Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dazai Osamu has learned to live with regret. It’s inevitable, for the central tragedy of his life is that the people and things he values are the ones most likely to be taken from him, either by force or by his own failure. Odasaku was a combination of both; a cheerful, painless suicide that inconviences no one is a swiftly fading pipe dream. He’s waiting for the day that the ADA, that Fukuzawa, decides he’s more a liability than an asset and ejects him from the ranks.

His biggest regret, though, stems from his own fear and inaction.

The thing Dazai misses most about watching Chuuya sleep is, well… Watching Chuuya sleep.

His ex-partner is a completely different person when somnolent; the passionate chibi is peaceful asleep, vibrant blue eyes hidden behind pale lids, his loudness reduced to quiet snores. Chuuya’s inability to dream is evident in the fact that, unlike Dazai, he never wakes screaming and shaking from a nightmare. Of course, the tradeoff is that he’s never woken smiling- or horny- from a good dream either, but in Dazai’s opinion it’s a fair trade. Chuuya is clingy, though. Maybe it’s because he always runs warm and Dazai tends to run cold- they balance each other out.

There’s something of a metaphor there, an observation he’s made on numerous occasions. Hot and cold, brains and brawn, fire and ice. Passion and logic.

Love and hate, once upon a time, although he’s not entirely sure where Chuuya sits on that scale now. His own position has changed irrevocably, and therein lies the heart of his current conundrum.

The routine that he follows in the aftermath of Chuuya’s fight with the dragon is six years in the making, a compromise between Chuuya’s fierce independence and his desire for all the care that Dazai can give. Which, if Dazai were to be brutally honest with himself, wasn’t much. The Dazai that existed in the Port Mafia wasn’t really capable of caring about much of anything. Still, it was enough for Chuuya to at least fall in like with him, so he must have done something right, although for the life of him he has yet to figure out what.

Dazai counts down the time in his head. A visit to Yosano results in a short lecture and a neat line of stitches up his back. He supposes he’s lucky; a few inches either way and Shibusawa could have done some real damage. As it is, it'll be another scar and he’ll have to be careful lifting for a bit, but he can work with that.

It’s not like Chuuya hadn’t done most of the heavy lifting in their relationship, anyway.

Exactly four hours after dawn, Dazai finds himself in front of Chuuya’s apartment- rather, one of Chuuya’s apartments. The executive has at least four, plus at least two houses, one of which is mostly uninhabitable due to circumstances beyond Dazai’s control.

(It’s been six years. The smell is probably ingrained into the wood by now.)

This particular building is smaller than Chuuya’s usual picks. It’s also in a less busy part of town, a quiet residential area that caters mostly to young couples and retirees. As such, the security is much less necessary than it would be elsewhere, so it’s not surprising that the door opens to Dazai’s touch. It reveals a genkan that steps up in a small living room, which is largely taken up by a couch that faces an older-model wall-mounted TV. A trail of clothes- hat, coat, jacket, shirt- leads to a slightly open door off to the left. Dazai follows it, picking the hat off the floor and dropping it on an end table. His own coat gets hung on the rack next to the door. The rest can wait until he’s seen to his partner.

A deep breath, and he opens the door.

A pained grunt greets him, emanating from the figure currently slumped on the floor of the shower. Chuuya’s visibly shivering; Dazai sighs and starts unbuttoning his waistcoat. “You’re supposed to wait for me, Chibi,” he chides softly. “We’ve been over this.”

“Fuck off.” The word is forced out through gritted teeth. Not surprising, really. For some reason the pain doesn’t really creep in until a few hours after the fact; shock, most likely, but the doctors have never really had a conclusive answer and after a while they stopped asking.

“Not happening.” Not this time. I made that mistake once already. The shirt comes off next, then his socks. He reaches over to turn the water on, after making sure the showerhead is facing away from Chuuya. The water in this house always takes a while to warm up. As it heats Dazai unwinds the bandages.

Last to go are the slacks; the boxers stay on, for now. He has spares here. “How bad is it?”

A moment of sullen silence, then Chuuya sighs. “Eight. Maybe nine. I have bruises all down my back from where that thing slammed me into the street. Couple of bruised ribs, stress fracture in my left leg, left ankle's sprained, and Baki’s being noisy as fuck.”

Dazai winces. “Sorry, Chibi.”

“Yeah yeah. Just, come here.”

There it is. The brunette nods and plucks the showerhead from its holder, then kneels in front of Chuuya. His free hand reaches out and cups the redhead’s cheek. Chuuya lets out a soft sigh and slumps further, then hisses in pain and straightens again. “Fuck.”

“Easy, Slug. Hold this a sec.” Dazai hands Chuuya the showerhead. “Put your arms around me.”

Chuuya nods and wraps his arms around Dazai’s neck, then plants his feet. “Ready.”

“Alright. Up you go.” Dazai grasps Chuuya’s waist and lifts. He’s too focused on setting Chuuya on his feet to hold back the hiss of pain as the stitches pull.

“Dazai?”

“I’m fine,” he says quickly. “Stitches.”

“Oh.” Chuuya turns the showerhead so the water runs over his chest, causing faint pink trails to wander down his skin. “Let me see.”

“When you’re sitting down,” Dazai answers, and Chuuya concedes with a sigh and a grimace as he puts too much weight on his bad leg. “Here. Lean on me while I wash your hair.”

Chuuya nods again and rests against Dazai’s chest. Dazai takes the showerhead and points it at Chuuya’s head, wetting down his hair. From here he can see the bruises the redhead mentioned.

“You really took a beating, didn’t you, Chibi?” he asks softly. “All this for me?”

“Not just for you. Doc Glasses called in his favor,” the shorter man scoffs, his voice muffled. “Next time you talk to him, tell him if he ever calls me A5158 again, I’ll string him up by that necktie of his.”

“Noted.”

The rest of the shower is accomplished in near-silence, save for the occasional hiss or complaint if Dazai presses too hard on a bruise. Once it’s done, Dazai turns off the water, then guides Chuuya to sit on the washing stool. He fetches towels for both of them, then ducks into the bedroom- what he still thinks of as their bedroom, even four years later- for fresh sleepwear.

(And, perhaps, he stares a little too long at the unopened set in his drawer. To the surprise of no one, it fits perfectly.)

By the time he gets back to the bathroom Chuuya’s managed to mostly dry himself off. Dazai slips his arms into an oversized sleep shirt and buttons the front, then slides a pair of loose boxers up his legs. “Lift your hips a bit,” he says.

Chuuya does so, and they manage to get the boxers into place before Chuuya gingerly lowers himself down. “Turn around, let me see the stitches now.”

Dazai sighs but does so; it’s not worth complaining about. They’re both exhausted and he really doesn’t feel like carrying Chuuya to bed if he passes out. Dazai lifts his shirt enough to expose the neat bandage. “Yosano did them,” he explained, almost able to feel Chuuya’s surprise. “She insisted on checking all of us out. Kyouka-chan’s fine, by the way. She, Atsushi, and Akutagawa played their parts perfectly.”

A sound of acknowledgement comes from Chuuya as he lifts the bandage, then grunts. “You popped one,” he says, then tapes the bandage down again. “I’ll fix it tomorrow.”

Dazai lowers the shirt, then turns around. “Food or sleep?”

“Sleep. We’ll order something later, yeah?” Chuuya yawns. “Come lay down with me for a bit. You don’t have to be anywhere, do you?”

“Nope. I am all Chuuya’s for the next few days.” This, too, is familiar. Chuuya reaches up and Dazai hauls him to his feet. They maneuver through the narrow doorway, then down the hall to the bedroom. Chuuya collapses onto the bed with a groan.

“Let me move the covers, Chibi.” He gets a muffled grunt and smiles faintly. Chuuya rolls far enough to one side to let Dazai pull the comforter and sheet out of the way, then rolls back onto his stomach. Now that Dazai’s looking, he can see the scrapes and bruises running the length of Chuuya’s legs as well. “You’re going to be sore for a while, Chuuya.”

“No shit.” The words are slurred with fatigue. “Just fucking get in bed, Mackerel. You haven’t slept either.”

True. “Yes, dear.” He folds the blankets over Chuuya’s form, then makes his way around the bed; it’s a little daunting, now that he’s here.

That particular realization hits him like one of Chuuya’s kicks. He hasn’t slept in this bed since…

“Quit overthinking.” The words are quiet but not muffled; Dazai glances over to see that Chuuya has pushed himself up a bit and is blinking tiredly at him. “If I didn’t want you here, I would’ve said so.”

“Alright.” The word is equally quiet. He lifts up the blanket and slides under it. As soon as he’s settled on his back he moves one arm in a silent question. Chuuya nods and before Dazai can think better of it there’s a line of warmth at his side. “Comfy?”

“Yeah. Night, ‘samu.”

Dazai’s breath hitches. His voice is quiet, restrained, exiting his body without his conscious consent. “Rest now, Chuuya. I’ve got you.”

Sleep comes easily. The body next to his fits just a little differently than he remembers; not unanticipated, since he’s nearly eight centimeters taller than the last time they did this. It’s also less soft. Or, rather, it’s soft in different ways. The stick-thin physique has given way to wiry muscle, honed through years of martial arts. Expensive soaps and shampoos mean his hair and skin are soft to the touch, and Dazai indulges a little, one hand burying itself in crimson locks while the other slips under the shirt and skates along a piece of unbruised skin.

He’s forgotten, these last four years, what it’s like to sleep in a bed with high-quality sheets and a heavy comforter, rather than a lumpy futon.

He’s forgotten what it’s like to have a body next to his, arm and leg draped over him, two lines of steady warmth.

Most of all, he’s forgotten what it’s like to feel whole.

Chuuya’s dead to the world; he always sleeps like this after Corruption. Sometimes it’s for a night, maybe two. Sometimes it’s a week. The first time it was nearly three weeks of recovery while Chuuya’s insides knitted themselves back together and the skin on his arms regrew. He’d spent two of those weeks sleeping sixteen hours a day and eating everything in sight to regain the energy he’d spent.

Dazai has never let him spend that long Corrupted again.

But, for now, it means that Dazai can pull him close and place a gentle kiss on the top of his head. It pulls a contented sound out of the shorter man that burrows straight into Dazai’s soul.

Some time later, Dazai blinks awake, not even aware he’d fallen asleep in the first place. He’s warmer than he has been in forever, likely due to the tiny furnace sleeping next to him.

No, scratch that. It’s definitely Chuuya’s fault, because the warmth that he’s feeling isn’t external. It’s something else entirely. Something he almost felt, all those years ago.

Chuuya makes a sound, somewhere between a snore and a wheeze, and shuffles closer, holding Dazai tighter, as if… as if by some force of arms, he could keep Dazai from leaving again.

And, Dazai thinks, would it be so bad if I stayed?

“Chuuya,” he whispers, curling his arms around the other as if to say I’m here, I’m here, don’t worry, “when did I fall in love with you?”

Chapter Text

“Oi, Mackerel. Where’s your head at?”

Dazai startles as the voice intrudes into his thoughts, still unused to said voice being soft around him instead of loud and annoying. “Still attached to my neck, unfortunately,” he quips, grinning slightly at the ‘tch’ that escapes his petit partner. “Why do you ask?”

The redhead’s eyes dart away. Dazai waits, uncharacteristically quiet as he gives Chuuya space to work through whatever this is. It’s more fun to observe him anyway, to watch his reactions as he- oh, is he blushing?That’s… surprisingly adorable- wrestles with words. Dazai is quite fond of referring to Chuuya as an open book. And he is, to Dazai at least. But then, Dazai has spent the better part of three years devoting more than a little attention to studying the Chibi.

(The fact that Chuuya has done the exact same thing is not lost on him. He still hasn’t decided if being known is terrifying or the best thing ever. Sometimes it’s both.)

Dazai considers himself an expert on all things slug-related, but there are times Chuuya manages to surprise him. He thinks this might, perhaps, be one of them.

That suspicion is confirmed as Chuuya speaks.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go out. For dinner.”

Dazai tilts his head in confusion. “We go out all the time. Why are you being shy?”

Chuuya flushes even darker. “Never mind. It was a stupid question.” He turns to leave, but Dazai reaches out and grabs his arm.

“Chibi… are you asking me on a date?”

Chuuya scratches his neck with his free hand. “I… yeah. It’s okay. I just thought-”

Dazai lifts a finger and presses it to Chuuya’s lips, stopping him mid-ramble. “I didn’t say no.”

Hope, almost blinding after the dejection of the moment before, fills blue eyes as they gaze up at the brunette. Chuuya reaches up and gently pushes the finger away. “Then you’ll go out with me?”

Dazai chuckles. “Hmmm. Might be hard to date such a microscopic creature. What if I lose him in the crowd? Or someone mistakes him for a shrimp and eats him?”

Chuuya scoffs. “Like I’d let anyone but you—”

Brown eyes sparkle with glee as Chuuya slaps a hand over his mouth and blushes an almost concerning shade of maroon for an entirely different reason. The redhead turns to retreat from the room. Just as he reaches the threshold, Dazai decides to take a chance of his own.

“You know,” he says nonchalantly, “I wouldn’t necessarily say no to that either.”

Chuuya stops, the blush fading slightly as he turns and studies Dazai. Finally he nods. “I’ll pick you up at 7. Wear something nice.”

“I’ll be waiting, Chuu~ya~.”

For the rest of the day Dazai ignores his work, instead pondering the unexpected invitation. It’s not like he never considered dating Chuuya. The redhead is gorgeous, always has been. He knows he’s not the only one who’s noticed; Chuuya gets hit on every other week, usually by some new grunt who doesn’t know he’s Dazai’s partner. Of course Chuuya turns them down, usually gently, although there was that one guy…

Chuuya had let him down gently, just from about ten stories up.

In Dazai’s opinion, he got off entirely too easily. Chuuya, being who he was, stopped the descent about six inches before the unfortunate idiot hit the ground. Although, to be fair, he’s been much more respectful since, and refuses to even look at Chuuya. Which is how it should be.

At three, bored out of his skull, Dazai leaves work. It’s not like they need him there; the Port Mafia’s been relatively peaceful for weeks. And he does need a new suit, preferably something not in Port Mafia black. The last one he had is still in one of their old safehouses, an unfortunate victim of The Incident.

Dazai still isn’t allowed in the kitchen.

A car drops him in one of the shopping districts downtown. Two hours later, it picks him up again in very nearly the exact same spot, only now he’s carrying several bags that the driver carefully stows in the trunk. His apartment isn’t that far away; on a whim, though, Dazai has the driver take him to Chuuya’s latest acquisition instead. It’s outside Port Mafia territory and surprisingly small, but for some reason Dazai likes it much more than his partner’s larger domiciles. Maybe it’s because, for a change, Chuuya turned to Dazai for help selecting it instead of Kouyou. Or, perhaps, it’s because it’s the only one of Chuuya’s residences Dazai has yet to be thrown out of. Most likely it’s a bit of both, but it doesn’t really matter.

He texts Chuuya to let the redhead know where he is, then showers and dresses. The hardest part is getting his hair to behave; the humidity lately has his waves going every direction. Finally he tucks a piece behind his ear and calls it a day.

And, since they’re going out and he wants to be a little less recognizable, he leaves the bandages off his right eye. He’s found, recently, he doesn’t mind looking at the world so much if Chuuya’s in view.

That says something about their relationship he’s not entirely certain he’s ready for.

(When it comes to feelings, he’s not sure he’ll ever be entirely ready. The very idea is terrifying in a way Dazai can’t quite describe.)

Pressed and dressed and with a half hour to spare, he sits in the living room and pulls out his phone to wait.

Chuuya takes a breath before inserting his key in the safehouse door. He’s been planning this date for weeks, trying to work up the courage to acknowledge this… thing that’s been building between him and Dazai for years now.

Every so often, he wonders if it’s actually as one-sided as it feels some days, or if Dazai is just that bad at feelings. Not that he’s exactly what one might call an expert himself, given that every relationship he’s ever tried to maintain has ended up in either death or betrayal.

Pushing that lovely train of thought aside, he blows out the breath and inserts the key. Before he can turn it, though, the door opens to reveal….

Dazai, in a gorgeous navy blue suit that Chuuya knows is new because the mackerel hasn’t bought a suit in ages and it fits him like a fucking glove.

Dazai, with his hair slicked back behind his ear, framing his face.

Dazai, with two beautiful chocolate eyes sparkling as a small but genuine smile tugs at his lips.

Fuck, he’s not going to survive this, is he?

The other’s lips part, probably to insult him for standing there frozen on the doorstep, and so he does the only thing that comes to mind and grabs Dazai’s lapels, pulling him down and smashing their lips together in a fierce, desperate, long-overdue kiss, and oh, Dazai’s lips might just be his new favorite obsession.

Chuuya is kissing him.

Forty seconds ago, he’d opened the door. Thirty seconds ago, he’d been about to say something about Chuuya standing there, something to the effect of “Now who’s the mackerel?”. Twenty-eight seconds ago Chuuya had pulled him down into their, his, first kiss.

The kiss that’s still going on, thirty-five, forty, forty-five seconds later.

At the minute mark he pulls away, gasping for air like a landed fish.

Six seconds later, he pulls Chuuya inside, closes the door, and dives back in.

It takes three minutes and twenty-three seconds before they part long enough to speak. Dazai’s hair is mussed, his tie askew, and Chuuya’s hat is somewhere on the floor, having been knocked off so Dazai could bury his fingers in crimson locks. They breathe heavily for a moment, waiting for some semblance of sanity to return.

Dazai’s mind, of course, reboots first. “Helluva way to say hello, Chibi.”

Chuuya’s cheeks flush a brilliant pink, which just makes him look adorable in a way that sort of makes Dazai want to kiss him again. The swat that follows negates that impulse, but only partly, and Dazai chuckles as Chuuya growls “Don’t make it weird, asshole.”

“What? You can say I look good,” the brunette teases. “Chuuya looks nice too.”

The redhead’s blush turns a slightly darker red as he looks down at the floor, the angry retort dying on his lips. “You think so?”

A finger under his chin lifts his gaze. “Silly slug,” Dazai says, his voice soft. “Chuuya’s always pretty. Violet suits him. He should wear it more often.”

Chuuya studies him, eyes narrowed as if he’s trying to decide if Dazai’s making fun of him or not. After a moment they soften and he smiles shyly. “Thanks, Dazai. We should go. I had to have Ane-san pull strings to get reservations and I don’t wanna owe her for nothing if we fucking miss them.”

“Heaven forbid.” Dazai grins. “Let’s go.”

Half an hour later, Dazai whistles as they walk into what might be one of the most exclusive restaurants in Yokohama. “I see why you needed Kouyou’s help to get in here,” he says sincerely. “This is going a little all-out for a first date, isn’t it?”

Chuuya rubs the back of his neck with one gloved hand. “Is it too much? Like you said, we go out a lot, and I wanted to do something special. Ane-san said I was fucking nuts for picking here. If you hate it we can go.”

“I never said that.” Dazai pauses as the maitre’d arrives.

“Do you two have a reservation?”

“Yes.” Chuuya straightens, the manners Kouyou forced him to learn coming to the fore. “Two for Nakahara Chuuya.”

The man looks surprised to find the name on his list, although he hides it quickly. “Yes, Nakahara-sama. Your room is ready. Please follow me.”

Dazai remains quiet as they follow the man to their private room, but his eyes move constantly, taking in the other guests. He recognizes a few, mostly politicians and businessmen, some of whom he’s met previously on Port Mafia business. None of them react to his presence, though. Seems leaving the bandages off worked.

His attention is pulled away as Chuuya laces gloved fingers through his. “Sen for your thoughts?” he asks.

“Oh, just the usual.” A finger taps on the back of Chuuya’s hand. Automatic work mode.

The redhead squeezes back in acknowledgement, but says nothing as they stop in front of an open door.

Their escort bows. “Your waiter will arrive shortly. Please have a pleasant stay.”

“Arigato,” Chuuya says with a small bow of his own, then pulls Dazai into the room and closes the door.

“That was a little abrupt, Chibi.”

“I know.” Chuuya reaches up and cups Dazai’s cheek with one hand. “Can I ask one thing of you tonight, Dazai?”

“What’s that?”

“Focus on me? I know we spend so much time on high alert that it’s hard to shut that down, but… can you try? Just for now?”

Dazai leans into the touch. Chuuya’s hand, warm even through the gloves, feels good on his cool skin. “I’ll try, on one condition.”

“What condition?” Chuuya asks, suspicion leaking into his tone.

The brunette smiles. “Kiss me again?” he asks quietly, and Chuuya’s cheeks color that beautiful bright pink again as he pulls Dazai down.

“Idiot. You don’t need to bargain for that.”

Dinner passes in something of a blur of conversation and good food. Dazai manages to keep his promise, mostly, although there are one or two interesting conversations outside their door he can’t help but catalog for later.

Chuuya forgives him those lapses; after three years, he knows how Dazai’s mind works, knows it’s nearly impossible to turn off the hyperawareness that’s kept them both alive on more than one occasion. Still, those are exceptions to the rule that night. More often than not, Dazai finds himself drowning in blue eyes that are softer and more open than he’s ever seen them.

“You’re beautiful,” he says at one point, delighted at the instant shyness that brings out in his partner. “I don’t know why I haven’t told you that before.”

“You’re too fucking busy telling me I’m short,” Chuuya growls, but there’s no bite to it.

“Because it’s fun. You’re so alive when you’re angry.” Dazai pauses to reach out and caress Chuuya’s cheek. “It makes me feel things, Chuuya.”

A stuttering breath escapes Chuuya’s lips and his eyes close as he leans into the touch and whispers, “What sort of things?”

Dazai’s answer is a long, slow kiss; no tongue, just a press of lips, an exchange of breath, ending with a whispered “Take me home and let me show you.”

Chuuya swallows and nods. “Okay.”

Being the sole focus of Dazai’s attention is almost… disquieting. On the thin edge of uncomfortable, yet somehow strangely comforting at the same time. Trust, Chuuya thinks, before Dazai’s lips descend on his and drive every thought out of his head. An inarticulate whine escapes him as the lips leave his and make their way down his neck, and he feels more than hears Dazai’s dark chuckle just before teeth scrape lightly at the skin just below his choker.

“Fuck.”

“Mmm. Is that what you want?” Dazai asks. “I would be more than happy to oblige.”

“I–” Chuuya gasps as Dazai’s lips find a sensitive spot. “S-stop for a sec. Lemme talk.”

To Dazai’s credit, he does, pulling back to study Chuuya with dark eyes. “Chibi?”

The redhead flushes slightly as he takes a second to wrestle his thoughts back from oblivion. “I want this,” he says, not missing the way a slight bit of tension leaves his partner’s shoulders. “I really, really do, it’s just…” He shrugs as his gaze drops to the floor. “I’m… I haven’t…”

A finger under his chin gently lifts his gaze. “Neither have I,” Dazai admits softly.

Chuuya’s eyes widen. “But… why?”

“Silly chibi.” The words are so gentle Chuuya can’t find it in himself to get mad. “The same reason you haven’t. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Chuuya will always blame those words and the subsequent lack of oxygen from trying to kiss Dazai senseless for the fact that he essentially climbs Dazai like the proverbial tree. There’s breathless laughter as the brunette stumbles under Chuuya’s weight; it’s lucky the room isn’t large but the bed is, as it takes only a step or two for Dazai to turn and fall forward. It ends with Chuuya on his back, staring up into chocolate eyes, dark not with Dazai’s usual apathy but with something Chuuya can now recognize as desire. “Dazai.”

“Hmm?” The brunette’s voice slithers across his skin and leaves him wanting. “Was there something?”

“I want…” By sheer force of will, Chuuya pulls his head together enough to manage a complete sentence. “I want to feel you. If you’re okay with taking the bandages off?”

Dazai stills, a myriad of thoughts passing behind his eyes. Chuuya’s about to say something, to apologize and tell him it doesn’t matter, when he speaks, almost too quiet for Chuuya to hear above the pounding of his heart. “If I do, will Chuuya do two things for me?”

He’s almost afraid to ask. “What two things?”

“Take off your gloves?”

That’s an easy one. “Yeah. I want to touch you anyway. What’s the other thing?”

The brunette doesn’t answer right away. Instead he takes one of Chuuya’s hands and starts pulling the gloves off, one finger at a time. Chuuya shivers as a gentle finger runs up the center of his palm. “Dazai?”

Dazai starts with the other hand. “Can you- if we’re going to do this,” he asks quietly, a thread of nervousness running through it that Chuuya doubts anyone who doesn’t know him would ever catch, “could you call me by my first name?”

It’s Chuuya’s turn to go quiet. When Dazai finishes with his second glove he reaches up and pulls Dazai in for a kiss. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay, Osamu.”

The smile he gets is quite possibly the most genuine one he’s ever seen from Dazai.

Their clothes come off quickly. The bandages take a little longer, largely because Chuuya takes his time, fingertips ghosting over raised red and white flesh in a series of caresses that has Dazai shivering. “Chuuya,” he breathes, the word deliciously desperate, “please.”

Chuuya unwinds the last few centimeters of bandage and lets it fall to the floor. “Please what, Osamu?”

“Let me have you.” It’s a plea, not a command, a boon that Chuuya is all too willing to grant. He nods and lays back on the bed, an open invitation that Dazai is more than eager to accept.

“I’m yours.”

What follows is not at all what Chuuya expected. He’d been prepared for rough, for biting words and teasing that teetered a little too close to too much; in short, their usual. Instead… instead, he gets softness. Gentleness. Genuine smiles and careful touches that he never would’ve believed Dazai was capable of.

That night he falls asleep in Dazai’s arms, spent and sated and floating in a haze of bliss.

The next night, they do it again.

And again.

For two solid months, Chuuya has Dazai. As a partner, a boyfriend, a lover.

He should’ve known it was too good to last.

The night before he leaves for France, Dazai clings like an oversized limpet.

When he returns, Dazai is gone.

That night, and every night after, Chuuya sleeps alone.

Chapter Text

Three months.

Eighty-six days, to be precise. Which, in Dazai’s opinion, is sixty-something too long. Especially since for the last fourteen or so of those days he’s been sitting here in a cell, bored out of his skull watching Shibusawa mope around his little crystal room, and where the fuck is Chuuya? Either I’ve severely underestimated Chuuya’s intelligence, or he’s left me to rot. Could be either, I suppose.

And then, it’s more likely the second. He has been pissed with me for a month now.

Not that he’s not right to be. I suppose I really should make more of an effort to keep him in the loop.

What’s the fun in that?

He is my partner.

Yeah, but it’s so cute when he yaps about not being able to read my every thought.

“Uuuuuugggghhhh.” Dazai groans and thunks his head on the wall. “If I start calling Chuuya my precious I’m going to strangle myself with these handcuffs.”

A snicker comes from one of the guards outside. The other one shushes him. "Shut up," comes from down the corridor. "It wasn't even that funny."

"You're just mad you didn't get to go on that raid last night."

"Hey, my guild's been trying to set that up for weeks, and then someone went and blew a transformer. I've been trying to get that drop since last fucking year."

Dazai blinks at that. I forget people have normal lives outside of the job. "What game?" he calls out.

There are footsteps. An older guy in a leather jacket appears at the door to his cell. "Asheron's call," he says quietly. "Do you know it?"

"People still play that?" Dazai asks with a tilt of his head. He's never played it, but he remembers hearing about the game… somewhere.

"Yeah. It's a private server." The guy shrugs. "The graphics are shit but it's still fun."

"Huh." Dazai grins. “Maybe when I get out of here I’ll take a look.”

Leather Jacket scoffs. “Yeah, good luck with that. I hear the Boss has plans for you.”

“Oh yeah?” The grin turns sharklike. “Do tell.”

The next night, he’s dragged up to the roof. It’s about fucking time. When no one’s looking he slips an earbud from a hidden pocket and slides it into his ear. A smile threatens to break free as the first thing he hears is Odasaku’s voice.

“Odasaku.”

“That you, Dazai?”

“I know exactly what you’re up to and you’ve got to get out of there. It’s gonna get a lot more dangerous.”

“Can you piss off already?”

Took you long enough. “Why, it’s Chuu~ya! Go get in the line of enemy fire and die. Kay thanks.”

“Shut your mouth.”

Dazai does smile at that. It’s good to hear your voice again, Chibi.

The rest of the night goes about as he expected, down to him having to drag an unconscious Chuuya from the wreckage of the building. Luckily the chibi’s phone still works; Dazai uses it to call for a ride, then a crew to dig Chuuya’s bike out of the rubble.

Lastly, he calls Mori. The phone rings three times before it picks up. “Chuuya-kun? Did you find him?”

“Hey Mori,” Dazai says, fatigue slowing his words just a little. “It’s over.”

“Is it now. Well done, Dazai-kun. Will you be needing the infirmary for Chuuya?”

“Nah. He was only under for a few minutes. I’ll take him home and let him sleep it off.” Dazai smiles slightly as Chuuya stirs.

“‘Zai?”

One hand reaches down to cup Chuuya’s cheek. The redhead settles a bit as Mori speaks. “Good. I’ll expect a full report by the end of the week. Your new office should be ready by the time you return.” There’s a smug note in Mori’s voice.

Dazai frowns. “New office?”

“Yes. Come see me as soon as Chuuya’s on his feet again.” The I’ll explain then is implied, but Dazai doesn’t really need it. The timing is a little too precise, after all.

“You got it, Boss. See you in a few days.”

Chuuya wakes to a dark room, a sliver of moonlight shining through the crack between the curtains, and the first thing he notices is a massive headache.

Oh, wait, no, that’s just Dazai. The asshole is fast asleep next to him.

The second thing he notices really is a headache. Still, it’s a hell of a lot better than the last time he woke up after Corruption, so he’ll take the win. The fact that he’s awake at all means that Dazai did his job, for a change. Also, they seem to be in his room rather than the infirmary, which means he either slept through the worst of it or he wasn’t injured enough to warrant it. Either is equally likely, although he doesn’t remember being down for very long this time.

The redhead pushes himself up into a sitting position. His body yells at him but it’s a muted thing, easily ignored. Besides, he’s starving, and it’s not like Dazai’s going to cook.

Speaking of which, his partner is getting to be skin and bones again. Did you eat at all while they had you, Dazai?

He shakes that thought away and stumbles his way into the kitchen. The first thing he does is gulp down several glasses of water, joined by a pair of painkillers. They'll take effect quickly and be gone just as fast, knowing his metabolism, but a couple of hours is better than nothing. It's long enough to throw food together.

He's in the middle of wrapping onigiri when Dazai stumbles from the bedroom, bandages askew, the ones normally over his right eye gone. Chocolate eyes blink at him in confusion. "You're not supposed to be up yet."

"Fuck off. I was hungry," Chuuya snaps.

"Such an angry mutt," Dazai snarks. He makes his way over to the counter and steals one of the onigiri. "What's in these?"

The redhead sighs. At least he's eating. "Crab. It's even that canned shit you like cause I don't have any fresh."

Dazai's eyes light up and he takes a bite. "Good dog."

Blue eyes blaze in fury. "Watch it, mackerel. And don't talk with your mouth full. It's fucking disgusting."

Dazai shuts up and finishes the onigiri, along with two others, all the while studying Chuuya intently.

Finally the redhead cracks, putting down his own food. "What?"

"I just…" Dazai pauses for a second, his eyes shuttering, but not before Chuuya read the missed seeing you behind them. "I just wanted to make sure Chuuya hadn't gotten any shorter. That microscope was expensive; I don’t want to have to buy another one just to see him.”

“Fucking bastard. If I wasn’t so fucking tired I’d punch you.” He slumps in his seat. “Why the fuck didn’t you just give me the transmitter in the first place? We could’ve ended this weeks ago. And my friends…”

“I wasn’t exactly planning on needing it that soon,” Dazai counters defensively. “Shibusawa was supposedly working for the government. How was I supposed to know he’d gone rogue when they didn’t? I can’t work with information I don’t have.”

“So even the Demon Prodigy isn’t infallible.” Chuuya shoves his plate aside and rises. He’d be furious if he had the energy for it. “Do me a favor. Stay the fuck away from me. I don’t want to see your bandaged hide for at least a week.”

“Fine. Boss wants to see me anyway.” Dazai finishes his onigiri as he watches Chuuya walk away. “Chuuya.”

“What?”

“Sorry about your friends.”

That makes him pause. One hand grips the door frame, knuckles white with strain. Eventually, he nods. “Thanks.”

Dazai doesn’t leave immediately. Mori isn’t expecting him for at least a day or two, and after being cooped up, starved, and tortured he really isn’t in the mood to go back to work just yet anyway. Instead, he naps on the couch for a few hours, then gets up, intending to raid Chuuya’s fridge. It’s basically expected at this point, after all.

Although, after the last 88 days, their usual dynamic is so far out of whack he’s not even sure where the lines are anymore.

If Mori’s news is what he thinks it is, maybe that’s a good thing. He shuts the refrigerator door and leans against it, head connecting against the cool metal with a quiet thunk.

“Fuck.” The word escapes him sotto voce, the volume the exact opposite of what he wishes it was. Screaming at the world has always been Chuuya’s thing, though. His is quiet reflection (Quiet. Hah. As if his mind is ever quiet), so he gathers a change of clothes, a backup phone, and his wallet. Odasaku had mentioned a hangout of his that sounded like a good place to sit and think about his misery in private.

After closing and locking the door, Dazai pulls a matchbox out of his pocket and slides it open to reveal an address written inside. Okay, Odasaku. Let’s see if this Bar Lupin of yours checks out.

As it turns out, it’s an excellent place for contemplation. Low jazz plays in the background; the whiskey burns at first, then smooths out into a pleasant warmth that buzzes in the back of Dazai’s mind as he turns over the things he learned during his captivity.

Including the existence of one Fyodor Dostoevsky, aka the Demon, and the one pulling Shibusawa’s strings. It doesn’t take Dazai’s intelligence to know Yokohama hasn’t seen the last of the man. Of equal interest is the ‘singular ability user’ the Russian mentioned. “A boy with the power of a beast,” he mutters, poking the ice ball in his drink.

“Who’s a beast?” The voice comes from slightly behind him, and he turns with a smile. “Odasaku! I didn’t think you were coming tonight. Where’s that kid you found?”

“Kids. I found others after you went offline,” the mafia grunt replies, reaching out to ruffle Dazai’s hair before taking the seat next to him. “They’re with a friend of mine. I thought you’d be with Chuuya.”

“Yeah, well.” The smile disappears. “He woke up long enough to kick me out. It’s not like he really needs me right now. And he just lost a bunch of subordinates. Again. It’s only been a couple of months since the Flags, and now this. I’d be pissed too, I guess. If this had ended last week, they’d still be alive.”

“Possibly.” Odasaku flicks a finger at the bartender, who nods and sets a glass of whisky in front of it. “You had a reason for doing things that way, though, didn’t you?”

“I… mostly? I wasn’t intending to get caught when I did.” Dazai sighs. “I learned something, though. I’m not entirely sure how useful it is, yet, but I have a feeling this was only the tip of the iceberg. Something’s coming, Odasaku. Not right away; it might be six months from now, or six years, but when it does… When it does, Yokohama's going to be in danger like it’s never seen before. I’m going to need Chuuya. Preferably at a point where he doesn’t hate my guts.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” Odasaku takes a swallow of his drink, then sets the glass back down with a clink. “He’s angry and grieving and taking it out on the most convenient target. Give him time. He’ll come around- hell, from what you’ve told me, he’ll probably feel guilty for getting mad at you.”

Dazai looks skeptical, but nods. “I hope you’re right.” He downs the rest of the drink, grimacing slightly. “I should go. Mori wants to see me tomorrow.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Dazai turns at the familiar voice, face carefully schooled to hide the relief he feels. “Mmm. Hello, Chibi. I see you’re back to work?”

The redhead grimaces. “Sort of.” He moves up to stand beside Dazai. “Helluva view. Fitting for the youngest Mafia Executive ever, I guess.”

It’s not nearly as pretty as you are. “Guess so. Did you speak to the Boss?”

Chuuya grunts in affirmation. “Soukoku. You get the feeling that word means something to the Boss? Like it’s more than just us.”

“It does.” Dazai doesn’t elaborate. It’s not really his story to tell, and he doesn’t know all the details anyway. “Double Black. It fits us, I think.”

“Yeah.” Chuuya studies the view for another few minutes, then jerks his head toward the door. “Wanna bounce? There’s a new seafood place over in Kanagawa Ward. I heard the crab is to die for.”

Dazai grins. “I like the way you think, Chibi.”

It’s late, well into Mafia hours, by the time they stumble home. It’s a feat for Chuuya to see past his yawns to get the key in the door; eventually Dazai takes it and gets them both inside, not without a bit of teasing Chuuya about being “dog-tired.” Chuuya flushes slightly and punches his side hard enough to make the younger boy wheeze.

“Shut up, shitty Dazai. I haven’t fucking slept the last two days.”

Dazai raises an eyebrow. “Baki?” he asks, the teasing gone, and Chuuya nods as he slips his shoes off.

“Yeah. He hasn’t shut up since you left.” The redhead looks up; Dazai can see it now, the fatigue behind stubborn blues. He sighs.

“You could’ve found me. Or called. I would’ve come.”

The surprise he sees almost hurts. “I kicked you out.”

“Like I take orders from my dog,” Dazai scoffs. He kicks off his shoes and hangs the black overcoat on a hook, then ducks as Chuuya sends a kick his way.

“Oi, mackerel bastard. I’m not your fucking dog.”

“No?” The brunette grins. He follows Chuuya as the other grumbles and moves toward the bedroom. “Does Chuuya have a better idea for a nickname?”

Chuuya sits at the edge of the bed. Dazai follows suit. It’s only a matter of seconds before Chuuya’s leaning into his space, head on his shoulder. The tension drains out of the smaller boy’s shoulders as the voice in his head goes silent. “We’re Soukoku, right?” he asks with a yawn.

“We are.”

“Then…” Another yawn, and Chuuya’s voice starts to slur. “Partner.”

Dazai leans his head, feeling Chuuya drop off between one breath and the next, and the grin softens into a satisfied smile. “Partner. I like the sound of that. Okay. You got it, partner.”

Chapter Text

The day Chuuya fought Verlaine was the day Dazai learned what awe felt like. Guivre and Arahabaki were titanic forces, god battling god, destruction and preservation. It was glorious.

It also nearly killed Chuuya.

Chuuya faints at Dazai’s feet the instant his Ability is canceled by Dazai’s touch. The brunette looks down at him and laughs a little, giddy with relief. “Good work, Chuuya. You’re lucky I forgot to bring my fountain pen or else you’d have doodles all over your face.”

The boy at his feet, body bloody and broken, doesn’t answer. As Dazai watches, he starts choking, the blood in his lungs drowning him, and the brunette quickly but gently turns him on his side. Practiced fingers and sharp eyes take note of his visible injuries; burns cover his arms, one shoulder is visibly dislocated, and ghosts of the red marks that had littered his skin are left behind as bruises, dark and mottled on his increasingly pale skin. He sighs. “You’re really fucked up, aren’t you Chibi?”

Hirotsu appears next to him, along with several members of the Black Lizard. Dazai looks up at him. “Get him to the infirmary. He’ll heal most of it on his own, but not if he bleeds to death first.”

The older man nods and waves at two others. They come over bearing a stretcher, load Chuuya onto it, and take him away in a waiting van. Dazai watches it pull away, his mind already analyzing what had happened, and pulls out his phone to call Mori.

“Boss. It’s done.”

“Well done, Dazai. And Chuuya?”

“Alive, if barely. I’ve sent him to the infirmary.”

“Good. I want you there with him.”

Dazai stares at the phone for a brief second, then sighs again. He’d already predicted this would be Mori’s response; it’s logical. They don’t know the side effects of this new ability. Having him close just in case makes sense.
It sounds boring as hell, but he doesn’t really have a choice. “Yes Boss. I’ll be there shortly.”

Mori hums an affirmative and hangs up. Dazai pockets the phone, then passes Hirotsu and the other team leaders a few orders regarding cleanup- what cleanup they can do, given the massive swath of destruction left behind by the battle- and commandeers another driver to take him back to headquarters.

Maybe if he’s lucky he can catch up on some of his own sleep while he’s there.

On the way, Dazai directs his driver to detour to his apartment. The shipping crate he’d been staying in was just a temporary thing to throw off Verlaine, and it’s with no small amount of relief that he leaves it behind. Much as he hates to admit it, he misses sleeping in a bed.
More to the point, he misses Chuuya sleeping in his bed. Or him sleeping in Chuuya’s. They seemed to trade nights, Arahabaki and his insomnia teaming up to deprive one or the other of a good night’s rest.

He also misses living in a place that doesn’t smell of toxic sludge and rot. His apartment isn’t clean by any stretch of the imagination but at least it’s not a dump, no matter what Chuuya says.

Once there, he showers quickly, changes into clean clothes and bandages, and packs an overnight bag. It’s more of a precaution than anything; the Port Mafia doctors aren’t exactly known for compassionate care, so there’s a pretty good chance Chuuya will be sent home as soon as he’s coherent.

That, or he’ll insist on going home. If anything, Chuuya hates doctors and labs even more than Dazai does, and that’s saying something. And at least now they know why.

Which, Dazai does not want to admit to himself, is the other reason he’s doing this. Chuuya questions his own humanity at the best of times. Now? The mafioso knows what it’s like to not feel human. To find out there’s a 50/50 chance you’re not?
Well. In the year they’ve known each other, Chuuya has pulled him out of more than one depressive slump. The least he can do is return the favor.

By the time Dazai gets there, Chuuya has been set up in what passes for the Port Mafia’s ICU. It’s tiny: four beds, a trio of nurses on rotating shifts, and a doctor on call. On rare occasions Mori will take a shift or two, “just to keep in practice.” Today isn’t one of them, although Dazai won’t be at all surprised if he happens to show up for a few hours. Chuuya’s an interesting specimen, after all.

He shakes off those thoughts before they can take too firm a hold and follows the familiar twists and turns of the back hallways. Some of the staff nod or bow. A few try to stop him, blustering about protocol, before being hauled off by their older, wiser colleagues who assure him he’s welcome there. One of them helpfully points him towards Chuuya’s room. He nods back and thanks the man.

Of course he’s in the reinforced room, Dazai thinks, pushing through the heavy door. It’s also one of the smallest rooms, the walls structured for Ability users that might lose control of their powers. A wise precaution, but unnecessary now that he’s here.
One look at Chuuya, and he ducks back out to the nurse’s station. “Excuse me?”

“Yes?” she asks, then bows quickly as recognition sets in. “May I help you, Dazai-san?”

“You can. I want Nakahara moved to one of the larger rooms as soon as possible. I’ll be staying for the duration, so his Ability won’t be an issue.” The authority drips from his tone, a trick borrowed from Mori. Technically it’s an authority he doesn’t have, not yet, but being Mori’s protege has its perks. It’s only a matter of time before he’s an Executive, after all (although he doesn’t know just how quickly that will come to pass, not yet).

The nurse clicks a few things on her computer. “Yes sir. There’s a private suite that’s in the process of being cleaned. I’ve requested Nakahara-san be moved there as soon as it’s available and the doctor is satisfied that he’s stable enough.”

“Fair enough,” Dazai concedes, smiling lazily. “How long before the doctor comes back?”

A few more clicks. “He’s checking on a few other patients right now. If all goes well, it should only be an hour or so. Two at the most.”

“Good.” He takes note of the ID tag pinned to her chest. Competent help should be rewarded, after all. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

That done, Dazai walks back into the room. Chuuya doesn’t respond; the redhead is in a drugged sleep, although that won’t last long, not with the resistances he has. Dazai drops his bag on a chair, then takes a seat on the rolling stool and logs into the laptop that sits on one end of the counter. It takes a bit of clicking through unfamiliar menus, but he eventually manages to pull up Chuuya’s chart, wincing as he reads through it.

If it were anyone else, he’d be dead.

By all rights, he should be dead.

If he has learned anything about Chuuya in the past year, though, it’s that the other clings tenaciously to things he deems worthy.

(This is a thought that will come back to haunt, and comfort, him in later years.)

In this case, though, it’s his own life, and Dazai sighs as he reads the prognosis.

Full recovery expected.

He scoots over to sit next to the bed and watches Chuuya sleep for a while. One hand reaches out to brush a stray lock away from his face, which is still blood-streaked and dirty. “Tch. Such a messy slug you are,” he murmurs, a crooked smile on his lips. A search of the drawer behind him yields a pack of wipes; he sacrifices several to the task of cleaning Chuuya’s face, neck, and hands, the latter looking pale and bare without his usual gloves. “There. You’re still gross, but that’s the best I can do right now.”

A pained sound tries to make its way up his throat. He strangles it mercilessly. “You scared me, you know,” he admits instead, the words dropping like tiny landmines on deaf ears. “For a minute I was sure Arahabaki was going to force his way out of you, and then where would we be? I don’t want to do this alone, you know. Not anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever be good at this partner thing; trusting someone is fucking terrifying. But you? I think I could learn to, if we manage to do this long enough. So, you’re not allowed to die before me, okay?”

No answer comes. Not that he expected one. The wipes are disposed of in the hazard bin. Dazai checks the time, then stretches and lays his head on Chuuya’s uninjured thigh, his hand in easy reach of Chuuya’s, just in case. There’s at least forty minutes before they’re disturbed, if the nurse was right, and he’s been up for two days. A little nap wouldn’t hurt, right?

Some twenty minutes later, blue eyes crack open as the shadows of pain the drugs can’t quite keep at bay let Chuuya know he’s still alive. Something else registers as well, an unexpected weight on his left thigh, and he carefully moves his head enough to look.
And smiles, as Dazai’s sleeping face comes into view. He can’t quite move enough to brush the hair out of it, but the knowledge that he’s here, that Dazai'd made good on his promise to have his back, eases something in his chest. And so he relaxes in the knowledge that for now, at least, he’s safe and in good hands.

Chuuya sleeps.

The next time he wakes, it will be to bright sunshine and an obnoxious mackerel singsonging “Good morning, Slug!” To the sobering information that he’s been under for a solid seventy-eight hours while the worst of his wounds healed. To the memory of his friends, the still-fresh grief an entirely different sort of pain.

It will be to the knowledge, whispered by one of the nurses as Dazai goes off to report that he’s awake, that his partner has been here the entire time, never leaving his side for more than a few minutes.

And when he’s released, a mere twenty-four hours later, Dazai accompanies him home.

Chapter Text

Dazai blinks open bleary eyes as a sound comes from the direction of his door. It’s quiet, tentative, and at first he’s inclined to think it was just part of an incipient dream.

And then it happens again, the knock soft yet insistent.

He grumbles, his hold on sleep rapidly slipping away as he flings the blankets aside. Dazai slides his legs over the side of the bed, then yawns as he forces himself upward.

The knock comes again, a little louder this time. “I’m coming, keep your shirt on,” he calls grumpily. The knocking stops abruptly.

Dazai flicks on a light on his way to the door. The bulb isn’t a strong one- 20 watts and tinted green, because the red ones remind him of things he tries not to think about- but it’s enough to see where he’s going. As he goes, he wonders who it is; Mori would’ve knocked louder, Kouyou would have called first. Only a few people know where he lives in the first place.

He flings the door open and stares at the person on the other side. “Chibi? What the fuck are you doing here?”

Nakahara Chuuya has had a very bad night. No, scratch that. Bad week. Bad month. The better part of Seven Years, his entire remembered life, down the drain because of Dazai fucking Osamu.

No, that’s not fair. He’s had enough time and distance to figure out the Sheep were bound to turn on him eventually. Dazai just sped up the process.

Not that it doesn’t still hurt. The stab wound in his stomach healed quickly, thanks to Arahabaki. It’s the mental wounds that get him- mostly, the look on Shirase’s face when he rammed a knife into Chuuya’s guts. The sight of his friends- his family- united against him just because he tried to find out who he was.

And now- especially now that he knows a little more than he used to- the voice of the entity that inhabits the back of his consciousness has been noisier than ever. It’s not so bad during the day, when lessons and martial arts practice and tea with Kouyou let him focus on something else. At night, though. At night, there’s nothing to distract him. Arahabaki hasn’t let him sleep properly in days and it’s gotten to the point where he passed out and nearly face planted his teacup.

At some point in the past twenty-four hours he remembered that when Dazai touches him Baki shuts up, and so he makes his way to Dazai’s apartment after getting the address from Kouyou’s phone.

It never even really occurs to him to think about what he’s wearing; mismatched pajamas, sneakers, and his hoodie. Not exactly the picture of a mafioso, but right now that’s not what he is. He’s just a very tired, very frustrated kid who’s about to ask someone who isn’t exactly a friend for a favor.

Knowing Dazai, there’s a nonzero chance he’ll say no, at which point Chuuya may just snap.

Before he can convince himself this is a bad idea, he’s at Dazai’s door and knocking, since the doorbell doesn’t seem to work. It takes a few times for an answer to come from inside- not surprising, it’s well after midnight- but eventually the door opens to reveal Dazai, sans most of his bandages and wearing pajamas.

“Chibi? What the fuck are you doing here?” Dazai asks, and Chuuya blinks up at him.

“I- need you to touch me.”

“What?” The word is incredulous; rightfully so perhaps, but still…

Chuuya sighs. “Arahabaki shuts up when you touch me.” Dazai’s eyes widen in understanding. It gives Chuuya the confidence to continue. “Look, can I- I know it’s a lot to ask, but can I stay here tonight? Just so I can sleep.”

The brunette yawns and steps aside to let Chuuya in. “Chuuya has been looking like something of a wreck lately. I suppose I can be magnanimous for one night and let you stay here. After all, you’re my dog. I wouldn’t be a good pet owner if I let you waste away from lack of sleep.”

Any other time Chuuya would’ve bristled and shot something back, unwilling to let Dazai win without a fight.

(Any other night, he would have noticed the odd tone in the other boy’s voice, the way the words are genuine, without a hint of Dazai’s usual mocking lilt. Later, much later, he'll realize these things.)

Tonight, though, he’s far too tired for such things. Instead, he slips out of his shoes and leaves the genkan, then shrugs out of the hoodie and hangs it on the coat rack. “Yeah, whatever. Thanks.”

Fatigue makes him miss the way Dazai’s eyes narrow, the way the brunette reaches out only to withdraw his hand once, twice, thrice before settling on Chuuya’s neck. No Longer Human washes through Chuuya’s body in a cold rush and his head goes blessedly silent. Chuuya sags in relief. “Oh thank fuck.”

Chuuya barely has the energy to smile at Dazai before he sways dangerously, fatigue crashing over him like a tidal wave. The last thing he remembers before blackness overtakes him is Dazai’s arms around his waist and a gentle voice in his ear.

“Rest now, Chuuya. I’ve got you.”

“Rest now Chuuya, I’ve got you.”

Dazai doesn’t know, then, what those words will come to mean. This version of Dazai, barely fifteen years old, doesn’t know about Corruption, about Soukoku, about what the two of them will come to do together or mean to each other.

What he does know, what he suspects Chuuya hasn’t, in his overly fatigued state, yet realized, is that there is a boy in his arms that trusts him.

Chuuya trusts him.

HIM.

Dazai Osamu. The Demon Prodigy.

Dazai picks him up. Not without effort; for being a half-starved, half-sized street urchin, there’s a surprising amount of muscle in Chuuya’s thin frame. Even more now that Kouyou’s making sure he eats properly. Still, Dazai manages to get him to the bed. It’s not a large one. The two of them barely fit side by side, Chuuya a line of warmth down Dazai’s side.

A welcome line of warmth, though. Dazai’s heat barely works on the best of days. Perhaps, then, it’s not much of a surprise when he turns on his side and wraps himself around Chuuya.

After all, Chuuya did ask to be touched, didn’t he?

What does come as an unexpected, if very welcome (and, on further reflection, possibly concerning for Dazai) turn of events is the fact that Chuuya’s presence acts as a sort of comfort for him. The redhead’s even breathing, strong heartbeat, and small (very cute, although he'll never admit thinking that) snores give Dazai something to focus on besides his own wandering thoughts.

And, so, between one breath and the next, Dazai, too, sleeps.

In the morning, Chuuya grumbles about octopus limbs and clingy bastards, but he buys Dazai coffee and breakfast pastries from the combini down the street. They sit on Dazai’s couch watching an old movie that Chuuya’s never seen and Dazai actually enjoys enough to sit through again. One night of good sleep doesn’t make up for over a week without, though, especially for a teenager, and after lunch Chuuya falls asleep again, his head pillowed on one arm as he leans against the side of the couch. Dazai leaves him there. There’s an old blanket over the back of the couch; he tosses it over Chuuya, then texts Hirotsu to bring a change of clothes for the older boy. The rest of the afternoon is spent in contemplation. Dazai isn’t used to attempting to parse out his feelings, isn’t used to having feelings.

Isn’t used to No Longer Human being useful for someone else.

Isn’t used to being trusted with something as vulnerable as an exhausted Chuuya.

By the time dinner rolls around, Dazai has come to a decision. He hasn’t solved the puzzle yet, won’t until it’s almost too late, but he does know one thing. He likes this.

He likes having Chuuya in his space. The chibi’s vibrant personality fills the sterile apartment, makes it seem a little more lived in, a bit more like a home than just a place to sleep and store his meager possessions.

It’s dangerous, him liking things.

For this, though… for Chuuya, he’ll take that chance.

Chuuya wakes to the sound of the television and a crick in his neck. He sits up slowly and stretches, not noticing the blanket until it brushes his arm on its way to the floor. Chuuya picks it up and turns to toss it on the back of the couch. A small noise catches his attention and he stops.

Lips curl upwards in a smile as he stares at the younger boy. Dazai is half stretched out on the couch, his feet just shy of Chuuya’s lap, and fast asleep. As he watches, Dazai thrashes a bit, and mumbles something Chuuya can’t quite make out, but the tone…

Oh. A nightmare. He’s familiar with those, even though he doesn’t dream. The littles, especially, had been prone to bad dreams.

On a whim, he moves to stand beside Dazai. A gloved hand reaches out and cups a thin cheek; Dazai, for a wonder, quiets. Chuuya stands there for a moment, considering, before draping the blanket over Dazai’s form.

He does not know what this means for him, for them, not yet.

As he leaves a hastily-scribbled Going home. Thanks, Mackerel on the notepad on the counter, he thinks he just might be willing to find out.

Chapter Text

Oh.

The revelation hits Dazai like one of Chuuya’s kicks. Oh. Fuck. Has it really been that long? How did I not know this?

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Chuuya stirs in his arms. Blue eyes blink open, hazed with sleep and lingering pain. “‘Samu? Wha’ izzt?”

You always know, don’t you? Dazai moves one arm to brush a lock of hair out of Chuuya’s face. “Just having a minor crisis. Go back to sleep, love.”

Chuuya’s eyes widen just as Dazai realizes what he said. They stare at each other for a long moment before the redhead relaxes and smirks. “Took you long enough.”

“What?”

“Fucking emotionally constipated idiot mackerel.” Chuuya yawns and snuggles deeper into Dazai’s hold. “I love you too. Now go the fuck to sleep.”

Chuuya clings tenaciously to things he deems worthy. As he closes his eyes and clings just a little tighter to the man in his arms, Dazai finally lets himself believe he might just be one of them.

It takes them a few days to actually talk, largely because Chuuya sleeps through most of the first two. Dazai spends at least some of that time getting Atsushi and Kyouka’s side of the conflict; after reading their reports and giving it some thought he breaks into Chuuya’s phone for Akutagawa’s current number.

A small grin pulls at his lips at Akutagawa’s greeting. “Akutagawa. Who are you and how did you get this number?”

“Ah, Akutagawa-kun,” he trills, the grin breaking free as he envisions the other’s reaction. “I just talked to Atsushi-kun and Kyouka-chan. They told me how helpful you were a few days ago.”

“Dazai-san?” Akutagawa blurts, and then “They did?”

“Mmmhmm. Atsushi was most eloquent as to your role in the proceedings.” That isn’t exactly a lie. True, most of it had been complaints, but he’d been able to pick through those to get the actual picture.

Sometimes he wonders if that’s how Mori had felt whenever he’d had to deal with him and Chuuya. Probably.

“What did he say?” Oh, now that’s unexpected. Not the words, but the tone. Half-eager, half-dread, poorly hidden behind indifference. He sounded like Chuuya.

“Atsushi and Kyouka stated that you were extremely useful, that they wouldn’t have won- or made it to the battlefield- without your help, and that you were willing to follow Atsushi’s lead during the fight.” Dazai lets a bit of pride peek through into his voice. “You were able to put aside your animosity to fight on the same side. That takes a kind of strength that can’t be easily measured. I’m proud of you, Ryuunosuke.”

There is a thump, followed by a muffled curse, as if Akutagawa had dropped the phone. “I- thank you, Dazai-san.”

“You’re welcome. Since you’ve proven you can work with Atsushi, next time I expect you to play nice together, okay?”

“I… will attempt to do so.”

“Good boy. Now, I have a chibi slug to attend to. Ta ta, Akutagawa!” Dazai says, and hangs up.

“So you finally got those two to work together, huh?” The voice comes from the bedroom doorway. Dazai looks over to see Chuuya, half-awake, leaning against the doorframe.

He nods. “More or less. Why are you out of bed?”

Chuuya stares down at the floor. “I woke up and you weren’t there. Wanted to make sure you hadn’t taken off again.”

Oh. “I promised Chuuya I’d stay, didn’t I?”

The redhead scoffs. “Yeah, and last time you promised something I woke up alone. In a field.”

Dazai winces. “In my defense, Hirotsu was supposed to send a squad for you and Q. Lovecraft cracked a couple of ribs when he threw me into that tree. I couldn’t exactly carry you out.”

“He did what? You didn’t even…” Chuuya asks, then waves a hand. “No, you know what? Not doing that. It was a fight, you couldn’t show weakness, blah blah blah.”

“Something like that, yes.” The brunette huffs a laugh. “You’ve changed. The chibi I knew would’ve kicked me into the wall retroactively.”

“Yeah, well. You have too,” Chuuya responds. “The mackerel I knew wouldn’t have bothered calling Akutagawa, much less praising him.”

“There is that. Go back to bed, Chibi.”

“Are you going to be here when I wake up?”

Dazai meets Chuuya’s eyes and gives a single nod. “I’ll stay until Chuuya doesn’t want me here anymore.”

Blue eyes narrow, then close as Chuuya yawns. “I’ll hold you to that. Come back to bed. I want cuddles.”

Chuuya has always loved watching Dazai sleep. It’s not something he gets to do often; even putting aside the insomnia, the former Demon Prodigy’s slumber has always been prone to nightmares, ones bad enough to make falling back asleep difficult at best. Case in point…

The brunette shouts something incoherent and thrashes briefly, hissing as the motion pulls at his stitches. Chuuya cups a hand against his cheek, the other combing through his hair in a soothing motion. Dazai mumbles something else as one eye cracks open. “Chuu?”

“Yeah. I’m here. Bad dream?”

“Yeah.” Dazai reaches up and wraps his fingers around Chuuya’s wrist. “I was late.”

Oh. “Which time?” he asks, turning his head to place a small kiss on those fingers. It’s not hard to hear the stuttering breath Dazai lets out, so he does it again, then rests his weight on Dazai and snuggles into his chest.

Dazai’s free arm instantly goes around him and holds him tightly. “Most of them. Maybe all. I don’t know, they kind of blurred together at the end, but it started with Verlaine.”

“Dazai…”

“You almost died that time, you know.” Dazai cuts him off, but Chuuya can’t even be upset, not when there’s that level of fear in his voice. “Another thirty seconds, minute tops, and you would’ve bled out before Arahabaki could heal you. If I hadn’t figured out… if I’d known you couldn’t stop it…”

“Shhh, Osamu.” Chuuya tilts his head enough to kiss the underside of Dazai’s jaw, drawing a hiccuping breath out of him. “Shhh, love. You can’t blame yourself for that. Even if we’d known I would’ve done it. Verlaine had to be stopped, and I was the only one who could.” He smiles. “Do you know when I started falling in love with you?”

“No?”

“When I woke up the first time, and you were right by my side, fast asleep with your head on my thigh,” Chuuya answers, grinning slightly as he feels Dazai tense under him.

“You woke up?”

Chuuya pushes up just enough to look into Dazai’s eyes. “Just for half a minute. Long enough to know everything hurt like fuck. And that we’d made it, somehow. You’ve always had my back. Even when we couldn’t fucking stand each other you never let me fall. I trust you and you’ve never broken that, not once.”

Dazai shakes his head. “But… I left you.”

“You did what you had to,” Chuuya corrects. “I just wished you’d waited til I got back and talked to me first.”

“I couldn’t,” Dazai whispers.

“Why not?”

“Because, Chibi… I couldn’t do two forever goodbyes.”

Chuuya goes silent for a moment and lowers himself back down to rest on Dazai’s chest. “It didn’t have to be forever, idiot,” he murmurs eventually. “Au revoir, not adieu. I would’ve waited. I did wait. Do you know why I owed Doc Glasses a fucking favor?”

“I haven’t really talked to Ango since then, so no. What do you mean you waited?” Dazai asks.

“Exactly what I said. I’m fucking in love with you, asshole. There was never gonna be anyone else.” Chuuya squeezes once, then reluctantly lets go and sits up. “You never said goodbye. It also meant we never exactly broke up, and I don’t cheat on my boyfriend.”

Unexpectedly, Dazai laughs at that. Chuuya smacks his chest. “Oi. Don’t laugh.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you, Chuuya.” Dazai smiles, a real, warm, genuine smile that pulls at something in Chuuya he’s left buried for far too long. “You’re right though, we never did break up. And for the record, I never cheated either. After you…”

A hand reaches up to caress his cheek and Chuuya leans into it, into the touch he’s been craving for four goddamn years. “After me?”

“I didn’t know it was love.” The word is soft, wondering, as if Dazai still doesn’t believe he could ever feel such a thing. “I just knew that after you, no one else seemed even remotely appealing. Yeah, I flirted, but I never really meant it.”

“Good to know that never changed,” Chuuya teases. “Anyfuckingway, the reason I owed Sakaguchi a favor is that after I found out you left, I tracked him down. Figured Mori wouldn’t give me a straight answer.”

“No, he wouldn’t have,” Dazai agrees. “Do you know when I started falling in love with you?”

Chuuya shakes his head. The brunette smiles. “The first time you showed up on my doorstep because you couldn’t sleep.”

“Hah?” Blue eyes widen in shock. “We’d known each other for like three weeks! How the fuck?”

“You trusted me.” A shrug. “You could’ve gone for sleeping pills or something from the clinic. Instead you came to me. And then you stayed.”

It takes Chuuya a minute to figure out what that means. Yes, he’d been desperate for sleep and knew that most pills didn’t do shit for him, but it’d been more than just that night. By the end of that year they’d been spending more nights in each other’s beds than alone, unless one of them was on a job. He chuckles. “How the hell did we wait til 18?”

“You’re a stubborn little thing and I’m- what was it?- ‘emotionally constipated’,” Dazai replies with a chuckle of his own. “And we had about six or eight or twelve rea~lly bad months in there.”

“Yeah.” A flicker of old grief flashes through Chuuya’s eyes. He banishes it with a shake of his head. “You’re beautiful too, you know.”

“What?”

“I never got around to telling you that, did I, Osamu? You did, so many times. And since we’re being fucking brutally honest with each other, for a while I thought…” Chuuya’s voice fails him, choked by old fears and the tears he could never quite shed. His fingers tap words onto Dazai’s thigh. I thought you left me behind because you found someone better. Someone who could tell you how they felt.

“Oh gods no.” There’s a wetness on his cheeks now, followed by a sweep of Dazai’s thumbs brushing the tears away. “Shhh, love. Shhh. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I know. I forgave you once I found out what happened, it just…” Chuuya shrugs and closes his eyes- only to have them fly open in shock as a soft, familiar warmth presses against his lips.

He’d almost forgotten how much Dazai’s kisses felt like home.

A shaky laugh escapes him as they part. “You know, you said you’d stay until I didn’t want you here anymore. Did you mean that?”

“I do, Chibi.”

“Good. In a few days, when you go back to work, we’re grabbing your shit.”

It's Dazai's turn to stare at Chuuya, chocolate eyes wide. “Does Chuuya mean…?”

“I do, idiot. I’m fucking tired of sleeping alone.”

“Me too, love. Me too.”

Epilogue:

Sharing a bed with Chuuya has always been one of Dazai’s favorite things.

Consequently, getting out of said bed has always been among his least favorites. Getting out of bed means leaving the warm nest of blankets and his tiny chibi heater behind. Still, he does it, after being awakened with kisses and coffee and a raspy voice saying “Good morning, Osamu,” and for a minute he’s not entirely certain they didn’t both die in that tower. The pull in his back disabuses him of that notion, though, and he crawls out of bed and makes his way to the breakfast table. “Morning, Chibi.”

Chuuya smiles at him. “You’re going back to work today, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dazai sighs. “You look entirely too happy about that.”

The redhead chuckles. “Only because I have a week of fucking paperwork to catch up on and it’s not fair if only one of us is suffering.”

“Mean~”

“Oh hush.” Chuuya reaches out with his spoon and bops Dazai on the nose. The brunette rubs it and whines again, which just makes Chuuya laugh. “If you behave today I’ll pick you up and take you out for crab after we grab your things. There’s a new place downtown I think you’ll like.”

Dazai can’t quite suppress the happy noise that escapes him at that. Although, it just makes Chuuya look fond, which is a look Dazai would give much to see as often as possible. “Chuuya is going to spoil me.”

“As often as you let me, Osamu.” The words are fond too, soft, in a tone that Dazai didn’t even know Chuuya was capable of.

“I love you, you know.” The words leave his mouth before he can overthink them, which is probably a good thing. Chuuya smirks, his eyes bright.

“I know. Love you too, Dazai.”

Chuuya shows up nearly an hour early. Dazai senses his approach, of course, and looks up eagerly as the door opens, only for his gaze to turn dark at the look on his boyfriend’s face. “Chuuya? What’s wrong?”

Instead of answering, and ignoring pretty much everyone else in the office, Chuuya makes a beeline for Dazai’s desk. He pushes it out of the way and crawls into Dazai’s lap. “I forgot how hard the first few days back are,” he mutters into the brunette’s chest. “Last time wasn’t this bad.”

“Last time you hadn’t been thrown through several city blocks’ worth of buildings,” Dazai replies. He waves everyone else off and removes Chuuya’s hat long enough to plant a kiss on crimson hair, which has the added effect of shutting everyone else up (except for Ranpo, who just laughs, and Kyouka, who gives him a solemn thumbs-up he acknowledges with a hint of a smile). “I thought you were just doing paperwork?”

“Baki.”

Oh. “Better now?”

“Yeah. I know you don’t get off for a bit, but can I just…” Chuuya pulls Dazai’s shirt up just a little, enough to be able to slip a hand under and rest it on Dazai’s skin. “Can I stay here for now?”

“Mmm, I think I can handle having a tiny slug on my lap for an hour. Don’t get too frisky, though. You’ll scandalize Kunikida,” Dazai says, kissing him again.

Chuuya scoffs. “I’m not the exhibitionist here.”

Dazai laughs. “Oh really? Because I seem to remember one time when Chuuya was a little too wine drunk and tried to climb-”

A cleared throat interrupts him. Dazai looks up to see Atsushi standing at his desk, ears slightly pink. “Yes, Atsushi-kun?”

“Umm… Nakahara-san, since you’re here, I was wondering if you could clear something up for us.”

“Just Chuuya, kid.” Chuuya sits up a bit and turns to face Atsushi. “You’re the jinko, right? Akutagawa talks about you all the time.”

“Really?” Atsushi squeaks, his ears going bright red. “I mean- o-okay, Chuuya-san. Anyway, Kunikida-san keeps bugging Dazai-san to learn how to cook so he can take care of himself, and Dazai-san claims he’s banned from all kitchens for all time. I asked Akutagawa about it once and he just shuddered and mentioned something called ‘The Incident’, and I was wondering if you’d tell us if that was true or not.”

“Oh, that.” The redhead chuckles as Dazai groans and buries his face in his boyfriend's shoulder. “Yeah. So back when he was in the Mafia we had a couple of safehouses together. When we were 16, this fucking idiot decided to prank me by mixing up a bunch of super smelly foods in one of them. Durian, doenjang, natto, some other really foul shit. And then the Boss called him away for an urgent mission, so it ended up sitting out for like three months because that was when the Dragon’s Head Conflict started and neither of us made it back to that house until it was over.”

“Pretty sure we’ll have to tear the house down and rebuild, because we’ll never get the smell out,” Dazai adds ruefully, then looks up. “Are you okay, Atsushi-kun? You look a little green.”

“Ah, n-no, I’m fine,” the weretiger says, then tilts his head curiously. “How long have you and Na- Chuuya-san been dating?”

It’s Chuuya’s turn to bury his face in Dazai’s chest. Dazai hugs him. “It seems like forever, yet nowhere near long enough. There was something of a long pause in the middle.”

“I see.” Atsushi smiles. “You seem happy.”

“Yeah?” Dazai squeezes Chuuya a little tighter and smiles softly at the content sound Chuuya makes. “I guess I am.”

“Then I’m happy for you.” With that and another, softer, smile, Atsushi goes back to his desk.

“I am too, you know,” Chuuya says quietly. “Happy, I mean.”

Dazai kisses his forehead. “Shall we go home? We can go straight to dinner if you want. I finished my reports and packed my clothes on my lunch break. I don’t really own much else.”

“Sounds good. Let’s go home.” Chuuya stands, then smirks down at Dazai. “You know you’re going to get teased unmercifully for that, don’t you?”

“Yes~” Dazai groans again and sinks down in his chair. “Yosano’s going to be insufferable.”

“Well, at least now they know why I call you a stinky fish. Come on, mackerel.”

“Mean~”