols on the back of his left shoulder, the ink darker and clearly more recent.

“When did you get this done?” asks Dazai, own voice coming out quiet and cautious. His hand is careful as it traces the characters for Arahabaki, his eyes stinging a little.

“November,” answers Chuuya, and he sounds more proud than dismayed this time. His posture shifts to something steadier.

Dazai presses his lips to the skin, mumbling against it, “I like it.”

Chuuya twists around, smile both breathtaking and arrogant. He doesn’t say anything else, just shoves Dazai at the bed again. Dazai almost trips as he hits it, landing on it clumsily. Chuuya follows him, standing in between his knees and having to lean down to kiss him now.

It’s distracting as Dazai works to get his own shirt off. Chuuya is no help, content to kiss Dazai’s lips and then around his jaw. There’s a playful edge to his movements, and Dazai is caught between lingering in it and ripping off his clothes in impatience.

He is eventually successful though, and he throws his shirt towards the direction of the floor. Dazai pauses when that leaves him in just his bandages. Chuuya doesn’t hesitate though, running his hands against the material as if it were his skin. His touch is warm and appreciative, and a little mischievous as his hands wander lower.

Dazai catches his wrists, grip almost painfully tight. “I have to tell you something,” he says, almost as if the words were forced from his mouth. His voice is awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

Chuuya is completely still, watching him with a serious expression. “Are you sure?” he asks, only concern in his voice, not even the slightest hint of pressure. 

His horrific kindness almost makes Dazai choke. He kisses him quickly, the force almost bruising. “I have never been more sure about anything in my life,” he breathes out as he pulls away. He releases Chuuya’s wrists and slowly starts to unravel the bandages covering his right arm.

If Chuuya were still before, now he’s like a statue. Dazai’s hands are trembling a little as he works and his scars become visible. He hears Chuuya inhale a little more sharply at the sight. Dazai keeps working though, taking them all off until his upper body is completely bare.

Even though it’s Chuuya, Dazai has to resist the urge to cover his arms. The sight of his scars still makes him want to retch, and having someone else see them makes the sensation even worse. He’s never felt so disgustingly vulnerable.

Chuuya’s eyes are focused on his face though when he looks up. Dazai swallows harshly as he meets his eyes. It reminds him that he could grab his bandages right now, wrap himself back up and Chuuya wouldn’t raise a single protest. 

If you have something to tell me, you’ll tell me, Chuuya had told him more than once, and he’d always meant it. He’d never expected Dazai to tell him things, not even when he’d revealed his darkest thoughts and memories. Not even the night when Chuuya had seen his scars for the first time.

But Dazai doesn’t want to tell Chuuya as part of some exchange where they have give up equal parts of themselves. He wants Chuuya to know because he simply has no desire to have any kind of barriers between them anymore, even the kind he’d put up for his own protection.

“I tried to kill myself,” says Dazai, voice devoid of emotion, “When I was ten. I didn’t succeed.”

Chuuya struggles but manages to keep his face neutral, and his eyes never leave Dazai’s. He doesn’t speak though. He’s giving Dazai the option to say more if he wants to.

“I don’t want to die anymore,” says Dazai, voice barely above a whisper. He has to look away from Chuuya, shifting to look down at his arms instead. “I just don’t want anyone to see them.”

“I don’t have to see them,” says Chuuya, voice equally quiet. “If you don’t want me to.”

“No, I didn’t mean you,” says Dazai, tone almost annoyed. He looks up at Chuuya again. “I trust you.”

It’s something he’s known for years, but he’s not sure he’s ever said it so openly before. Chuuya’s eyes widen a little at the admission. He reaches out with his left hand so slowly, giving Dazai more than enough opportunity to pull away. He doesn’t though, he lets Chuuya run his fingers along his scars so lightly he barely feels it.

“I’m glad,” says Chuuya, words thick with emotion, “That you didn’t succeed.” His fingers move down Dazai’s arm with the same careful pressure and pace. “I’m glad that you’re here.”

Dazai’s own words come out unsteadily, “Me too.” He takes a deep breath and grabs Chuuya’s hand on his inner arm. Chuuya starts to pull his hand away, but Dazai doesn’t let him. He takes his hand and pushes it to his skin with more force. “But stop pawing at me like I’m made of glass.”

Chuuya looks confused for a second, then he laughs a little. He yanks his hand out of Dazai’s grasp, but his touch is no longer hesitant when he puts both his hands on Dazai’s bare shoulders. Dazai has to hide his reaction, his skin is sensitive due to him usually keeping it covered, even during these sorts of things.

“I would have told you if you had asked,” says Dazai, tone still a little stiff but much lighter than before. He puts his own hands on Chuuya’s hips. 

“I never would have asked,” says Chuuya, voice mildly angry, as if he’s offended at the notion. He steps closer, circling his arms around Dazai’s neck. 

“I know,” says Dazai, words coming out slightly smugly. He shifts his hands on Chuuya’s hips so he can tug him forward. Chuuya huffs but pulls his legs up on the bed so that he’s straddling Dazai. He runs his hands through Dazai’s hair again, almost lazily this time.

Dazai takes the opportunity to let his hands explore Chuuya thoroughly. He’d seen him shirtless many times before, but he’d always tried to act as if it had no effect on him. Now he doesn’t have to hide his appreciation as he runs his hands over Chuuya’s muscles, which are now even more impressive than they’d used to be.

Chuuya’s hands tighten in his hair, and he’s giving a Dazai a look that’s a mix between irritated and aroused when he looks up. It makes Dazai laugh, but he doesn’t laugh long as Chuuya kisses him again, more insistently than before. It’s warmer now that their bare skin is touching, and Dazai quickly gets swept up in it, his own touches turning more deliberate.

They quickly lose the rest of their clothes, and it’s heady, and turbulent, and fun. Chuuya nips at his ear when his pants get stuck on his right leg and Dazai almost kicks him off him in surprise and Chuuya practically cackles. But underneath all the thrill and chaos, there’s an undercurrent of tenderness. Every time Chuuya smiles softly or strokes his skin lightly, almost a caress, Dazai feels the force of it. He’s sure Chuuya is aware of his own as well, not that he’s making any effort to hide it. 

Chuuya is still in his lap as he raises his hands to take off his choker, but Dazai’s hands catch his before he does.

“Or you could leave it on,” says Dazai, voice low and a little out of breath.

Chuuya narrows his eyes, waiting for an explanation.

“I always pictured you wearing it when I imagined this,” says Dazai easily, grinning fully.

Chuuya lowers his hands. “Anything for you, baby,” he says, smirking and blatantly mocking him.

Dazai takes his revenge by shoving him onto the bed, rolling on top of him, and kissing him fiercely, digging his hands into Chuuya’s hair and winding their bodies together. It backfires spectacularly when he pulls away to catch his breath and he sees Chuuya laid out beneath him, hair an absolute mess and looking up at Dazai with swollen lips and dark eyes.

“You’re perfect,” says Dazai without deciding to, voice catching on the words a little.

Chuuya scoffs, pushing his hair out of his face. “You, more than any other person on the planet, know how untrue that is.”

Dazai shakes his head. “You’re perfect,” he repeats, tone holding no room for argument.

“Stop fucking talking,” says Chuuya, voice slightly strangled as he pulls Dazai down so their hips line up perfectly, and Dazai has never been so happy to shut up in his entire life.

Dazai had thought it would be different, sleeping in the same bed as Chuuya after this many years had passed. It isn’t exactly the same, their bodies have both shifted with age and Chuuya’s new bed is actually much comfier. They don’t have to squish together to fit. But overall, it’s still warm and familiar. Their legs are tangled, and Dazai is pressed against Chuuya’s shoulder, his left hand stroking Chuuya’s side softly, contently.

“I am fucking exhausted, mackerel,” says Chuuya a little gruffly, using his right hand to stop Dazai’s in place.

“Is that a complement?” asks Dazai, lifting his head to smirk at Chuuya.

Chuuya scowls and kicks at him, and Dazai thinks he could possibly burst with happiness. He decides to behave though, rearranging himself around Chuuya so they can sleep comfortably. 

“I love you,” whispers Dazai into his neck, because he’s said it in a song but he’s never had the thrill of saying it just himself yet. He smiles against his skin.

“I love you too,” says Chuuya effortlessly. Then his tone turns surly. “And we’ll still be in love in the morning, so go the fuck to sleep.”

Chuuya wakes up with the feeling of bandages against his skin. He’s smiling before he even opens his eyes. Dazai’s hair is slightly damp where he’s leaning against him. He’d obviously gotten out of bed to shower and wrap himself up then come back to lay with Chuuya. It’s a tiny gesture, but it makes Chuuya’s heart lurch.

He’s wanted this for so long, to wake up with Dazai and just be together. It feels almost surreal to actually have it. But he still can recall every lyric to Dazai’s song, and every touch they’d shared since. It’s very, very real.

“Morning,” says Chuuya, voice still a little thick with sleep and the toll of singing a full show last night. He should probably take it easy today. But he’d gone years without talking to Dazai, and he’s not going to give up the chance now over a little sore throat (though he can hear Kouyou accuse him of abusing his instrument in his head.)

“Morning,” says Dazai, a hint of brightness in his voice, letting go of him so they can both sit up.

Chuuya rubs his eyes and forces himself to get out of bed, stretching his arms behind his head. He grabs a sweatshirt from his floor and pulls it on, looking up to see Dazai watching him, clearly appreciative of the view. Chuuya is embarrassed to feel his face flush.

“My flight for New York leaves at eleven,” says Chuuya, unsure why those are the words that decide to come out. Dazai frowns a little, scooting towards the edge of the bed and hanging his legs over it.

“It’s a little before nine now,” says Dazai, and the earlier brightness from his voice is gone. He smiles at Chuuya though. “Go shower, I’ll make us breakfast.”

Chuuya is sure he misheard him. “You know how to cook?”

Dazai laughs, standing up and kissing Chuuya on the forehead quickly before walking out of the room. “Better hurry or it’ll be cold!” he calls out behind him.

Chuuya shakes his head but quickly showers and changes into clean clothes, shoving his hair into a bun. He still can’t quite believe his eyes when he walks out into the kitchen to see Dazai scooping eggs out of a pan onto two plates. Chuuya didn’t even remember buying eggs. He hadn’t been eating at home much with all the frenzy of the album.

His surprise is replaced by amusement when he sees a large mug of tea next to one of the plates. Chuuya takes a seat and grabs it, raising it towards Dazai as a thanks. They share pathetically large grins before eating at Chuuya’s counter. The food is shockingly decent, simple but good.

It’s quiet as they finish up. The air feels heavier. There’s a lot to be discussed, but Chuuya doesn’t know where to start. Last night he’d been too caught up in the intense relief and desire to think about what came next.

“I’ve got a question,” says Dazai, stopping picking around at his plate and turning to face Chuuya on his stool.

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “Then ask it.” He turns to face Dazai as well.

“Are you interested in making music as a duo again?” asks Dazai, voice completely neutral, as if the answer doesn’t matter to him in the slightest. His face is carefully blank as he looks at Chuuya.

“Did you think that I wouldn’t be?” asks Chuuya, raising an eyebrow. He laughs. “Of course I am.” He reaches down and grabs one of Dazai’s hand, smirking a little. “Solo artists are overrated anyway.” 

Dazai’s answering smile makes Chuuya’s breath catch. Chuuya is still getting used to it, an unguarded Dazai. He’d already been gone on small glimpses of him, now being exposed full force is slightly daunting in the best way possible. 

Chuuya’s smile dims as his voice becomes more serious. “I’m not leaving Port Mafia Records.”

“I never said you had to,” says Dazai, own smile retreating. He clenches onto Chuuya’s hand a little tighter.

“Look, I get why you left,” says Chuuya, tone softening. “What happened to your friend was fucked up. I’m not going to make any excuses for that. There is no excuse for that. But it’s different for me.” He sighs. “They’re my family, including Mori.” He forces himself to add the last part, knowing the damage it will do.

Dazai immediately releases his hand, his expression darkening. “You consider Ogai Mori your family?” The disgust is clear in his voice.

“I know you’ve always hated him,” says Chuuya carefully. “I don’t blame you for that. The way he treated you justified it.” He pauses, unsure how to explain his relationship with the boss, how it had shifted over the years into mutual respect, and then something even a little deeper.

“A couple years ago, my mom’s parents tracked me down,” says Chuuya. Dazai looks confused and wary at the change in subject but doesn’t interrupt. “They threatened to go public about how my mom died if I refused to meet with them.” His voice is sharp, still angry at their underhanded tactics. “Mori took care of it, and I never heard from them again.”

Dazai eases up a little but not completely. “There isn’t a person he wouldn’t destroy if it benefitted him,” says Dazai, no longer disgusted but stating a fact.

“It wouldn’t benefit him to destroy me,” says Chuuya, having to fight to keep his tone calm. “He knows I would never do anything to harm PMR.” Chuuya looks down and says quietly, “He wants me to take over once he steps down.” He’d never told anyone else that, not even Kouyou. 

He looks up when he feels Dazai’s hand grab his, intertwining their fingers. “I don’t trust him,” says Dazai plainly. “But I trust you. If you say he won’t make a move against you, I believe you.”

Chuuya lets out a long breath, ridiculously relieved. He squeezes Dazai’s fingers lightly. It’s another sign how things have changed over the years, he and Dazai had never been able to come to terms on Mori when they were younger.

“Thank you,” says Chuuya, trying to put how much he means it into the words. He would give up almost anything to sing with Dazai again, but PMR isn’t one of those things. The concept of being able to have both is a little dizzying.

Dazai is frowning though, looking at their hands with a solemn expression. “I should have gone with you to Japan,” he says suddenly.

“What?” asks Chuuya, completely thrown off. He isn’t sure what he’d been expecting Dazai to say, but it certainly hadn’t been that.

“I should have gone with you to Japan,” repeats Dazai, voice resolute. “After Arther died."

Chuuya sighs, his stomach clenching a little as it always does when he thinks about that time in his life. He still misses Arthur a great deal. He wishes he could have gotten to hear Bygone Days. But he had told him not to live in the past, and Chuuya tries to live by that advice.

“And I shouldn’t have ignored you after I left,” says Chuuya bluntly. He won’t allow Dazai to bear this burden alone. “Even if you had come, I probably would have pushed you away. I was…I wanted to be hurt and angry and alone.” 

“The only reason I stayed was because of you,” says Dazai quietly, not looking any less grave. “Mori implied that he wouldn’t let Double Black record together again until PMR had its next breakout artist.”

“Akutagawa,” says Chuuya as he catches on, his eyes widening. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Dazai doesn’t answer for a moment, and Chuuya is starting to get pissed when he finally speaks up, his voice bleak. “You said that I didn’t care when Mori split us up. I wanted to prove you wrong.”

“You don’t owe me any apologies,” says Chuuya, once he thinks he can speak, though his voice is still a little unsteady. “We’re both to blame for things going to shit. I don’t care about any of that.” He leans in closer so he can look Dazai directly in the eyes. “I care about us being together now.”

“Okay,” agrees Dazai, own voice a little shaky. “I just don’t want it to happen again, to lose you over misunderstandings and foolishness.”

“It won’t,” says Chuuya adamantly. “I won’t let it.” He smiles lightly. “Let’s make a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” asks Dazai, starting to sound a bit more normal.

“To be honest,” says Chuuya simply. “Even when it hurts.” He holds up his free hand. “I don’t expect you to tell me everything, or the things you don’t want to share. But the essential things.”

“I can do that,” says Dazai, voice sincere. “You’ve got a deal, slug.”

Chuuya grins like an idiot at the dumb nickname. It brings him back to what they’d been talking about earlier before they’d gotten sidetracked. “I don’t want you to come back to PMR.”

“You don’t?” Dazai looks surprised.

“No,” says Chuuya easily, shaking his head. “I’ve seen how you are with those buffoons at the ADA. They’re your friends. They make you happy.” He frowns a little. “I’ll never be happy about the way you left, but I’m glad that it made you what you are now.”

“You make me happy,” says Dazai loftily, leaning in and giving him a featherlight peck on the cheek. He’s smirking at he pulls back. “So if I’m not going back to PMR and you’re not leaving what are we going to do?”

“Like you don’t already have ideas,” says Chuuya, rolling his eyes and smirking back.

“I forget what it’s like, being known,” says Dazai, his voice borderline giddy.

“Get used to it, mackerel,” says Chuuya, pulling his hand out of Dazai’s and standing up from his stool. He picks up his now slightly cold tea and finishes off the rest of it.

“Dogs shouldn’t give their owners orders,” says Dazai obnoxiously, getting off his own stool and stacking their dishes together.

Chuuya groans, covering his eyes with a hand. “Why am I signing up for more of this?”

Dazai grabs the hand and pulls it away, snickering a little. “Because I get what your music is about.”

“Do not use my lyrics against me,” says Chuuya, his rough tone in stark contrast to the way he’s smiling.

Dazai ends up riding with him to catch his flight. Chuuya even takes his own car instead of one of PMR’s vans. He’s lucky they’re taking the PMR jet to New York, otherwise he’d be running terribly late. Not that he really cares, but Chuuya doesn’t really want to spend the entire plane ride getting lectured.

Chuuya shakes his head as Dazai fiddles with the radio, searching for a song that he doesn’t hate. “Stop that,” he commands him, shoving his hand away. He keeps it on a station playing Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre.

“Sap,” accuses Dazai. Chuuya flicks him off with one hand while he steers with the other. 

“So, when did you know you were in love with me?” asks Dazai, tone full of smugness and mischief.

“Look, a mackerel fishing for complements,” says Chuuya, giving him an unimpressed look.

“You’re my boyfriend now,” says Dazai, sticking his feet up on the dashboard. Chuuya scowls at the dirt he leaves. “Shouldn’t you be giving me complements freely?”

“You’ll get what you deserve,” says Chuuya, attempting to hide his grin. “Dallas.”

“Dallas?” repeats Dazai, clearly interested and probing for more information.

“Yeah,” says Chuuya easily. “You made us sing Life’s Better With a Little Party In It.” He snorts a little. “I looked over at you, dancing just terribly. I’d rarely seen you that carefree.” Chuuya shrugs. “And I just thought, I could do this shit for the rest of my life."

“It is incredibly unfair of you to tell me something like that when we’re in a moving vehicle,” says Dazai, pout clear in his voice. His expression is bright though when Chuuya glances over at him.

“You asked,” Chuuya points out. “How about you?”

“Phoenix,” says Dazai casually.

Chuuya frowns, trying to remember anything special about the city or the show, but he comes up with nothing. “What happened in Phoenix?”

“You got me a water,” says Dazai, as if that’s an explanation. 

“I got you a water?” repeats Chuuya, sure that he misheard him somehow.

Dazai breaths out through his nose shortly. “I pretty much already knew, it was more that was when I accepted it.”

“I’m not sure if I didn’t know you felt something, or if I didn’t let myself know,” says Chuuya, biting his lip. 

“I didn’t want you to know,” says Dazai plainly. “I didn’t want Mori to take us and manipulate everything for his own gain.”

“Oh, he totally would have,” agrees Chuuya, laughing a little as he pictures it. “I wouldn’t have minded though.”

“It also gave me an excuse to not ruin it,” adds Dazai, voice a little more somber.

“God, sometimes we are too fucking alike,” says Chuuya, shaking his head. “I felt the same way.” He swallows a little roughly. “That, and, well, being in love seemed like a very human thing to do.”

“I haven’t even told you yet how I felt when I heard Arahabaki,” says Dazai, voice a little strained. “I don’t know if I have the words. But it’s the best song you’ve ever written, and I-.” Dazai cuts himself off to clear his throat. “I’ve always known you were human. I’m glad you know now too.”

Chuuya reaches over to grab Dazai’s hand and link their fingers together. “I’m glad too,” he says simply. It’s still perhaps a half-truth, but it’s more true than it’s ever been before.

“I knew you felt something towards me,” says Dazai, stroking his thumb along the back of Chuuya’s palm. His voice has returned to normal.

“Did you?” asks Chuuya dryly.

“I tried to deny it for a long time,” admits Dazai. “But then when you passionately serenaded me on my seventeenth birthday it got too hard to keep pretending.” 

Chuuya snorts. “I have never been able to lie during a song.”

“I almost kissed you right then and there on stage in front of everyone,” reveals Dazai without shame. Chuuya laughs even harder.

“Now that would have been something,” he says almost wistfully. 

They’re quiet for a moment, and Dazai looks contemplative when Chuuya looks over at him.

“Hey,” says Chuuya seriously, “I don’t mind that it took this long. All the shitty parts were worth it for this.” He brings Dazai’s hand up to press his lips to the back of it.

“Sap,” accuses Dazai again, but his expression is openly fond. It makes Chuuya’s heart stutter, and he has to remind himself to focus on the road. It feels like they reach their destination way too quickly.

Chuuya wonders what to say but Dazai surprises him by getting out of the car when he parks. Chuuya follows him, grabbing his suitcase from the backseat. They’ve barely talked about what’s going to happen now that Chuuya’s leaving for tour. They’ve been too busy dealing with all their other shit. 

Now Chuuya is dreading another separation. It feels ominously similar to when he’d left for tour with The Black Lizards. But Chuuya reminds himself how much things have changed since then, of their new deal. That doesn’t make the prospect of saying goodbye any easier.

Dazai is leaning agains the passenger door when Chuuya walks over. His expression is hard to interpret. There’s a group of PMR employees nearby loading the plane, but Chuuya ignores them for the moment.

“I don’t suppose you could come with?” asks Chuuya, trying to hide the melancholy in his tone but doing a horrible job.

“No, unfortunately I can’t,” says Dazai, frowning himself. “I’ve got a meeting with Mori.”

Chuuya gives Dazai a long look. “You don’t have to do that alone. I could go with you.”

“This is something I have to do myself,” says Dazai simply, shaking his head. 

Chuuya accepts that, though he doesn’t really like it. “Fine. Call me when you’re done.”

Dazai sighs dramatically. “I don’t have time to call Chuuya. After I see Mori I have to go to the ADA and tell them I’m going to be following my boyfriend on tour."

It probably isn’t good for Chuuya’s jaw to be smiling this often and this widely. “Are you now?”

“Please,” says Dazai arrogantly, smirking at him. “You hate touring without me.”

Chuuya pulls him in and kisses him soundly, not caring who sees. “Asshole,” he says as he pulls back, giving him one last quick peck before he grabs his luggage and walking towards the plane.

“Kay, bye,” calls out Dazai cheerfully, waving a hand enthusiastically. His voice carries loudly so that everyone around them can hear. “I love you!”

“Fuck. Off,” shouts Chuuya back. “I love you too.”

Dazai is disturbed by how natural it feels to walk into the PMR offices. He wishes he could say something dramatic like the halls felt too wide and he was overcome by how much he had changed. Instead he just swipes his still activated keycard to use the executive entrance with little fanfare. The elevator ride up to the top floor is even borderline pleasant.

The revulsion he’d been looking for hits when he arrives to the doors of Mori’s office. Dazai contemplates knocking for a second before walking right in. He swings the door widely, but it’s too heavy to crash into the opposite wall unfortunately.

Mori looks up as he enters, no sign of surprise on his face at Dazai’s appearance. He smiles thinly, the gesture uncomfortably familiar. “Osamu,” he says brightly.

“Ogai,” returns Dazai cheerily, moving forward to take a seat in one of the opulent (and admittedly comfortable) chairs in front of Mori’s desk.

Mori doesn’t look annoyed at the use of his name, if anything he looks even more amused. He folds his hands in front of him and leans his elbows on the desk. “What can I do for you?” asks Mori pleasantly, as if they’re friends who often do each other favors.

“I’m here to offer you a deal,” says Dazai, voice light and airy. The sight of Mori is never a welcome one, but Dazai can’t deny he feels a slight thrill going up against him like this. Mori is slime, but undeniably a worthy opponent.

“Are you now?” asks Mori, tilting his head in curiosity. “What sort of deal?”

“Chuuya and I are going to be releasing music again as a duo,” announces Dazai simply. “I propose a joint venture between PMR and the ADA, splitting the profit sixty forty.” 

“Shouldn’t Fukuzawa be the one to strike this sort of deal?” asks Mori innocently. But his interest is apparent from the flicker of emotion in his eyes.

“Of course,” says Dazai easily, smiling widely. “You’ll be the one to offer it to him formally. I’m just acting as an intermediary of sorts.” 

“If only I could accept your proposal,” says Mori, frowning as if he’s truly distraught. “Unfortunately, there’s still the business of all that messy paperwork you left after your abrupt departure.”

Dazai isn’t sure whether he wants to laugh or roll his eyes. “So let’s settle it now. I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”

“In that case,” says Mori, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a large stack of papers, placing them on the desk with ceremony, “Let’s get started.”

Dazai isn’t sure if Mori had drawn up the paperwork this morning or just always kept it in his desk on the off-chance Dazai would show up. Either option is both amusing and horrendous. 

After almost five years after leaving PMR, it takes Dazai and Mori less than ten minutes to sort everything out. Mostly because Dazai waives his right to any of the money he’s owed from the start. The thought of taking money from Port Mafia Records after what they’d done to Odasaku is repugnant. The majority of the contract involves Dazai agreeing to keep certain information to himself and retroactively agreeing to PMR using his voice on The Corrupted Files.

Dazai is surprised to feel a weight off his shoulders as he signs his name on the last page. He’s not going to be finished with PMR like he’d envisioned, but this new start is much more appealing. It’ll be good for the ADA too. As Mori would say, it’s an optimal solution.

“Well, now that that’s taken care of,” says Mori casually, as if he hadn’t been trying to force Dazai to finish it since the second he’d left, “I can give you the offer to give to Yukichi.” Mori then brings out a second stack of already prepared paperwork.

This time Dazai doesn’t bother to hold back his laughter. There is no one he detests more in the world, but he couldn’t deny that when it came to business, there is no one he holds in higher regard. Mori had taken so much from him personally, but he’d also given Dazai almost all of the tools Dazai uses to get the things he wants. Their history is a convoluted mess of parasitism and mutualism.

Although Dazai still wants to tie Mori’s shoes together and push him down the stairs. He doesn’t think that urge is ever going to go away.

“There is a condition though,” says Dazai once he stops laughing.

Mori looks expectant rather than surprised. “Oh?” he says lightly. “What would that be?”

“You don’t get to touch our relationship,” says Dazai, dropping his cheerful facade for a grave tone. He stares Mori down, letting him know how serious he is.

“Very well,” agrees Mori, nodding slightly. “Though there is the matter of what is to be done if you and Chuuya split up.” Mori smiles brightly as he says the words.

Dazai fixes Mori with the most unimpressed look he can muster. “That’s not something you need to worry about,” he says flatly. Then he smiles fully. “And if we did, I’m sure you would come up with something.”

“Perhaps,” says Mori nonchalantly as he signs the offer and passes it to Dazai, his own smile wide. “I look forward to working together again.”

“Likewise,” lies Dazai easily. He doesn’t move towards the door quite yet though. “I do have one more condition.” 

It’s a little difficult for Dazai to open the door of the ADA while he balances the box in his other hand. He eventually gets it though, flinging the door open so it hits the opposite wall with a bang. It’s so much more satisfying than entering Mori’s office had been.

“I got doughnuts,” announces Dazai brightly as he walks in the door. The whole room turns to look at him with various expressions. Ranpo is the only one who looks delighted at his appearance.

“Do you know how many times I have called you in the last twenty-four hours?” asks Kunikida, stalking forward and fixing Dazai with a glare.

“You should be more careful, Kunikida,” advises Dazai, slipping around him to walk towards the war table and set down the box of doughnuts. Ranpo immediately jumps up to inspect the haul. “Too much cell phone use can be bad for you, all that radiation.”

“I like your new song,” says Yosano, her eyes twinkling in amusement. “Well done.”

“Thank you, Yosano,” says Dazai, flashing her a smile, fairly certain she isn’t congratulating him on the song. “Is the president in? I have something to give him.”

“I can take it to him,” offers Yosano knowingly, voice tinkling a bit with laughter.

“You’re a saint,” says Dazai cheerfully, practically shoving the documents into her gloved hands. He’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially not when he’s in a rush.

“What do you have to give to the president?” asks Kunikida, displeasure clear in his voice and his posture. “Dazai, what the hell is going on?”

“Dazai and Nakahara have finally decided to stop playing the world’s longest game of emotional chicken,” says Ranpo, wiping the crumbs from his first doughnut off his face. “It’s about time. It was getting exhausting.” 

“You knew about this?” asks Kunikida, voice a mixture of bewildered and infuriated.

Ranpo snorts, shoving a second doughnut in his mouth. “Please, they were practically screaming each other’s names through the radio.” He grins up at Dazai as he chews. “Thanks for the doughnuts. Have fun on tour.”

“You’re welcome,” says Dazai with a laugh. It’s not surprising that Ranpo is always at least one step ahead.

“So, uh, you’ve been into Nakahara the entire time?” asks Tanizaki, appearing beside him and looking blatantly nervous.

“Don’t worry, Junichiro,” says Dazai, patting him on the shoulder consolingly. “I won’t tell him all the terrible things you said about him.” Even though it would have be greatly amusing to see Chuuya’s reactions.

Tanizaki still looks a little worried, so Dazai shoves a doughnut in his hand to distract him. Then he moves towards Atsushi’s desk. Atsushi is watching the commotion with a calm smile on his face, raising his eyebrows at Dazai as he approaches.

“Think you can handle finishing Stray Dogs on your own?” asks Dazai, sitting on top of his desk.

“Don’t worry about me, Dazai,” says Atsushi confidently. “I’ve got this. Plus I’m not on my own.” He gestures around the room.

“I’ve got faith in you,” says Dazai honestly, giving Atsushi a sincere smile.

Atsushi gives him an answering one. “I liked your performance,” he says wryly. “It was brimming with authenticity.”

“That it was,” agrees Dazai, laughing a little. He’s surprised how touched he is by Atsushi’s approval, it’s like they’ve reversed roles. “Thanks for all your assistance.” He doesn’t just mean with sending Chuuya the song.

“Thanks for letting me help,” says Atsushi, voice and expression warm. “You’re in no danger of turning into a tiger.”

It’s perhaps the most ridiculous praise Dazai’s ever been given. He lights up at it though, patting Atsushi’s head in an intentionally annoying way. He’s struck by the fact that he’s going to truly miss him while he’s on tour.

“Watch over Kyouka and Kenji while I’m gone,” instructs Dazai, standing up before things have the opportunity to get mushy. “And be nice to that Lucy girl. Chuuya doesn’t make idle threats.”

Atsushi huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “You look happy, Dazai.”

Dazai pauses, giving Atsushi a sly smile. “I plead the fifth,” he says breezily, rapping his knuckles on Atsushi’s desk in goodbye. 

Dazai looks at his own desk, contemplating if he needs anything from it. He ultimately decides he doesn’t though, he’s sure PMR could scrounge up something if he really needed it anyway. Dazai gives the office a final sweep, disturbed to find he’s going to miss the physical location as well. 

Dazai pushes aside that revelation to walk towards the door, not surprised to be stopped by Kunikida, who Dazai had always intended to save for last.

“Do you remember when you asked me if I’d ever been in love?” asks Dazai.

“That is not what I asked you,” says Kunikida, crossing his arms.

Dazai ignores that. “The moon looks beautiful when I’m with him.”

“What nonsense are you talking about?” asks Kunikida, becoming frustrated rather than annoyed.

“Kunikida, you really need to read more,” admonishes Dazai with a sigh. That leaves him with having to put it in much plainer terms, which is unideal but fine if it’s just Kunikida. “You asked me if I had thought at all about my next solo album, and I lied. I don’t want to do another solo album, singing alone no longer appeals to me.”

“I don’t mean to give off the impression I don’t approve,” says Kunikida, expression softening slightly. “It just came as a surprise. You could have mentioned something.”

“It came as a surprise to me as well,” says Dazai with a shrug. “I didn’t know it was reciprocal.”

“Ah,” says Kunikida in understanding. He nods. “Very well. Enjoy the tour then.” He sticks out a hand for Dazai to shake.

Dazai takes it and gives it a firm shake, for once not attempting to mess with him. “Text me about your album if you get stuck.”

“And you’ll actually answer?” asks Kunikida sardonically.

“Eh,” says Dazai flippantly as he walks towards the door, smirking at Kunikida over his shoulder. “Maybe.”

Chuuya actually ends up sleeping for almost the whole flight to New York. He hadn’t realized how exhausted he was after all of the commotion of the last couple days (even if it was good commotion.) He doesn’t wake up until his tour manager, Shohei Ooka, lets him known that they’re landing. Chuuya subtly tries to wipe the drool off his face.

He likes Ooka, the man is exceptional at his job and decent to talk to. It is a little strange to not have Hirotsu as his tour manager for the first time though. Chuuya had jokingly asked him if he was interested back when the tour was being planned, and Hirotsu had looked him in the eye and said there wasn’t enough money in the world for him to take the job.

Ooka also seems to have no interest in prying into Chuuya’s personal life. He hadn’t asked a single question about Dazai or mentioned him crashing his concert last night. It’s made Chuuya like him even more.

He has a bunch of missed calls and texts from others who definitely are interested. The number had gone up a lot as he’d slept. Chuuya snorts when he reads the one from Elise, which is basically just a bunch of party popper emojis and exclamation points.

Kouyou had simply texted him, Nice to see you two getting along again. Chuuya texts her back, Stop gloating. 

Mori had sent him an email telling him about the deal he was negotiating with the ADA for releasing new Double Black music, which had Dazai’s name written all over it. But he had kept it strictly to business, no mention of talking points or optics (which also reeks of Dazai.) 

Chuuya smiles as he reads it, emailing the boss back that he should try to push for a bigger percentage for PMR, as they would be contributing more to the marketing and using their equipment. There’s no way Chuuya is recording in that shack those ADA people call a record company.

Just because he and Dazai are together now doesn’t mean he’s going to botch a business deal. Chuuya is still a PMR executive.

Lucy’s message makes him laugh the hardest though. You two are so overdramatic. Ever heard of texting? Or, like, speaking in person?

Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent, replies Chuuya.

She answers almost immediately. Don’t quote Victor Hugo at me like you’re clever.

So I should tell Atsushi you don’t like love songs? sends Chuuya back. Lucy just texts back, You’re being unpleasant.

Chuuya snorts but puts his phone away so he can get off the plane. New York is distinctly colder than L.A, though the city is always impressive. There’s still a lot of time until the show, so Chuuya takes a car to the hotel to get settled in. The place they’re staying at is extravagant, as is the norm with PMR. 

Chuuya’s phone starts ringing as he walks into the door of his hotel room. Tachihara is attempting to video chat with him. It’s not the first time he’s called. Or the fifth. Chuuya hasn’t been intentionally ignoring him, but he knows that Mich is going to want more than a simple text.

He sighs as he swipes to answer the call, putting if off longer wasn’t going to make it go away.

Chuuya isn’t really surprised to see four faces on the screen when it connects. Tachihara, Gin, and Kajii are sitting on one of the couches in a PMR practice room, and Higuchi is sitting in front of the couch with her back against it. None of them speak though, they all just look at him expectantly.

Chuuya sighs again. “Yeah, me and Dazai are together now.”

“Called it!” yells Kajii, starting to cackle at the same time Higuchi says, “Oh my god.” Tachihara lets out a loud groan while Gin places a hand on his shoulder and rolls her eyes.

“Why am I the only one who looks even a little bit surprised?” asks Higuchi, turning around to look at the others. Kajii is still laughing while Tachihara is sulking.

“Because you were the only one who wasn’t on the Falling Camellia tour,” says Gin flatly. 

“Chuuya was pining personified,” says Kajii in between laughing. He turns to Gin. “Not that you two were much-.”

Kajii’s laughter is cut off as Gin kicks him, sending him flying off the couch and onto Higuchi, who shrieks loudly. 

“Come on,” says Gin to Tachihara, ignoring Kajii and Higuchi’s bickering, “Chuuya looks scarily happy.”

“He almost got me sent to jail in China,” says Tachihara, crossing his arms stubbornly. “Where they are not exactly a paragon of human rights. And he was such a dick to your brother.”

“I’m aware,” says Gin, tone turning darker. “But, he was also the one to recruit me,” she says with more warmth. “If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t even know each other.”

Tachihara lets out a long breath. He points a finger in Chuuya’s direction. “You are so fucking lucky I love you so much, man. If I loved you even a tiny bit less I would not give that asshole a second chance,” he says, holding up his fingers with minimal space between them.

“Like he cares what you think,” says Kajii, finally untangling himself from Higuchi and rubbing his elbow. Higuchi is still glaring at him.

“Shut up,” says Chuuya shortly. “I do care,” he says to Tachihara. “And I appreciate it. Thanks, Mich.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Tachihara, waving a hand dismissively. He does flash Chuuya a tiny smile before looking down at Kajii. “Why are you so happy? I thought you couldn’t stand Dazai.”

“What? That dude’s classic,” says Kajii with a wide grin. “The first time I met him he insulted me with a word I had to look up after to even know what it meant. Shit’s hilarious.”

“I still think it’s weird,” says Higuchi, shaking her head. Kajii opens his mouth to say something which is no doubt going to be rude but Tachihara speaks up first.

“We are being supportive,” says Tachihara sharply, as if he weren’t completely against it two seconds ago. He gives Higuchi a cold look.

“We are,” chimes in Gin. “Although if he ever hurts you again, you won’t even be able to find the body,” she adds nonchalantly.

“Seconded,” says Tachihara, smirking and fist-bumping her.

“Thirded,” says Kajii easily. “We’ll dance and piss on his grave.”

“Of course,” says Higuchi curtly. She softens to give Chuuya a real smile. Then it turns to a smirk. “Hey, Chuuya, did you know Kajii blushes whenever you play Tales of Baby Red and the Lemon Fucker?”

“Ichiyo,” snaps Kajii, face both enraged and horrified.

Chuuya bursts out in laughter, as does everyone but Kajii (who is glaring at all of them.) 

It’s a reminder of why he would never leave PMR, or these people. Chuuya would gladly murder anyone who hurt any of them as well. Theirs is a bond filled with arguments and bruises and unbreakable loyalty. Chuuya wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“I see that you’re all hard at work,” says a voice from offscreen. Chuuya recognizes it as Hirotsu’s familiar disdain. 

“Hey, Gramps,” says Chuuya lightly.

The older man steps forward so he’s visible. “Chuuya,” he greets dryly. “I hope your new relationship is fulfilling, and that you two break less hotel furniture now that you’re older.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” says Tachihara with a snicker. “Chuuya does hold the Port Mafia Records’ title for most broken phones.”

“Hey, he hasn’t broken any this year yet,” points out Gin, though there’s a trace of a smirk on her face as well.

“Yeah, but now he’s going to be living with Dazai,” says Kajii, his smirk completely visible. “He’ll be breaking one every other week, if not more.”

“I hate all of you,” says Chuuya, shaking his head and smiling so wide it almost hurts.

“Unfortunately, we have to get back to recording,” says Hirotsu pointedly, “If we would like to finish this album in the next century.”

“We get it old man,” says Kajii, sighing but standing up. “Later, Baby Red.” The others call out goodbye as well, then the call is ended before Chuuya has the chance to say anything.

Chuuya snorts, putting down his phone and going back to unpacking some things. It isn’t long before he gets another phone call though.

Chuuya feels a flicker of annoyance, but it turns to dread when he reads the name Ryuunosuke Akutagawa on the screen. Chuuya doesn’t think Akutagawa has called him more than a handful of times in the entire time they’ve known each other.

Chuuya takes a deep breath then answers. “Ryuu,” he says in a falsely upbeat voice that makes himself cringe. “What’s up?”

“I could use your advice on something,” says Akutagawa, voice stiff and irritated. Although that isn’t out of the ordinary. Him asking Chuuya for advice on the other hand definitely is.

“You’re not calling to ask about Dazai?” asks Chuuya, not sure if he’s confused or relieved.

“I fail to see why that would be relevant to me,” says Akutagawa flatly. His voice turns petulant then. “I’m calling to ask about how to deal with that nightmare Maud Montgomery.”

Chuuya has to swallow a snort. “What seems to be the problem?”

“You’ve met her,” says Akutagawa haughtily. “I’m sure you can extrapolate.”

“You’re not going to like my advice,” says Chuuya mildly. He genuinely likes the both of them, but it’s hard for him to imagine them collaborating. But it had been Mori’s idea, and he’d never known Mori to be wrong.

“I don’t care if I like it as long as it’s useful,” says Akutagawa, sounding a bit tired.

“It’s usually easier to write with someone if you know them, understand them a little,” says Chuuya. “My advice would be to try not writing, spend some time together.”

“That’s the most sentimental drivel I’ve ever heard,” says Akutagawa plainly.

“I warned you,” says Chuuya, not offended or surprised by his response.

 Akutagawa makes a frustrated sound. “Very well. Not that I think it’ll work.”

“Good luck,” offers Chuuya. Akutagawa grunts and hangs up.

Chuuya smiles and shakes his head, collapsing on the large hotel bed and putting down his phone. He looks at the ceiling, wondering how long it’s going to take Dazai to get back. Chuuya is shamefully eager to see him again. It’s like a song he can’t get out of his head.

Luckily there’s a knock on his door then, probably Ooka or someone he’d sent to fetch him to head to the venue. Chuuya doesn’t hesitate to answer it. Dazai might not be here, but playing music has always been his favorite distraction.

While Dazai is able to handle his business at PMR and the ADA relatively quickly, packing and traveling take infuriatingly long. Dazai had spent more money on his plane ticket than he had in months to get on the earliest possible flight, and he still doesn’t get to New York until late that evening. Time zones could be so inconvenient.

Dazai decides to go to the hotel rather than where Chuuya is playing. He’s probably just wrapping up anyway. It’s also amusing to walk up to the front desk and ask for a key to Chuuya Nakahara’s room. The woman who hands him the key's eyes are comically large.

He’s impressed at the room as he enters. His accommodations when he’d toured with Kunikida hadn’t been shabby, but they’d never scored a view like this. The city looks both huge and small from this high up.

Dazai flops onto the bed, closing his eyes for a moment. He’s basically been running on adrenaline the past forty eight hours. If he were waiting on anyone other than Chuuya he’d go to sleep right now. But he is undoubtably worth the sleep deprivation, so Dazai pulls out his phone and starts playing the pizza tycoon game he and Ranpo have been competing at lately.

He’s just about to expand his territory when the door flies open. Chuuya walks into the room, looking tired himself. He stands up straighter when he notices Dazai though.

“If we’re going to be together, you have to do something for me,” says Chuuya, approaching the bed with crossed arms.

“What now?” asks Dazai with a whine. He’d anticipated their reunion being a bit more cordial. He wouldn’t have opposed to Chuuya jumping him.

“You need to apologize to Tachihara about Beijing,” says Chuuya giving Dazai a flat look. “I can’t keep hearing about it for the rest of our lives.”

Dazai sits up at that. On the one hand, he is not sorry and still maintains that it had been very funny. But Chuuya had just used the phrase “the rest of our lives,” and Dazai is a little inundated by how much he wants that to be the case. In light of that, apologizing to Tachihara seems a trivial price to pay.

“Fine,” he says with a long sigh. 

Chuuya shakes his head, but Dazai catches the trace of a smile on his face as he turns to grab something from the room’s mini fridge.

Chuuya pulls out two water bottles and tosses one at Dazai. The significance of the gesture is not lost on him. His cheeks feel hot, and he scowls as Chuuya laughs at him.

“How did things go with the ADA?” asks Chuuya, jumping onto the bed next to him and sitting cross-legged. His knee is practically resting on top of Dazai’s. “Any problems?”

“Nope,” says Dazai easily, playing with the water bottle in his hands absentmindedly and leaning into the closeness.

“Did you see Kyouka there?” asks Chuuya, taking a long drink from his own water. He’d always needed to guzzle water after a show, and that was when he hadn’t been the only one singing.

“No, she was still at school,” answers Dazai, a little lost why Chuuya is asking. Then he looks at Chuuya with raised eyebrows. “You still talk to Kyouka?” His voice is slightly incredulous.

“Of course,” says Chuuya, looking equally surprised he didn’t know. “All the time.”

Dazai blinks. “She’s never mentioned still speaking to anyone from Port Mafia Records once in the last six months.” He can’t believe he was so easily duped by a fifteen year old girl.

Chuuya starts laughing, putting a hand on Dazai’s shoulder to steady himself. “Maybe she did learn something working at PMR after all.”

Dazai rolls his eyes. He is slightly impressed though. Maybe he hadn’t been giving Kyouka enough credit. 

Even the exhilaration of seeing Chuuya isn’t able to keep Dazai from feeling tired though. He tosses his water bottle to the floor and leans his head on Chuuya’s shoulder. “Missed you,” he says quietly.

“It hasn’t even been a day,” points out Chuuya. His hand comes up to run through Dazai’s hair lightly. “Me too,” he adds, voice content.

February, Three Weeks Since the Release of Arahabaki

“Did you have a theme for the album? There’s so many conflicting styles and messages,” says Emily Dickinson, the reporter interviewing him. 

Chuuya has done so many interviews the past couple weeks that they’re all starting to blur together, but this one has been one of the least taxing. Dickinson has been kind but sharp, and seems genuinely interested in understanding his musical process.

“I knew that I wanted it to be honest,” answers Chuuya. “My favorite type of music has always been the kind I can relate to in some way, regardless if the song is fast or slow or whatever genre. So I wanted to write music that displayed that same level of vulnerability.”

“Well, I think I can safely say you accomplished what you set out to do,” says Dickinson good-naturedly. “Bygone Days has been a monumental success so far. People are calling it the album of the year already, and it’s only February.”

“It’s been really rewarding to see the reaction to it,” says Chuuya with a smile. He does occasionally get to be honest during these things.

“Are you aware of your fans’ new tradition where they mandate that you must play Swan Song after listening to I’m Not Allowed To Comment on Ongoing Port Mafia Records’ Legal Disputes, But-?” asks Dickinson, sounding faintly amused.

Dazai had recorded and released Swan Song in his free time while Chuuya had been busy with press and other tour business. It had shot to the top of the charts quickly, although it isn’t overshadowing Bygone Days. If anything it’s helping (a fact that Chuuya is sure is not lost on Mori despite him never mentioning it.)

Chuuya is still a little thrown off whenever he hears it, at Dazai’s openness and he’s also just impressed by the song in general. It’s the opposite of boring and predictable (Dazai had snickered when he’d told him that. Then he’d clung to Chuuya like an octopus.) 

“As long as they listen to my song first,” says Chuuya easily, shrugging a little.

Dickson laughs lightly. “Thank you for your time,” she says, sticking out a hand to shake. “And congratulations on the album.”

“Thank you,” replies Chuuya, shaking her hand and maintaining his smile until he exits the room. 

He sighs and stretches as soon as he’s in the clear. He hadn’t had to do as many interviews before the scheduled tour had started, but now his itinerary is jam-packed. Chuuya knows it’s a good thing that people are still so invested in him after he hadn’t release music for so long, but he doesn’t think he’s ever going to enjoy interviews.

The tour on the other hand has been incredible. The audiences have been full of energy, and Chuuya has never had more fun performing. It’s exhilarating, and he’s soaking up every second of it.

But he’d appreciate having a bit more free time off stage. He hadn’t anticipated having someone else tagging along during the planning stages of the tour though. So he and Dazai are trying to make the best of it. Chuuya mostly gets worried that Dazai will be bored. But he’s never complained, and he just gets annoyed when Chuuya asks him about it.

Chuuya finds Dazai sitting on a couch in a different room backstage, playing some game on his phone. Dazai is staring at it with deep concentration. He looks up when he hears Chuuya approaching.

“Chibi,” greets Dazai cheerfully. Chuuya gives him a sour look and sinks onto the couch next to him. Dazai immediately puts his feet in his lap. Chuuya contemplates throwing them off but allows it.

“It’s your turn,” says Dazai, nudging him with one of his feet. 

“It feels like it’s always my turn,” complains Chuuya. “Where was I?”

“It’s not my fault you did more things than I did,” says Dazai, settling into the arm of the couch. “I could tell you another thrilling story about all the books I read at Santoka’s.”

“I still can’t believe you lived with a cop,” says Chuuya, shaking his head.

“You dated a cop,” points out Dazai. He’d been dumbfounded when Chuuya had mentioned that the first time, mostly at how Mori would have allowed it. 

“First of all, she was a detective,” clarifies Chuuya, pointing a finger at Dazai. “Second of all, I dated her for a couple months. You lived with Taneda for years.”

“He wants to meet you,” says Dazai with the hint of a smile. “Have you over for dinner.”

“I have to meet him. I have to meet Oda. I have to meet all your little agency freaks,” lists Chuuya irritably. “I’m not forcing you to meet anyone,” he points out.

“I already know everyone,” says Dazai with a shrug. “And I’ve got more work cut out for me. All your friends already have vendettas against me.” 

“Vendettas which you have earned,” says Chuuya with no sympathy. 

Not that Dazai had sounded annoyed really, if anything he sounds a little intrigued by the puzzle of how to alleviate the numerous grudges he’d accumulated. He’d already apologized to Tachihara, who had told Dazai he could “make it up to him.” Which is an ominous concept, but Mich refuses to tell Chuuya anything about it.

“You were in Marseilles,” says Dazai, nudging Chuuya with his foot again. “Kajii hadn’t gotten there yet.”

“Right,” says Chuuya, reaching for one of Dazai’s hands and trying to get comfortable. “Those French bastards were starting to come around to respecting me. Not that I could really tell, as my French was shit.”

“I have something to tell you,” says Dazai as soon as Chuuya steps out of the bathroom.

He’s not actually trying to ambush Chuuya, it’s so that Dazai doesn’t give himself the opportunity to put this conversation off anymore. Dazai knows himself, and he knows his tendencies to evade certain topics.

Dazai is trying to rid himself of that habit, at least with Chuuya. He’d thought it would have been easy after sharing his scars, figuratively and literally, but it still requires some effort. It’s never been a matter of trust, but more that Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever enjoy exposing himself.

But he doesn’t need to enjoy it to do it. Plus it doesn’t feel as insurmountable when it’s Chuuya. Chuuya hasn’t held back at all these past couple weeks when he’s described what he’d done in their time apart, not even when it had been slightly uncomfortable talking about how pissed off he’d been after Dazai had left. 

To be able to talk to Chuuya like this isn’t something that Dazai is taking for granted, not after he’d gone so long without it. He’d missed it almost as much as he’d missed making music together. Dazai has made more genuine friends than he’d even thought he’d have these past years, but none of those bonds have made him feel this comfortable, this understood.

So Dazai will keep pushing himself to reveal things even when he doesn’t have to. If that necessitates springing things on his boyfriend without warning so be it.

Chuuya pauses in the doorway, still toweling off his hair. Then he sighs, tossing the towel aside and giving Dazai a slightly vexed look. “There are less jarring ways of starting a conversation, mackerel,” he says dryly.

“I think it’s one of those essential things,” says Dazai, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. He keeps expression blank as well.

Chuuya immediately shifts from annoyed to serious, coming to sit next to Dazai on the bed. Dazai is always impressed by how he manages to look interested but nonthreatening at the same time. It’s a very Chuuya expression. He looks Dazai in the eyes and waits for him to speak.

“The other day I told you about how I picked my ghostwriting name,” says Dazai, frowning a little. 

He’d never talked to anybody about this before besides Santoka, and that had been different. Dazai doesn’t really have a label for what the man is to him, and he’d told him more on instinct than anything. The subject of Dazai’s real name is complicated because it’s connected to his family, and while he rarely thinks about them, it’s impossible to avoid the clear distaste he feels towards them when talking about this.

There’s also the fact that Chuuya had told him about his own false name when they were teenagers. But Dazai had been actively trying not to get too caught up in Chuuya those days (albeit not very successfully.) Now that he’d happily surrendered that battle, he could do the same. 

But it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility for Chuuya to be slightly indignant about the concealment up to this point.

“I neglected to mention that Osamu Dazai isn’t my birth name,” says Dazai calmly after a moment, trying to hide that his hands are fidgeting a little, “That my original name was Osamu Tsushima.”

He watches Chuuya’s face as he process the information, his eyebrows narrowing and slight frown. He doesn’t look angry exactly though, if anything he looks a bit confused. Instead of easing Dazai’s nerves it makes them worse. His heartbeat is a little rapid when Chuuya finally speaks.

“So does this mean I have to stop calling you Dazai?” asks Chuuya, voice wary. “Because it’s going to be pretty fucking weird at this point to have to switch, but I’ll do it if that’s what you want.”

Dazai lets out a sharp laugh, practically tackling Chuuya to the bed. “No, Dazai is fine,” he says blithely.

“It’s a big decision,” says Elise, fiddling with the straw in her vanilla milkshake. “Picking a college is an investment in your future.”

“Did you get that from a fucking pamphlet?” asks Chuuya, rolling his eyes. He’s only about halfway though his own chocolate shake.

They’re sitting on the balcony of his and Dazai’s hotel room in Greensboro, North Carolina. Elise and Lucy had come out together to see a show. Elise had been excited about it for weeks, she’d been texting Chuuya constantly (Chuuya seriously wonders if she’s that good at texting in class or if her teachers just don’t give a shit.)

She’d also been texting him about college. Elise has been struggling over picking a school for a while now. It’s unlike her to be so indecisive. Usually her and Mori are alike in this regard, they make their choices and never look back. But every time Chuuya talks to her about it she’s extremely wishy washy. It’s been concerning, but Chuuya hadn’t been able to get a real answer out of her over the phone.

After Elise and Lucy had arrived and they’d done some catching up, Chuuya had not so casually asked Elise to get ice cream with him so that he could corner her to talk about it (he’d left Dazai with Lucy and hopes they’re being at the very least unhostile).

“Shut up,” says Elise tersely.

“Elise,” says Chuuya, giving her a flat look. “Cut the bullshit. What’s the real issue?”

Elise sighs heavily. “It’s complicated.”

Chuuya doesn’t bother replying to that, just sips his milkshake as he waits for her to talk. He’s not an extremely patient person by nature, but he’s learned the power of silence over the years. 

“Fine, I may have an idea of where I’d like to go,” says Elise, putting down her ice cream and crossing her arms. “But Mori hasn’t exactly been subtle in conveying that he’d prefer that I pick a school in Los Angeles.”

“Since when do you do what Mori tells you?” asks Chuuya, raising an eyebrow. 

Elise looks away from him and out towards the city below, a startlingly melancholic expression on her face. “Everyone I love is in L.A,” she says quietly. “How can I leave all of them?”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be close to the people that you love,” says Chuuya, also speaking quieter. “But love is not bound by physical proximity.” She looks at him again, and he smiles at her. “We’ve lived on different continents many times these past years, has it made you care about me less?”

“I still missed you,” says Elise, no less morose. “And this time it won’t just be you.”

“That’s true, but this time it’ll be you who’s off pursuing your ambitions,” says Chuuya, smile growing wider. “I’ll miss having you around, but I and everyone else who loves you want you to go after what you want.” His smile becomes wry. “Even Mori.”

“Do you think he’ll be lonely?” asks Elise, looking worried in a different way.

Chuuya blinks, he usually doesn’t think of the boss as someone who experiences things like loneliness. “Well, I’ll keep an eye on him,” he offers.

Elise doesn’t look appeased. “You’re close, Chuuya. Not that close.”

“I meant that I’ll watch for signs of it and let you know to call him when I see them,” clarifies Chuuya with a small laugh. He has no desire to ever broach the subject of loneliness with Mori himself. 

Elise snorts a little too. “That might work.”

“I’m sure he’ll drop whatever he’s doing the second you call him,” says Chuuya with a wide grin. “Plus if you ever really get homesick, all you’d have to do is say the word and the PMR jet would be there.”

“You’ve made your point,” says Elise, rolling her eyes but smiling too. “I might need your help breaking the news to Mori.”

“Anything for my best girl,” says Chuuya easily, hiding the horror he feels at that prospect. Well, at least he’ll get to do it from a different state if it comes to it. He changes the subject so that he doesn’t have to think about it more. “So where do you want to go?”

“Yale,” says Elise, tone turning excited. She grabs her milkshake again, now drinking it instead of playing with it. 

Elise definitely had the grades to get into Yale, even if Mori hadn’t been her guardian. She’d had years of prestigious tutors before going to her elite private high school. Elise had been at the top of her class with little effort for years. 

“Pretentious,” taunts Chuuya lightly. She just rolls her eyes. “What for?”

“I haven’t decided for sure,” she says with a shrug. “I’ve thought about medicine, being a doctor like my dad. Or a pediatric psychiatrist, helping kids with trauma.” She smirks at Chuuya. “Then there’s always business.”

“Following in Mori’s footsteps?” asks Chuuya, smiling and raising his eyebrows. “He’ll be so proud.”

“If you tell him you’ll regret him,” warns Elise. She finishes off the last of her milkshake. “Let’s go back inside and make sure Lucy hasn’t attempted to murder your boyfriend.”

Chuuya laughs, standing up and walking towards the door. He ruffles Elise’s hair like he’d used to, though he has to reach to do it now. She scowls and bats his hand away, wrenching the door open and walking inside.

“When I can call like that to him across space–I belong to him,” comes Lucy’s voice, playing from her phone. She’s holding it in front of her so that Dazai can listen. “He doesn’t love me–he never will–but I belong to him.”

“You and Akutagawa wrote this?” asks Dazai over the song, clearly in disbelief. Lucy turns off the song with a short laugh.

“They figured it out after the night they went out and got horrifically drunk together,” says Elise, laughing a little herself. She takes a seat next to Lucy on the loveseat in the room, the girls exchange amused looks.

“It was Chuuya’s idea,” says Lucy, smirking at Chuuya as he walks over to take a seat on the other couch next to Dazai.

“I said to get to know each other,” says Chuuya, rolling his eyes. “Not get wasted.”

“Semantics,” says Lucy, waving a hand dismissively. “He revealed things he doesn’t want other people to know. So did I. Blackmail has a way of bringing people together.”

“Chuuya, did you know that Lucy reads?” asks Dazai, poking at him in excitement.

“Nerd,” says Chuuya automatically, sneering at Lucy and shoving Dazai’s finger away from him.

“Sorry I was stuck at an orphanage without many options for entertainment,” says Lucy sardonically.

“Couldn’t you have brought Kyouka instead?” Chuuya asks Elise, who looks entertained watching them. Any heaviness from earlier has evaporated completely. 

“Kyouka had a big chemistry test to study for,” says Elise with a light shrug. “She was complaining how she was surrounded by musical geniuses but that no one could help her with stoichiometry.”

“I actually know a song about science!” says Dazai cheerfully. He smiles at Chuuya. “You remember it, don’t you, chibi? I taught it to you before your GED test!”

“Sing a single line and you will be sleeping outside tonight,” threatens Chuuya. It had taken him weeks to get that abomination out of his head.

“Has anyone ever told the two of you that you’re more than a little nauseating?” asks Lucy, rolling her eyes.

Chuuya throws a pillow at her without stopping glaring at Dazai.

“The only music I’m interested in making after this,” sings Dazai emphatically, half at the crowd and half at Chuuya, “Is if I get to make it with you.”

“And not that it’s a competition, but I definitely loved you first,” finishes Dazai with a flourish, having to hold in a laugh as the audience sings the line with him. Chuuya is rolling his eyes.

Dazai had started performing Swan Song at Chuuya’s shows not long after he’d officially released the song. His unease about playing the song has mostly faded by this point, and there’s multiple benefits to playing it. It’s boosting sales, and more importantly it allows Dazai to spend some time on stage with Chuuya. 

Dazai doubts he’ll ever get bored of listening to Chuuya sing Bygone Days, but he does sometimes wish they could get to the part where they get to perform together again. They’ve done a handful of duets while on tour, mostly old classics or the occasional Double Black song (though never Corruption, which if Dazai has his way they will never perform again.)

But Dazai’s main motivation for singing Swan Song is that it provides the rare opportunity to fluster Chuuya. It’s hilarious watching him try to remain calm and unaffected during the song. Then it’s also payback for how often Chuuya seems to effortlessly fluster Dazai himself these days. Dazai should have placed his affections with someone less fiendishly compelling. 

“Are you done?” asks Chuuya as Dazai bows and waves to the cheering audience.

“Now, now, don’t be jealous,” says Dazai airily, half-smirking at Chuuya. He walks over towards his position on the piano. 

Chuuya meets him halfway, looking amused rather than annoyed. “Feel like singing another song?” he asks casually.

Dazai fights not to react. Every other time they’ve sang together Chuuya had asked first if he’d wanted to. “What were you thinking?” he asks in an equally nonchalant tone.

“You’ll see,” says Chuuya, a devious look in his eyes. 

He nods towards his band, and Dazai freezes as he recognizes the upbeat tune after mere seconds. He’s listened to it enough times in his life that he could never forget it. He has no idea when Chuuya had the time to teach it to his entire band, he and Dazai spend almost all of his very limited free time together. 

“It’s a Friday,” sings Chuuya gleefully, bopping along to the music obnoxiously.  “And it’s been a hell of a week.”

Dazai is almost smiling too wide to sing the next line. “Feels like I’ve been stuck in a losing streak,” he sings with just as much enthusiasm. 

They face each other for the next lines, swaying like fools and belting out, “But tonight is the night we turn it around. There’s not a thing that can keep me down.”

They go all out on the chorus, practically screaming the words as they dance along to the routine they’d memorized at sixteen. Neither of them falter in the steps.

So turn down the lights, and turn up the music

Tell all your friends, tell everyone

Dance ’til your feet are covered in bruises

We’ll keep going ’til we see the sun

“Cuz life is better,” sings Dazai loudly, sweeping his arm dramatically.

"Life’s just better,” echoes Chuuya, oversinging the line with abandon.

“Life is better, better, better,” they sing together, pointing in the air with each better and jumping up and down.

“Life’s better with a little party in it,” sings Chuuya in a low voice, winking at the crowd.

The audience is howling in laughter, but Dazai thinks he’s laughing the hardest. He keeps thinking to himself, I can’t possibly be any happier. But he keeps being proven wrong. Leave it to Chuuya to always defy his expectations.

The sing the rest of the number almost as a competition as to who can go more over the top. Dazai is rolling on the stage at one point while Chuuya leaps in the air. It’s the most ridiculous performance Dazai has ever witnessed, and the most fun.

They’re both out of breath when they finish, striking dramatic poses and smiling at each other. The crowd is cheering them on heartily, and even Chuuya’s band looks bemused.

“I can not believe you did this to me in public,” says Dazai with his microphone turned off as they continue to yell. His tone comes out still breathless and blatantly enthralled.

“C’mon, mackerel,” says Chuuya smugly, also clearly winded. “It’s your favorite song.”

Dazai doesn’t think before grabbing him and kissing him decisively in front of everyone, almost lifting Chuuya in the air with the force of it. It’s just starting to get indecent when Dazai pulls away, and Chuuya is visibly flushed.

“I will get you back for this,” warns Dazai lightly, collecting himself and starting to walk offstage.

“Looking forward to it,” shoots back Chuuya easily. He looks incredibly pleased with himself.

“Have a great rest of the show, babe,” calls out Dazai loudly as he flicks his mic back on. "Watch those high notes!”

Early March, One and a Half Months Since the Release of Arahabaki

It takes Chuuya a moment to realize what’s going on when Dazai shakes him awake. Chuuya is breathing a little hard as he comes to, then things click as he sees the miserable expression on Dazai’s face. It feels like it’s almost been a lifetime since they’d been in this situation.

But while Chuuya has nightmares increasingly less frequently, they have not departed from his life completely. Chuuya is a little doubtful they ever will. Accepting his humanity is one thing, his stark memory of the accident is another. He doesn’t know how you’d ever forget something like that.

“I had naively hoped you didn’t have these any more,” says Dazai quietly, pushing Chuuya’s hair out of his face gently.

“Sorry,” says Chuuya, voice a little rough.

“Please never apologize to me for this again,” says Dazai, shaking his head vehemently. He scoots closer to Chuuya, looking him in the eyes. “I was never very good at articulating when we were younger how they made me feel. I didn’t know how to come up with the words to explain how much I wanted to somehow take that pain away from you.”

“You can’t take away someone else’s pain, Dazai,” Chuuya tells him, smiling lightly. It’s a very Dazai thing to want to do though.

“I can sure as hell try,” says Dazai, his voice somewhat angry.

“It’s my pain, idiot,” says Chuuya warmly. “And I wouldn’t want you to take it even if it were possible, then you’d just be stuck with it.” He grabs one of Dazai’s hands and links their fingers together. “I’d rather you just help me bear it, like you always have.”

“It still doesn’t feel like enough,” says Dazai forlornly, looking at their clasped hands.

“There is nothing about my life that I would change,” says Chuuya, no hint of doubt in his words. “Not anything that I’ve been through. Because it’s all lead to who am I right now. And I’m satisfied with that,” he says with confidence, shrugging lightly.

“I think if I tried to write a song about everything I love about you, that one song would be long enough for an entire album,” says Dazai without shame, looking at him with unmasked admiration.

Chuuya snorts. “Good thing we’re going to be writing as a duo from now on so we don’t have to sick that monstrosity on the world.”

“Would it kill you to be a little romantic once in your life?” asks Dazai, frowning and giving him an unimpressed look. He tries to take his hand back.

“I wrote you a god damn love song,” Chuuya reminds him, not letting him out of his grip. His voice softens.  “And romance is one thing, but that’s never been as important to me as everything else you are to me.” He squeezes Dazai’s hand, smiling at him serenely. “I don’t love you because of any romantic crap, I love you because you are the person who I want by my side through whatever comes. I love you because even when I was furious with you I still trusted you more than anyone else in the world. I love you because you call me on my shit and force me to try and be a better person, a better musician. I love you because my music is best when I’m writing it with you. I love you because…well, I could probably fill more than an album,” finishes Chuuya with a small laugh.

His laughter fades as he looks at Dazai. “Are you crying?” he asks him incredulously. Chuuya can't recall ever seeing Dazai cry before.

“Shut up,” says Dazai staunchly, turning away but unable to hide the bright sheen in his eyes.

“Dazai.” Chuuya uses his free hand to try to get him to face him again.

Dazai is looking at him with a serious expression when he does. “Love doesn’t even feel like an adequate enough word to describe how I feel about you, Chuuya Nakahara,” he says ardently, voice cracking a little but resolute.

Fuck, now Chuuya feels his own eyes start to water. “How about partner?” offers Chuuya shakily.

“Yeah,” whispers Dazai, leaning forward and resting their foreheads together, “That fits perfectly.”

Dazai watches Chuuya get ready for the day with a slight frown from his spot on one of the lavish armchairs in their hotel room. He’s tried to ignore it, but something has been weighing on him ever since Chuuya’s nightmare a week ago. It had made Dazai realize that despite talking almost constantly since reuniting, there is a subject they haven’t touched on much.

Dazai is caught between wanting to be there for Chuuya and not wanting to pry. Chuuya had never asked Dazai about the subjects he avoided speaking about. But Chuuya had also never faulted Dazai for asking him anything, and if he didn’t want to talk about something he’d never been anything less than blunt in saying so. 

They’ve gotten into a couple disagreements while on tour, the biggest one being when Dazai had snapped at Chuuya to stop asking him if he was bored. They’d had a bit of a screaming match. Dazai had ended it by yelling that he just wanted to be where Chuuya was. It would have been embarrassing if Chuuya hadn’t thrown his arms around him so tightly it had been slightly painful. Chuuya hasn’t asked him if he’s bored since.

He’s still debating what to do when Chuuya steps in front of him, giving him a searching look. “What’s wrong?” he asks plainly.

“Nothing,” says Dazai, which is both true and not true. 

Chuuya narrows his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Dazai sighs lightly. He’d always been rather terrible at fooling Chuuya, and now it’s almost impossible to get anything past him. It’s equally irritating and useful. 

“We never talk about your mother,” says Dazai carefully, trying to convey he has no preference for whether they discuss it or not.

Chuuya flinches a little, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “And?”

“And nothing,” says Dazai definitively. “Forget I brought it up.”

Chuuya doesn’t ease up though. He looks at the floor with a dark expression. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about her,” he says after a moment, tone hard to understand. “I just don’t really know what to say.” He looks up, biting his lip. “I don’t forgive her or excuse what she did to me, but sometimes I wonder if things could have been different.”

“Different how?” asks Dazai, trying to keep his tone impassive.

“Arthur once said he wished I’d gotten to know the other sides of her,” says Chuuya, voice somewhere between wistful and disappointed. 

Dazai thinks he’s going to continue speaking, but he doesn’t. He just stays quiet and introspective. Dazai tentatively reaches out to take his hand and tug him closer. Chuuya doesn’t resist, coming forward and trying to squeeze onto the armchair with him.

It takes a moment to rearrange themselves so that Chuuya’s elbow isn’t digging into his gut. Once they do Chuuya is half in his lap, expression still a little heavy. 

Dazai sighs and leans his head against the back of the chair. “It is possible,” he says slowly, “In the years since I left PMR that I spent the anniversary of your mother’s death visiting her grave and telling her what a terrible person she is.”

“You what?” asks Chuuya, looking at Dazai in bewilderment.

“Well, grave desecration charges are nothing to scoff at,” says Dazai, shrugging and shifting the both of them with the motion. “And I took quite the pay cut when I left, so I had to settle for verbal assault.”

“Why?” Chuuya still looks more confused than anything.

“She hurt you,” says Dazai simply. “I hate her.”

Chuuya stares at him for a long moment, and Dazai starts to get a little worried. Then Chuuya says abruptly, “Move in with me. When we get back to L.A.”

Now Dazai is the one staring in confusion. “What?”

“I should have asked you when we were fucking sixteen,” says Chuuya, almost laughing. He smiles at Dazai widely. “Move in with me.” It’s more of a demand this time.

“Alright then,” says Dazai lightly. “Although we’ll have to look for places that allow dogs.”

Chuuya looks torn between hitting him and kissing him. Dazai makes the decision for him, grabbing his face and pressing their lips together firmly, grinning into the kiss. He somehow keeps getting handed everything he’s ever wanted, but he’s not going to start complaining (Chuuya would probably actually hit him if he did.)

April 29th, Three Months Since the Release of Arahabaki

There are few things Dazai genuinely misses about PMR. The jet is one of them. It had been hard to get used to flying with the masses when he and Kunikida had gone on their joint tour (Kunikida had called him pampered when he’d whined about it.)

But now that Dazai is with Chuuya he no longer has to have cramped legs and stale peanuts while he’s in the air. He’s lounging in one of the comfortable chairs on the window side now, legs stretched out over Chuuya’s lap and hanging into the aisle.

“Are we almost there?” asks Chuuya a little shortly. He'd never been very enthusiastic about flying.

“You heard the pilot,” says Dazai with a shrug. “We’re taking a detour to avoid some weather.”

“Can’t believe I have to spend my birthday stuck on a freaking plane,” mutters Chuuya irritably.

Dazai sits up, grinning at Chuuya widely. “Street fighter?”

Chuuya raises his eyebrows, pulling out his phone with a tiny smirk. “Oh, you’re on.”

Dazai had suggested it as a way to distract Chuuya, but he’s horrified to learn that Chuuya has gotten even better at the game over the years. Dazai almost gets decimated. Chuuya looks delighted as he stomps Dazai into the ground virtually. It feels like they’d just started to play when the pilot announces that they’re landing.

“I want a rematch,” says Dazai, attempting to not sound petulant but not really pulling it off.

“Maybe you shouldn’t spend so much time playing that dumb pizza game,” says Chuuya with a snicker.

Dazai gives him a dirty look. Ranpo had just expanded his empire again, Dazai is barely keeping up. It’s going to be difficult to fit getting better at Street Fighter into his schedule. But Dazai has dealt with larger problems.

“Hey,” says Dazai brightly as they’re grabbing their things, “I heard Salt Lake City has a restaurant that serves wings in trolley carts.”

“People in Utah are so fucking weird,” says Chuuya, snorting a little. Chuuya’s phone goes off, but he ignores it. He’s been getting constant calls and texts all day. 

Dazai had been both surprised and not surprised when he’d first found out Chuuya had agreed to play a concert on his birthday. Chuuya had a habit of being oddly selfless when it came to these sorts of things. His reptile friends had seemed more upset about it than he had, griping about how their annual trip was being ruined.

Dazai has stayed silent on the subject. He has his own plans involving today, which Chuuya seems to be aware of. He’s being watching him all day, as if he’s waiting for Dazai to spring something on him. Dazai has had to stop himself from laughing about it multiple times.

“It can’t be worse than your birthday dinner in Beijing,” says Dazai as he leads the way off the plane, walking into the warm air and sunshine. The sounds and smells of home surround him as he turns around to see Chuuya’s reaction.

“We’re in L.A,” says Chuuya blankly, pausing in the doorway and looking around like he can’t quite believe what’s he’s seeing. He blinks a couple more times then looks down at Dazai, expression still lost.

“Sorry it took a while,” says Dazai lightly, having to fight off a smile. “But we can finally do your birthday in Los Angeles.”

“What the fuck,” says Chuuya, not moving from the doorway. He looks torn between multiple different emotions. “I have a concert tonight."

“Oh, I had that rescheduled ages ago,” says Dazai, waving a hand dismissively. He really is trying not to lie to Chuuya anymore, but he thinks this is a worthy exception.

“You what?” Chuuya finally starts descending the stairs, expression still a little stupefied. “You don’t even work for PMR anymore!”

“Mori owed me a favor,” says Dazai with a shrug. Mori had actually agreed with surprisingly little effort. Dazai supposes he could have asked for more. Though he can’t think of anything else he actually wants.

“You absolute menace,” says Chuuya, tone both furious and ecstatic. He’s smiling enormously as he points at Dazai threateningly. “I will get you back for this in June, I swear to fucking God.”

“Chop chop, little doggie,” says Dazai, clapping his hands. “Let’s get to the beach.” He starts to walk away from the tarmac.

Chuuya stops him though, grabbing his shoulders and yanking him down to kiss him, a slow and sweet and toe-curling show of affection. “Thank you,” he breathes out against his lips. “You god damn mackerel piece of shit.”

“Happy birthday, slug,” says Dazai quietly, stroking a hand through Chuuya’s hair.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Chuuya with a huff. His smile hasn’t lessened at all as he lets go of Dazai’s shoulders, he’s beaming a little. Chuuya quickly grabs one of Dazai’s hands and drags him towards his waiting car (courtesy of some coordination with Kouyou.)

Dazai has never been to the beach house PMR owns before, but Chuuya walks in like he owns the place. He’s laughing as he leads them into the kitchen.

“The last time I was here was with Kajii,” says Chuuya, smiling and shaking his head. “I punched him in the face and then we spent the rest of the weekend getting shitfaced.”

Chuuya changes quickly into jeans and a t-shirt then complains that Dazai is taking too long. He almost tears Dazai’s arm out of the socket as he pulls him onto the beach. Chuuya plops down onto the sand immediately, looking completely at peace. It’s good weather for April, even Dazai isn’t cold.

Dazai takes a seat beside him, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his hands. Chuuya shifts so he’s lying with his head on Dazai’s thighs. Dazai frowns at him for getting him full of sand. Chuuya rolls his eyes and reaches for one of Dazai’s hands, holding it in his own and resting them on his chest.

They lay there for a moment, soaking in the sun. It’s silent except for the sound of the breeze and the waves. Dazai had often thought if he were forced to live in a single moment for the rest of his life, it would be in a karaoke bar in Yokohama at age fifteen. But this might take that spot. 

“God, it’s too fucking quiet,” declares Chuuya suddenly. He turns to look at him, his huge grin not matching his harsh tone. “Turn on some music.”