Archive of Our Own

Chuuya’s fist connected gently with Dazai’s chest. It wasn’t gentle by any intention, but because after Dazai had touched him, practically all strength had left him, and he’d gone crashing to the dirt.

Blood was dripping out of Chuuya’s mouth and his nose, and Dazai watched him, a sort of fondness creeping up his chest. He and Chuuya hadn’t done this for quite sometime. Years, in fact. Before, when they were young, it was commonplace and like child’s play after the first few times. They’d always moved together like they were tied by a string, always in sync. Dazai, for the first time, realized that he’d maybe taken that for granted.

Being with Chuuya, working with Chuuya, after he’d left and broken all trust with him, was relieving a weight he hadn’t known was on his shoulders. It felt right, for things between them to be resolved and easy, even if resolved and easy meant shouting at each other. The incessant shouting of Chuuya’s half-baked insults and complaints were almost like a comforting white noise machine of crashing waves.

“You’d better,” Chuuya began, stilted and weak, raspy from the yells and laughter while he’d been in corruption, “take me to the extraction point.”

Dazai held onto Chuuya’s wrist as he watched the rest of his strength leave him. He fell to the ground, fist still pressed up against Dazai’s chest.

Dazai looked at him for several moments, and he found that his mouth was quirked up.

“Ah, Chuuya,” he murmured. He released Chuuya’s hand and set it down. He turned Chuuya over so that he was lying on his back. He brushed the hair that was sticking to his face from the sweat and blood. “You’ll be alright,” he said to himself, fingers finding the thudding pulse in Chuuya’s neck. He looked over him. His hand drifted over Chuuya’s midriff. He was no doctor, but he had studied Chuuya a lot over the years, even if just for this.

Chuuya’s ribs were in tact. He had no other injuries on his arms, his legs, or torso. There was no swelling on his stomach, no sign of internal bleeding. Chuuya was perfectly healthy, aside from exertion, extreme exhaustion, and maybe some pulled muscles. Perfectly healthy was perhaps a stretch, but considering how he could end up, he was fairly alright.

Dazai looked back at Chuuya’s face. Another drop of blood was winding down his nose. Dazai brushed it away. He was breathing deep and slow, chest rising and falling. There was no straining in his lungs. Chuuya would be alright. When he was in this condition, he always woke up within an hour or two, short enough that he often tried to squirm away from Dazai’s help.

Looking at his watch, Dazai considered, and then looked back down at Chuuya. He’d decimated everything while using corruption. Their combined effort had left everyone dead or running. He’d wake in time, before there was any opportunity for something bad to happen. 

Dazai stood, and then he looked down at Chuuya one last time. He turned and walked away.

__________

Chuuya wouldn’t look at him. It hadn’t been long since they’d fought Lovecraft together, but even though they’d made a comeback of sorts together, Chuuya wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t bickering with him either. He would get angry, as was his proclivity to do, but he would suck in a heavy breath as if preparing to let out a string of insults and curses, and then he’d just fix Dazai with a glare, and then turn away.

Dazai, who had found that one of his only joys in life had been bickering with Chuuya, felt put off every time Chuuya would ignore him. 

“Chuuya-kun,” Dazai sang, coming up behind him. He didn’t touch him, but he got close, winding over his shoulder and peering at Chuuya’s stoic face. 

“What the hell do you want,” he muttered, nose turned up as he refused to meet his stare.

“You haven’t spoken to me all day, even though we’re meant to all be discussing plans moving forward. You haven’t even called me a shitty insult. Is Chuuya sick?”

Chuuya finally turned his stare onto him, icy cold and unimpressed. “It’s only been a few days since I last used corruption,” he reminded him. “I’m still tired.”

The lack of rising to the bait was making Dazai feel very uncomfortable—as if something was terribly wrong with Chuuya and they were nonethewiser. “Chuuya,” he said again, just as sickly sweet and wheedling, but with a tone that Dazai rarely used these days.

Chuuya, who was well-versed in each inflection of his tone, seemed to wince. He looked away again.

“Are you not telling me something?” He asked, still airy and light, despite the fact that he was feeling a sort of anger start to boil in his stomach. However, there were others around—Agency members—and he often tried for their sake to not startle them too much. “Is Chuuya hiding something from his master?”

Chuuya was lightning quick. He turned to shove at Dazai, and with the proximity, Dazai knew that it was his brute force alone that propelled him back several steps. He kept the smile on his face while Chuuya seethed at him. That expression was much more comforting. “Shut the hell up, Dazai,” he snapped. “I’m not your dog.”

But even that—something wasn’t right. Dazai stared at him, smile frozen uncomfortably on his face while they moved back into step. Dazai did not feel right.

__________

Not only did he feel like Chuuya was off, but even the others, the members of the Port Mafia who had known Chuuya well enough, even they seemed to let their gazes linger on Chuuya every time he didn’t rise to Dazai’s bait. The issue was, the part that made Dazai so curious, was that it wasn’t that Chuuya had suddenly become calm, or completely unaffected by banter. It was that he was still reacting, still responding, but something about it was subdued.

Dazai had been curious before, and he’d been interested to try and learn this part of Chuuya, too. He’d thought that he’d known everything, but he supposed that there were things to adjust to after four years apart, just like Chuuya would have to learn things about Dazai that he hadn’t seen or known before. But when he’d caught Akutagawa stare at Chuuya in a way that could be described as confused, Dazai felt the interest pique to its highest point. If even Akutagawa was confused, then this was not some new part of Chuuya that Dazai had missed out on since he’d left, but it was something new to them all.

“What the hell are you staring at, bastard,” Chuuya said, not looking up from his phone. He was typing something on it. He was an executive now, so he was quite busy, even when he was taking the time to help the Agency. They didn’t get together often, but there were some days, when they crossed paths while investigating similar happenings, and while they were the enemy, there was a worse, more common enemy to deal with first.

Dazai hummed and tossed his head as his hands came up in a shrug. “Nothing at all. In fact, I could hardly spot you, as small as you are.”

Chuuya sucked his teeth, eyes flicking upwards to send him a glare. “Can’t you come up with anything new to insult me with?”

For a fleeting, almost shocking moment, Dazai wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him. Instead of doing something so uncouth, Dazai only determined to discover what was wrong with him and fix it, before he went truly insane, and before Akutagawa grew the courage to ask and discover it himself. 

__________

Watching Chuuya use corruption was like watching a fireworks show. There was something about it that was startling, almost unsettling, but so fascinating and enchanting that one forgot to be afraid. Perhaps there were others who did not share that sentiment—namely the people Chuuya intended to use corruption on. But Dazai thought that they were missing out on being able to witness it as a spectator. 

There was always the possibility that Dazai would remain the only spectator, solely because he was immune to Chuuya’s ability, and that if left long enough, everyone, whether intended or not, would become an object of opposition for a corrupted Chuuya.

Using corruption when working with Chuuya always left Dazai feeling somewhat bittersweet. It was wonderful, seeing Chuuya work. It filled him with awe and an appreciation to be able to see him, to be fortunate enough that they ever crossed paths, and were born at the same time in order to be able to witness it. But if Chuuya was using corruption, then there was some sort of enemy between them, who couldn’t be defeated with just Dazai’s planning and his own ability, and Chuuya’s gravity manipulation. And it was quite unfortunate that it could do such a number on Chuuya’s health.

Even still, Dazai would watch him. He’d never gotten so lost that he would get distracted, but he did appreciate Chuuya while he would wait until it was time to save him from it. Dazai had always been somewhat smug about his own ability, and how he was always able to stop anything, no matter the strength of it. He felt that same smugness whenever he was the one who had to go save Chuuya from being simply too strong for his own body.

However, there was something to say about the experience of not seeing Chuuya work with corruption at all, and yet waking up to it. There was something to say about dying, knowing Chuuya would come. To wake with a throbbing ache in his jaw, Chuuya’s blank, crazed expression hovering over his, eyes glazed and pupils narrowed to pinpricks, just as Dazai had anticipated.

He’d known Chuuya would come. Even still, Dazai could hardly bear it. He reached up, noting the blood spilling from Chuuya’s mouth, nose, and ears. His hand touched Chuuya’s cheek. The winding red on his skin faded away, and the glazed look in his eye slowly refocused as his pupils widened back out. His face slackened, and he seemed to droop.

“You used corruption believing in me?” Dazai asked, rhetorical but unable to help but to utter it. “How beautiful.”

Chuuya blinked at him, as if difficult to keep his eyes open. His voice was strained, as it always was when he used corruption. “I did,” he said. “I believed in your disgusting vitality and craftiness.”

Dazai’s lips twitched. “That was a violent way to wake up Snow White.”

Chuuya blinked again, just as slow, and when they collided with the ground, Chuuya wasn’t able to keep himself up. His head hovered above Dazai’s lap, and he looked as though he was expending every iota of energy to keep it from falling down. Dazai’s hand rested on the back of his head, and Chuuya jerked slightly. “Let go, asshole.”

Dazai’s fingers slid through his hair. It was dusty and tangled. “Not yet,” he murmured. “The fog is still here. I don’t want to have to protect you from your own ability.”

Chuuya let out a sort of groan, not from frustration, but discomfort and fatigue. Dazai glanced around as Chuuya muttered about it not being over yet.

When Dazai told Chuuya that things seemed to be just beginning, Chuuya shook, muscles quivering where he was still holding himself up.

“I can’t move a single finger,” he breathed out, almost a gasp. He slumped forward.

Dazai looked down at him. His head rested on Dazai’s thigh, face smooth of any lines. His breath was deep and long, and his eyelashes fluttered once before he completely stilled. Dazai’s hand shifted, carding gently through the tangled strands. There was a part of him that was always glad when things were like this—when there was no possible option but to take Chuuya with him. It was a part of himself that he often left unexamined, for there would be nothing good that came from a self-analysis as to why he didn’t like when he had no basis for taking Chuuya with him.

Chuuya’s breaths were some of the only sounds in the quiet. Dazai’s hand moved, until he was closer to Chuuya’s cheek and throat. He felt for his pulse, even though he knew Chuuya’s heart was beating. It thrummed strong against his fingers. He began to check him, as he always did after Chuuya used corruption.

“Truly, how beautiful,” Dazai murmured. “Even though you’ve been acting oddly ever since our confrontation with Lovecraft, you still came.” He paused, hand moving back to Chuuya’s cheek. His thumb pressed to Chuuya’s cheek, and it was smooth and cold. “Even if it was due to your faith in my craftiness.”

Chuuya didn’t stir. He never did, after corruption. It was the only time Dazai got to really look at him, or feel him. Touch wasn’t something he was particularly interested in seeking after, and he wasn’t particularly averse to it either. But with Chuuya—there was something about it. It eased something in him, to caress some part of him when Chuuya was fully within his hands, at his utter mercy.

“Don’t worry, chibi,” he murmured, pushing some hair away that had fallen into Chuuya’s face. “I’ll take care of you.”

__________

And yet, the oddness persisted.

After Chuuya had saved him, it drove Dazai even more mad than it had before. Chuuya had done the one thing only he could do. If it wasn’t for Chuuya, they all would have died. If it wasn’t for Chuuya knowing Dazai, they would have all perished and lost. Dazai’s only plan depended not only on Chuuya, but Chuuya knowing Dazai.

The anger was back again, and it began to fester, bitter and indignant.

Even still, something in him stopped him from asking. Asking felt like giving up. It felt like acknowledging that something was wrong, it had to do with Dazai, and if it was something irreparable, then where could they go from there?

Dazai was a master at keeping his thoughts to himself. There was nothing in him, personal or impersonal, that could leave the confines of his skin. Alone, in his apartment, the human part of him would rise to the surface, and he’d think of everything he mourned, everything he could mourn, and what he most wanted to keep. He would not have difficulty in keeping this new feeling where it belonged—in the shadowed bed of his small living space.

But when things came to Chuuya, it was just a little bit harder. It’d always been harder to control his whims. It was hard to not tease him, and sometimes it was hard to tease him, too. Sometimes he didn’t want to tease Chuuya at all. It was hard not to let his affections show on his face. And sometimes it was very easy, for he often felt frustrated at the affection that never seemed to go away.

It was hard not to worry about Chuuya. It was hard to not actually leash him, if only to make sure he stuck close and remained at his side. It was hard to be selfless, and to do selfless things, to honor his promise to Oda and to himself. It was hard to look at Chuuya, and not grab him by the choker and drag him to and fro, wherever Dazai went.

As Dazai stared at his ceiling, he found himself feeling something that he used to only feel in the very early days, when they were young. Back when he used to wish for conflict, to put the energy and anger he felt somewhere. But also that eager restlessness after Chuuya had become his partner, when conflict meant he got to command Chuuya’s undivided attention, and they got to prove to the world and to themselves, over and over, that they were meant to be together.

__________

They were in a forest again.

Chuuya was on the ground, and Dazai had tried to hold onto his wrist, but when they had crashed into the dirt, the impact had jostled Chuuya’s arm from his hand. He’d been midair when Dazai had gotten to him. It was the sort of position that made Dazai’s brain falter for a moment, trying to come up with a way to get to him even though the only thing between them was air.

He’d made his way up a tree, trying to draw Chuuya’s bloodthirsty attention onto himself, and then when Chuuya had gotten close enough, he’d reached out. Chuuya pulled back at the last moment, and he only got to barely press his fingers into Chuuya’s wrist. Corruption was nullified, but then they’d both gone falling to the ground without it.

Chuuya sucked in a breath several moments after the impact. The wind had been knocked out of him, and in his already fragile state, the pause had made Dazai’s chest flip as he waited for him to start breathing again. Dazai moved over to him, limbs aching, and grabbed Chuuya’s hand. Even though the ability had already been canceled out, and corruption had stopped, the presence of Arahabaki was always closer right after using it.

Dazai moved onto his knees, somewhat painfully, but kept a grip on Chuuya’s hand as he hovered next to him. A smirk pulled at his mouth. “It’s always a little funny to see you fall victim to gravity.”

Chuuya’s breath was heavy and wet. Blood was bubbling up out of his mouth, and for a fleeting moment, Dazai could only think about how this was the only way he saw Chuuya lately. So much was happening between their respective agencies, and so much was happening in opposition of Yokohama. When they were together, it was for this—for corruption. Chuuya was always bleeding, always tired, always fragile, even though he was also indestructible it seemed sometimes, full of a passionate energy, and the strongest person Dazai knew.

The proof of Chuuya’s dichotomous presentation was evident in the way his eyes rolled over to Dazai, shiny with irritation and unshed tears as some unknown ailment twinged at him. He shifted uncomfortably, as if he was on a tree root, but the ground was flat beneath them. “Couldn’t you have waited until I was close enough to fall into the tree instead?” He rasped.

Dazai laughed lowly, shifting his fingers imperceptibly so he could begin his routine check of Chuuya’s state with feeling the strength of his pulse. “Chuuya is so tiny it wouldn’t have mattered anyway—he would have just fallen through the branches.”

Chuuya’s gaze sharpened for a moment before he shifted again, hissing through his teeth. “Fuck,” he muttered. “You’re a piece of shit. If you had gotten close enough maybe I could have finally killed you and been at peace for once.”

“Is Chuuya forgetting that if I died in this state, he would, too?” Dazai’s voice was almost sing-song as the pressure of his fingers increased until he could feel Chuuya’s blood thrumming under his skin.

“At least it’d be quiet,” Chuuya muttered half-heartedly. “Sick of your annoying voice.”

Dazai smiled again, and when Chuuya’s eyes squeezed shut and he winced again, Dazai looked over him. Chuuya often passed out at this point, but he wasn’t. It was always harder to gauge his state when he was conscious, as Chuuya was ever difficult in matters like that.

Chuuya didn’t seem to have any external injuries. Dazai looked back at Chuuya’s face, and a tear had leaked from his eye, pinkish with the blood it was mixing with.

“What hurts?” Dazai asked.

Chuuya’s eyes blinked open, almost vacant as he stared up at the sky above them. “Everything.”

Dazai considered him. “More than normal.”

Chuuya nodded once. “I’m going to pass out soon,” he strained. “You can go now.”

Dazai did not see the correlation. “Hah?”

Chuuya shifted again, and his eyes closed once more as he grimaced again. He shifted, his shoes making a scuffling sound along the dirt. It seemed to loud, after what he’d said. “I said you can go,” he squeezed out. “Ane-san is coming. She’ll take care of it.”

Dazai’s fingers were frozen against Chuuya’s still-thudding pulse. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. “What?”

“Go,” Chuuya said again, a little harsher. “You have things to deal with, I’m completely incapacitated, and Ane-san is coming. Leave.”

If Kouyou was coming and Chuuya knew it, then it meant that he’d told her he anticipated using corruption before the conflict with Dostoevsky’s men, and had told her if he used it, to come find him.

“Chuuya must not trust me anymore, if he’s calling for Kouyou-san before using corruption.” His voice was almost unfamiliar to himself. He couldn’t remember the last time it’d sounded like that.

Chuuya’s eyes opened and he looked at Dazai. He just stared at him.

It made Dazai’s skin itch. Something was rolling almost unnoticeably in his gut. It was something dark and unpleasant. It was something he hadn’t felt since Oda had died. “Kouyou-san is who you called?” He drawled. “Is Chuuya so sensitive that he needs a gentler hand?”

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed somewhat. “Just go, Dazai. I know you have things to do.”

Dazai stared back at him. Chuuya wasn’t arguing. He didn’t sound angry. He didn’t sound petulant or upset. He was just stating facts, that his Ane-san was coming, Dazai was busy, and that he could go. It was almost like how he spoke to his subordinates, giving orders not because he was an authoritarian, but because it was what needed to be done. 

It got under Dazai’s skin unlike anything else, to have Chuuya of all people calmly telling him what needed to be done, when Dazai had done this very job at least a dozen times. Chuuya was in worse shape than normal, and he was telling Dazai he didn’t know what to do. It made that dormant rage begin to boil in him again.

Ever-present even outside of his own thoughts and feelings, Dazai distantly realized that he didn’t want to leave Chuuya. He’d already not wanted to leave him on the verge of death, where others could get to him and hurt him in his vulnerable state. But then to be told to go anyway because Chuuya had called for someone else—Dazai would have shaken him if he didn’t think it actually might kill him.

“You forget who commands who,” Dazai said, voice still dark and low. He hadn’t meant to sound that way. “Who creates the rules, between a man and his dog?”

Chuuya looked tired when he said that. “Ane-san is coming, whether you like it or not. If you stay, it’ll end in a fight. She already hates that you’re with me on these missions.”

Whether or not Dazai liked it, Chuuya was right that it would end in an argument at the very least, prolonging medical care that Chuuya needed right away. 

Chuuya took advantage of Dazai’s thoughtful silence. “It almost seems as though you’re worried for me,” he said drily. “Even though I know that simply couldn’t be the case, I can assure you it will be fine. There is a lot going on right now, and I imagine the less experienced members of your Agency need your assistance.”

As Dazai stared down at him, he felt like he could almost see the swirling anger and upset in his stomach turn and mist away into a sort of emptiness. It sucked everything out of him, as if someone had removed all of his organs from his torso and left him hollow.

Chuuya watched it happen, whether he knew what it was or not, and his eyes were brimming with blood. His eyes closed slowly, and blood dripped out over his cheeks. Dazai watched him, and he waited to see if the rising and falling of Chuuya’s chest remained constant and steady. When he counted ten breaths, Dazai let go of Chuuya’s wrist.

He didn’t go far. A part of him was hoping that it was a bluff. He went into the trees, not so far that he couldn’t see Chuuya, and hid. He waited, watching Chuuya the entire time, and remained still until he could hear the sound of another set of footsteps.

When he heard them, what replaced that yawning chasm inside of him was a burning flame. There was no opportunity anymore to take Chuuya anyway, to berate him for lying, and demand that Chuuya be indebted to him forever for saving his life. Instead, he watched Kouyou approach Chuuya, kneel beside him, and fuss over him as she checked over his state.

Chuuya really had called Kouyou. He’d really thought he would use corruption and would need someone to come for him, which meant he had expected either to die or to be left. And if Chuuya believed either of those things enough to need someone to come and get him, then Chuuya really did not trust Dazai anymore.

As Kouyou began moving Chuuya, he stirred. Kouyou said something too low for Dazai to hear, and Chuuya responded at a volume that Dazai could only hardly pick up.

“—offered to stay. Told him you were coming.”

There was no bite to his words. Again, only stating what had happened.

Even if Chuuya hadn’t trusted him, Dazai had offered. It was more than not trusting, it was not wanting. Dazai was on the ground, but it felt like he was up in the air again, grasping at Chuuya’s wrist and watching it slip away.

__________

When Dazai was alone, yet again staring up at the ceiling above his bed, and things were almost unbearably quiet, he thought about Chuuya. After Kouyou had taken Chuuya to get treated and Dazai had gone back to help the Agency with their own conflicts with Dostoevsky’s men, he’d felt almost as if someone had vacuumed all of the feeling out of him.

It was odd, the familiarity of a state of feeling and state of being that he hadn’t felt since he was fifteen. He hadn’t felt it in over seven years, and yet feeling it as he laid in bed, an adult now, he simply just felt fifteen again. It was like everything that he’d accomplished had been stripped away, and he was nothing but anger and emptiness.

Chuuya hadn’t been someone he expected to lose. He had faith in Chuuya’s ability to survive. He hadn’t ever anticipated seeing Chuuya die and he had never anticipated that he would lose him while he was still alive either. Both had seemed like impossible, unrealistic scenarios. Diamonds polish diamonds. There was no possible way for either Dazai or Chuuya to become anything less than a diamond. It was who they were, on a fundamental level. How could that be taken away? And yet, it had felt so.

When lying down on his back had begun to feel like lying in a coffin, Dazai sat up and leaned back against the wall. It was still dark in his room, and he stared blankly at the space between his closet and the closet door, where his room was blackest. As he stared, he felt the anger begin to overtake the emptiness. 

Nothing had changed between them. Everything had been going as they always had between them, and Chuuya had saved Dazai and Dazai was willing to save Chuuya, if Chuuya hadn’t called for Kouyou. And if these things were true, then there was something that had occurred that Dazai was unaware of. And if someone or something had convinced Chuuya to turn against him, to doubt them, then Dazai wanted to end it, to end them.

Staring at that blank space in his room made him feel even more like he was fifteen again, and when he blinked, he remembered that he wasn’t. He wasn’t supposed to be that way anymore. He wasn’t supposed to kill people, multitudes of them, for his own selfish reasons. He was supposed to be doing better, to be using his strengths for good. But none of that had ever changed his urges, and as he sat in his room, he wanted to hurt whoever had done this. He wanted to hurt whoever had taken the only thing that had ever felt like his. And perhaps he really was acting like a child, who’d had their favorite toy ripped from their hands. But that was another urge that had never quite left Dazai. Chuuya had always felt like, in some capacity, his own.

It didn’t matter that Chuuya was loyal to other people, loved other people, or would die for other people. In the end, Chuuya was for him, and he was for Chuuya. It felt almost like a waste of breath to utter why, to give thought to why, or to think that he’d have to convince anybody of it, including himself. It just was. It was written in everything that had ever been.

When Dazai had left, he had anticipated that he would lose Chuuya’s trust. It was something that he had expected, had even fabricated to ensure it. Yet, when he’d seen him again for the first time, he’d known that he hadn’t succeeded. And even though he’d thought he had lost Chuuya’s trust and that he’d broken them apart, it had been something done purposefully, with an agenda. Because he’d known that any other way wouldn’t have worked, or would have been even more painful than it already was to separate, he’d felt a reluctant acceptance to it. 

Dazai could acknowledge that perhaps it was much too optimistic to have assumed when things had felt normal between them, regardless of their opposing affiliation, that things were the same, or better, or could be easy the way they had been. Dazai had never been known for his optimism, and he’d learned the hard way, at least twice now, that optimism and goodness were luxuries people like Dazai could not afford.

He’d never known what it was like to be treated the way Chuuya treated everyone else. Now that he had tasted it, he found he never wanted to touch that feeling again. It had been easier to not see or speak to Chuuya at all than to be near him and treated as though they had never been what they were. Dazai wasn’t even sure any typical word could describe what it was. All he knew was that it had been priceless to him. The one thing he’d ever had that felt like a right, a gift, a constant, and worthy of his faith.

And he’d thought about it—about Chuuya—over and over. He thought about it the entire night, and the next day, and then the day after that.

He thought about Chuuya when he went back to the Agency after his brief break. He thought about it when Kunikida tried to get him to work after he’d been caught staring at a blank screen for two hours. He thought about Chuuya when the rest of them stared at him, whispered about him, and spoke to him.

Dazai was silent in his attempt to not lash out. For often he was volleying between that chasm of emptiness and that fiery anger, to the point that his body would feel hot underneath his coat. 

He’d already determined after the first night alone in his room that the consequences of Chuuya not trusting Dazai needed to be rectified and discussed immediately. Using corruption had always required a sense of mutual understanding, and if something had changed, Dazai needed to know, and so did Chuuya.

He’d wanted to go to Chuuya right away, demand that he tell him what was wrong, but unbearably, he knew that Chuuya would still be recovering. When Chuuya was that depleted after using corruption, he’d always needed a few days to recover. And those days passed for Dazai the way days would pass while being tortured in enemy hands.

Chuuya taking so long to recover was also a source of his incandescent rage. If he’d let Dazai take care of him, as he always did, then he’d know more about Chuuya’s condition instead of a flimsy estimate on it. Chuuya had no right, Dazai thought, to make this sudden decision regarding what had always been true between them. 

It also made Dazai angry how undeniably upset about it he felt. It drove him mad, to think that Chuuya didn’t trust him. Perhaps it would be fair to distrust Dazai’s intentions, or to not trust his honesty, or his plans. But it was another to not trust himself in Dazai’s hands, when he’d never done anything but make sure Chuuya was safe, healthy, and alive. And Chuuya knew, firsthand, how infrequently Dazai had made that a priority for others.

When it felt like it’d been long enough, and that he might do something irreversible if he didn’t go, Dazai went to Chuuya’s apartment.

Chuuya had been in the same place for years, and Dazai had known as soon as he moved in. There were times when he wondered if Mori would ever require Chuuya to use corruption without Dazai, or if they’d found some way to reverse the effects of it without Dazai’s knowledge. To some degree, he’d felt as though keeping minimal tabs on Chuuya would be best, for everyone, and so he had.

But even in that, Dazai had to wonder if his claims about it being for others’ sake was simply the excuse he would use if someone were to ever ask him.

Getting into Chuuya’s apartment had been easy. He’d waited, standing still in the entry way to Chuuya’s living room, in the dark, until he decided that Chuuya might not return for some time. He pondered, for only a few moments, if he should or shouldn’t look through Chuuya’s things, but his feet were already moving before he’d even finished the thought.

Chuuya’s room was spotless, almost as if he never stepped foot in it. The same could have been said for his living room and kitchen, too, but even those rooms had seemed as though they’d experienced more of Chuuya than this. The bed was crisp and clean, and neatly made. His bedside table was pristine and spotless. The rug in the center of the room laid perfectly flat to the floor, all corners flush to the wood.

His closet door was shut, and Dazai went to open it. His clothes hung on the rods, and there were a few cubbies where folded clothes laid in their designated spot. For a moment, Dazai wondered if this was some weird attempt at making an apartment look lived in despite never having been touched.

But Chuuya was Chuuya, and he’d always been neat. And, he was a workaholic, always at the headquarters, only really ever coming to and fro to sleep, if even that.

Dazai wondered if the living room had looked more lived in solely because Chuuya would come home and never even make it to the bed.

He rifled through Chuuya’s things. He looked through the hanging pants and shirts and jackets, and he checked the walls behind them. He looked behind the cubbies, and along the lining of the floor. When he found nothing other than accessories and clothes, he left Chuuya’s closet and moved over to the dresser on the side of the room.

Dazai went through the drawers. He still found only clothes, and one drawer on the bottom was junk, odds and ends that meant nothing to Dazai, and likely not that much to Chuuya either. There was a discarded letter opener, rubber bands, a comb, and a few other even more meaningless pieces.

Straightening from where he’d crouched down to rifle through the bottom drawer, he glanced around the room again. He went over to the bed and peeked behind the headboard. There seemed to be something behind it. Dazai immediately moved back to start tugging the bed out of the way, but before he could do anything further, the door to the apartment opened.

Dazai quietly nudged the bed back into place and walked over to the bedroom door. He heard Chuuya putting his coat and shoes away in the cupboard, and then Dazai stepped into the hallway, steps silent.

Chuuya didn’t move further into the apartment. He began moving around the kitchen. The fridge opened just as Dazai stepped to the end of the hallway. He watched him from there. Chuuya moved toward the stove, a package of meat set out onto the counter. He grabbed a knife to slice the plastic open, and then froze.

His head lifted slowly. Dazai noted that Chuuya wasn’t wearing his hat at the moment, and something about it made Dazai feel a little nostalgic. 

He knew that Chuuya had detected him, but he remained in the shadowed hallway, watching him. Chuuya was still and silent for several long moments, and then his shoulders relaxed. He set the knife down.

Chuuya turned away from the packaged meat and then walked around the kitchen island. He moved over to the living room, still within line of sight of the hallway, and sat down on the couch. He put his chin in his hand as he looked at Dazai.

“Why are you in my apartment?” He asked. Even though he was acting calm, Dazai knew that he was angry. There was a strain in his voice, and his eyes were droopy and unimpressed.

“I needed to have a conversation with my dog,” Dazai said. Again, that darkened tone. It was familiar, though it had been some time since he’d used it.

Chuuya’s jaw twitched. “Stop calling me your dog, asshole.”

He wanted Chuuya to argue with him. To start yapping and barking exactly like the thing he always denied being. He was the only one who’d take the piss with Dazai. At least, the only one who would do it while also knowing every deep and dark chasm of monstrosities Dazai was capable of, had done, and wouldn’t feel guilty doing again.

“There’s a conversation we need to have,” Dazai said, ignoring Chuuya’s comment. He walked toward the couch.

Chuuya watched him. He didn’t look like he thought Dazai was going to hurt him, but he didn’t look fully at ease either. “About what?”

Dazai stood over him, only a few inches between their legs. “You’ve made a very serious decision on your own—one that requires an agreement between the both of us.”

Chuuya’s stare was unblinking, and he began looking a little angrier, just like Dazai liked. “What decisions could I be making that requires your input?”

Instead of broaching the topic in a way he might have with someone from his new life, Dazai found himself broaching it just as he would when they were teenagers—angrily, to the point, and with no regard for the other party. “You’ve decided you have a death wish, which is supposed to be my thing by the way, and have dragged me into it.”

“Hah?” Chuuya said, face slackening and head lifting from his chin as he looked at Dazai in something close to bewilderment. His voice raised in volume somewhat. It stoked something inside of Dazai, something famished and starving. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t trust me anymore.”

Chuuya scoffed, a bark of a laugh, and he leaned back into the couch. “Anymore? When did you ever describe the nature of our partnership as trusting?”

That wound into Dazai’s chest like a knife. “Is Chuuya so silly and his brain so small that he doesn’t understand how basic of a necessity trust is in order to do what we do?”

“What we do?” Chuuya asked, voice getting heated again. “You mean what I do, don’t you? You’re off with your detective agency now. Maybe it was something we did. But we don’t do that anymore.”

“The most dangerous part of it we still do,” Dazai said flatly. “We’ve done it three times already, in a comparably short amount of time, when considering the interim.”

Chuuya sucked his teeth harshly and he glanced away. “I don’t know what you’re going on about with trust. You’re accusing me of not trusting you, as if you have some sort of problem with it, even though I still do it, don’t I?”

Dazai was silent.

“I know you won’t let me die.” Chuuya looked back at him. “That’s all I’ve ever needed, in order to use corruption.”

Dazai narrowed his eyes at him. “If that were the case, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

Chuuya’s eyes flashed, more irritation rippling over his face, and it kept poking at that fire within Dazai’s gut. “None of what has been needed has changed. I know you won’t let me die, I know that you’d never let me just destroy Yokohama. I know that. What the hell is the problem with that?”

Dazai wanted to wring his neck. “Know, know, know,” he hissed. He bent down, face even with Chuuya’s. His hand snatched out to grab Chuuya’s face and keep his gaze. Chuuya squirmed against the hold, brows furrowed. “I don’t care about what you know, Chuuya. We’re talking about trust.”

Chuuya’s eyes flickered between Dazai’s, and his body was rigid, as if he was unsure of what to expect. That made Dazai angry, too. “You’re here because you think that I have, in some capacity, lost trust in you.”

“Yes.”

Chuuya was quiet for a moment. “What if I say yes?”

Dazai’s fingers dug into his cheeks.

“Do you even know?” Chuuya asked, a bite in his hushed voice. “Do you know what you’ll do if I tell you I don’t trust you anymore?”

Dazai wasn’t sure what kind of face he made, but it must have been one Chuuya hadn’t seen before. His jaw went a little soft, as if in surprise.

Chuuya swallowed, and the movement bobbed along his throat. He didn’t look afraid, even though there was no way for him to use his ability with Dazai’s hand on his face. He did, however, look apprehensive. His voice was a little bit hesitant, a little bit too soft. “It’s not anything drastic, Dazai.”

Dazai took a moment to not try and throw Chuuya from the window. He sneered. “Nothing drastic?” He asked. “Tell me, dog, what would be a more drastic situation in which you trusting me was more important?”

Chuuya’s jaw clenched again. “If you call me dog one more time—”

“Dog.”

Chuuya grabbed Dazai’s wrist and he squeezed, the force of it crushing on Dazai’s wrist. Dazai sometimes forgot that he was strong, too, even without his ability. “You piece of shit, I will throw you from the window if you don’t stop—”

Dazai laughed, and his hand released its grip on Chuuya’s face.

Chuuya’s lips jutted out in something akin to a pout, but he let go of Dazai’s wrist, too. His hands fell into his lap. “I don’t know what you’re angry about,” he eventually muttered. “Whether it be trust or belief or knowing, I know you wouldn’t let corruption go unchecked. That’s the most important thing.”

“And the other, less important things?” Dazai asked sharply.

“What other things—”

“Kouyou.”

Chuuya blinked at him. Then, he looked away, and Dazai knew that Chuuya knew exactly what he’d been getting at the entire time. He sucked his teeth again.

“I’ve done plenty of things before that deserved you to lose trust in me. Yet it’s now that you lose it. What the hell could have possibly happened between now and the dragon?”

Chuuya wouldn’t look at him. “There was just no one to call then,” he muttered.

Dazai stared at him. “You—” He wasn’t even sure how to continue his line of thoughts. “You did all of that, knew all that you knew, and still thought I was going to just leave you in that fog, to be killed by your own ability?”

“I didn’t think that,” Chuuya snapped. “I just wasn’t sure—”

“That may as well be the same thing,” Dazai snapped back.

Chuuya sighed heavily, almost a groan, and slumped back into the couch. “Oh, cut it out with the drama, Dazai.”

Dazai grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him forward. “Tell me what the hell happened. Fine, it happened before that incident. Between now and Lovecraft then. Did someone say something to you?”

Chuuya stared at him, almost like he was trying to gauge if Dazai was being serious. 

Dazai shook him slightly. “Tell me.”

Chuuya began to look uncomfortable. He shifted. “It was Lovecraft.”

“You’re mad that I didn’t bring you to the extraction point?” Dazai asked, incredulous. “I’ve done that a thousand times.”

“Yeah, but it’s all been times that I wasn’t that hurt,” Chuuya said. He grabbed Dazai’s wrist again and began to tug Dazai’s hand off. “Whenever you left me somewhere, it was never that big of a deal.”

Dazai let go of Chuuya’s shirt, but he only straightened to stare down his nose at Chuuya again. “You think that was a big deal? I’ve been dealing with your corrupted states for years, you were fine, just as you always are when I leave you somewhere.”

Chuuya stared at him again, once more as if he was waiting to see if Dazai was joking.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Dazai said darkly.

Chuuya blinked and the expression melted away, as if he hadn’t noticed. “That’s exactly the issue. You do know, yet I wasn’t fine that time. It’s a shitty excuse, Dazai, even for you.”

“You were fine,” Dazai asserted. “I checked you.”

Chuuya blinked again.

“And I know you. I would have known.”

Chuuya still wasn’t speaking, and it was starting to make Dazai angry again. He wanted to grab his shoulders, shake him, and then shake him again and again, until Chuuya went back to normal.

“Chuuya,” he hissed.

“I was lucky,” Chuuya said eventually. “I was unconscious for hours, and when I woke, Lovecraft and Steinbeck’s men had come to look for them. The only reason they didn’t kill me or take me was because some of my own men had come looking, when no one had seen me long after they were supposed to.”

Dazai stared at him.

“If they hadn’t come, I’d be dead.”

Dazai stared.

“Or they would be torturing me.”

Dazai couldn’t think.

Chuuya was watching the way Dazai was certain his entire body had stilled and his eyes had gone distant as he retreated back into his mind to comb over every detail of that night again. Dazai thought about even the day before, all of it. He thought about when he’d checked Chuuya for his injuries.

“How long were you unconscious?”

Chuuya almost looked smug when Dazai’s eyes refocused. He looked like he’d never seen Dazai be wrong before, and it had been his only goal. “I don’t know exactly. I think the sun was starting to rise.”

If the sun had started to rise, it meant that Chuuya had been lying in the woods for at least six hours. Dazai stared at him. “I know you,” he hissed out, angry and unrestrained in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever been before. “Your injuries weren’t that bad. You should have woken up within an hour or two, well before anyone came to look. You would have had plenty of time to get away.”

Chuuya looked a bit curious at that.

Dazai hated it. He hated the face Chuuya was making, as if they didn’t know each other, or what to expect of each other. Like they weren’t who they were, like Dazai didn’t know Chuuya well enough. He knew Chuuya better than anyone and anything.

Chuuya sighed a little. “I suppose you couldn’t have known, now that I think about it. Leading up to it, I hadn’t been eating or sleeping very well. It’d also been quite some time since using corruption.”

That didn’t do anything to abate the slow-tearing inside of Dazai’s chest. So what, if Chuuya hadn’t slept or ate well? “You’re careful about that,” Dazai said. “You always have been. Especially if you know something is coming up where you might need to use it.”

Chuuya began to look annoyed. He straightened, and there was a fire in his gaze. “Why don’t you think about it, Dazai?” He practically spat. “What could have possibly happened in recent times that might affect my sleeping or appetite?”

Dazai held himself carefully still. “It’s not worth considering,” he said, a touch meanly. “If Chuuya wants me to know, he should tell me.”

Chuuya stood up abruptly, as if that had snapped the last semblance of self-control he had. He went straight back to the kitchen, and he began to prepare his food again, movements jerky and rough. He was infuriated, yet he pretended as though Dazai wasn’t there.

Dazai stared at him for a while, but he couldn’t take it anymore when Chuuya began to wash rice. He marched over to the kitchen. “You don’t get to bow out of this,” he said. “If you don’t trust me, then we have to discuss it. We can’t be using corruption if you don’t trust me.”

Chuuya paused, hand in the water. He was staring blankly at the countertop, almost as if he was thinking about it. “Clearly I trust you enough to use it. I’ve used it twice since Lovecraft. Can’t that be enough?”

“No,” Dazai snapped. He was losing the plot to his own excuses, and they were getting dangerously close to being inarguable. “We can’t. If you haven’t trusted me the last two times, then it’s merely luck that you didn’t die.”

“I already told you,” Chuuya said, eerily calm. “I know you wouldn’t let it go on more than necessary. The havoc I would wreak is too great a risk. Beyond that, there is no need for any more.”

“You trusted me to get you out of corruption and that was it. You called for Kouyou-san the second time. And the time before then?”

“Again, I told you,” Chuuya said. “There were no other options. If I couldn’t get you out, it didn’t matter if I died trying. Either I saved you and lived, or I saved you and I died. Both were acceptable outcomes, given the circumstances.”

Dazai felt like he was going to throw up from something purely unrelated to anything other than his feelings.

Chuuya continued to wash his rice methodically, and it was getting to the point that they’d be oversaturated before even getting to cook. Still, he kept washing. “We can still use corruption. I still trust you to get me out of it. I will only change one thing, in that if I suspect I need to use it, I will notify someone to search for me if I do happen to use it.

Dazai’s words were, thankfully, stuck in his throat, because none of them would have made sense. He took a moment to think. “This is more than distrust with me in regards to you, but also distrust in my ability to gauge a situation, you know that, don’t you?” His tone was, once again, black.

Chuuya pulled his hand from the water and set the bowl down on the counter. His fingers dripped into the sink as he grasped the edge of the counter and leaned onto it. He turned his head to look at Dazai, eyes piercing. “How can I trust you, really?”

It felt akin to having his lungs squeezed.

“You know more than anyone on this planet. I trust that. But even that wasn’t enough, for you didn’t know that I wouldn’t wake up within your timeframe. You don’t know me well enough anymore for me to trust you to make that choice. If you had just done what I asked, your timeframe wouldn’t have mattered.”

It was more than a blow to Dazai’s ego, but endlessly painful to his heart. To hear Chuuya say that was worse than many things he’d heard before—possibly the worst. He kept his face carefully blank, regardless of the rolling in his chest. He licked his teeth and then let out a flourish of a sigh. “Well,” he began, almost gentle. “You didn’t die, did you? Perhaps my plan didn’t go according to the way I’d thought, but it still yielded the same result. Could I really have been that wrong then? I knew you wouldn’t die so easily.”

Chuuya’s eyebrows furrowed, in a way that almost looked hurt. He turned back to the rice, still soaking in water. “Get out, Dazai. I’m still tired from using it a few days ago.”

“Chuuya,” he said. He wanted Chuuya to look at him again, but he didn’t seem to want to. “Do you want to continue using corruption?”

Chuuya’s eyes moved over the murky rice water. Dazai could hear the sound of his breathing in the quiet. Eventually, mouth in a tight line, he nodded.

“Alright then,” Dazai said. “You will use corruption, I’ll get you out of it, and then your precious Ane-san can save you.”

Dazai left.

__________

Settling the issue did not leave anything feeling settled.

Even though he’d told Chuuya that it wasn’t worth considering why he hadn’t eaten or slept before using corruption against Lovecraft, Dazai found himself thinking about it very deeply ever since he’d left Chuuya’s apartment.

The first night he’d gone back to his own apartment, he’d thought about it. He thought about everything, really. He thought about some self-pitying sorts of things, too, in a degree he hadn’t felt in quite some time. He thought about the throbbing ache in his stomach and in his chest, and he thought about it all over again.

Dazai, for all of his faults, also had some strengths, and one of the biggest was his mind. Chuuya had said as much, and had said that was why it had been hard to trust him. Because Dazai should have known. And, when the answer came to him, Dazai found that Chuuya was right—he should have known. He should have thought of it sooner.

It had been practically amateur to have not considered it. To not consider, despite the way in which Dazai had left, that seeing one another again, would cause Chuuya some type of distress, whatever it might be. Dazai knew Chuuya. He’d known him well enough to leave the way he did. And if that was the kind of person Chuuya was, the kind who would need to be told so boldly not to follow, then Dazai should have considered that Chuuya wouldn’t be unaffected by a reunion.

And, Dazai supposed, in a way he had been, too. Being with Chuuya—it made him feel like he was young again. It always had. Not always in a bad way, but in an almost innocent sort of way. Chuuya, no matter what way Dazai looked at it, was precious to him. He could not exalt his own mind and not be able to admit that. 

The days passed, and things were quiet enough that there had been no interaction with the Port Mafia. Dazai was unsurprised, and not particularly disappointed. He was practiced at doing nothing about the whims he buried to the depths of himself. He’d gone four years without Chuuya. And he had missed him, in such an irrevocable way that he hadn’t even really needed to even think about it. It had become such a constant, and amidst other grief and mourning. It had been almost easy, to accept the hollowness he felt and then keep moving.

But Dazai had not realized how hollow he’d really felt, until he saw Chuuya come down those stairs after being caught. When Chuuya had stood at the top, and then made his way down, and his hand wrapped around Dazai’s throat, it was more akin to touching the tip of a lit match to a pool of gasoline.

Now that it’d been so long, and now that there wasn’t anything else to attach his grieving to, the absence of him was infinitely harder to ignore.

Dazai clicked around on his computer, holding the button down and then dragging the cursor over the screen, capturing items on the desktop, and making different shaped squares, over and over.

Some of the others were talking, and Ranpo was crinkling a bag of chips. He could tell that Kunikida was looking over at him every few moments, but what was different was that for the past few days, Kunikida hadn’t been bothering him to work as much as he normally did.

Dazai knew that he was backing off because someone must have told him to. He could feel the stares of Fukuzawa, when he was around, and Atsushi almost all the time. Sometimes, Dazai could hear Atsushi and Kyoka murmuring about it not that far from where Dazai sat. He never bothered to say anything.

“Did someone anger you?”

Dazai blinked and then glanced up over his screen. “Hmm?”

Kunikida wasn’t really looking at him. He was still typing on his own computer. He repeated his question. “Did someone make you angry? Or is there some problem you’ve finally encountered that you can’t figure out?”

Dazai found that to be quite the ironic sort of commentary. The corners of his lips lifted and he leaned his chin onto his hand as he peered at Kunikida. “Aah, is Kunikida-kun worried about me?”

Kunikida finally looked at him, and his face was scrunched into a near-disgusted sneer. “What makes you say that? You always look furious—there’s nothing about you to worry about, and more like whoever the object of your ire is.”

Dazai smiled a little wider. “I’m not dangerous!” He protested with a laugh. He put both hands beneath his chin and smiled a little sweeter. “Does this face look like it could hurt someone?”

“Yes,” Kunikida said flatly.

Dazai let his smile fall into a pout and then he let out a deep sigh and pushed to tilt back in his chair. “So cruel, so cruel, Kunikida-kun.”

“Tch,” Kunikida muttered, moving to look back at his computer. He was silent for a few moments, before asking the same question. “So who are you angry at?”

“I'm unsure why you think I’m angry,” Dazai relented, pushing with his feet so that his swivel chair spun him in a slow circle. “I’m bored.”

“You’re looking the way you do before doing something dangerously close to a heinous crime,” Kunikida said blandly.

Dazai let the swivel chair come to a stop, but it stopped so that he was facing the window. He looked down toward the sidewalk. Someone who looked suspiciously like Akutagawa was walking by. Dazai tilted his head. He’d been avoiding Akutagawa the past few days. He kept running into him on the street, and every time Akutagawa caught sight of him, Dazai would high-tail it in the other direction.

“Do you think I’m about to commit a heinous crime, Kunikida-kun?” He asked, a little amused, as he turned back in his chair to face his desk.

Kunikida shook his head slightly. “No, but I can only imagine that someone has done something to upset you. You haven’t done any work, yet you have that expression on your face nearly every time I look at you.”

Dazai shrugged a little. “No one has made me angry, and I can assure you I have no plans to commit a heinous crime.”

Kunikida nodded then, as if this assurance was enough for him.

“What about you, though?” Dazai asked, leaning forward. “You’re also acting quite odd. Normally you’re always whining at me to do more work. Why have you been so quiet?”

Kunikida glanced at him, and the typing on his computer faltered somewhat. He pursed his lips, as if trying to look unbothered by the question, and went back to typing.

“Are you frightened you’ll set me off?” Dazai asked, finding that very funny. He began to laugh. “Are you frightened of me, Kunikida-kun?”

“Absolutely not,” he immediately snapped, sending Dazai a glare. “You’re the least frightening person I know, in fact. Your ability is defensive and not offensive, and despite having a brain, you elect to never use it. What’s there to be afraid of?”

Dazai laughed again, a little lower. “Very true, Kunikida-kun, that is an astute observation.”

Kunikida sneered at him again. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Who’s patronizing?” Dazai said, holding up his hands innocently.

Kunikida huffed once through his nose and then turned a little farther away from Dazai, despite the fact that it put him at an odd angle, just to nonverbally express that he was done with the conversation.

“Kunikida-kun is right,” Ranpo called from his desk.

Ranpo was the only one that Dazai did not want to have that conversation with. Dazai turned his serene smile over to Ranpo. “Right?” He parroted. “I’m sure Kunikida-kun would be very happy to hear you say so, Ranpo-san!”

“Dazai,” Kunikida said harshly in reprimand.

Dazai laughed again and leaned back in his chair.

“You have been making some interesting faces, Dazai,” Ranpo commented. “And I have to agree that they are the same faces that you make when you do something surprisingly productive.”

Dazai had a wheedling urge to turn that look onto Ranpo, and unleash the full heat of it, for it had always been effective. But he was not that person anymore, and despite Ranpo’s abrasiveness, he was well-meaning. Perhaps more than any of the other Agency members. “Well,” Dazai said easily, “whether I am or not, I don’t exactly have any reason to, or any reason to notice why either.”

Ranpo’s eyes narrowed very briefly, as if trying to call him a liar as loudly as he could without really saying it. Then, his face evened back out, and he turned back to his bag of chips.

Dazai looked away from him and back to his computer. The screensaver had come on, and there were bouncing bubbles volleying from one end of the screen to the other. 

It hadn’t been that Dazai hadn’t noticed he was letting that mask slip. He was self-aware enough for that. It was more about him not caring at the moment. A part of reverting to many adolescent feelings also meant feeling grossly unconcerned about anything except himself. 

Back then, it didn’t matter when he and Chuuya didn’t get along. They still had to work together, and Chuuya had always remained the most reactive person Dazai had ever met. It didn’t matter how cruel Dazai was to him, Chuuya always shot something cruel back. And, at the end of the day, Dazai saved Chuuya, and Chuuya saved Dazai, and they knew the other would do it.

Ranpo and Kunikida had been right. Dazai had been feeling young again lately. And when he was young, there were moments when he’d wanted to kill Kouyou. He’d been fully capable. He’d been capable of killing many of the Port Mafia members. Sometimes, he would lie awake in his bed, and on the nights when Chuuya was with Kouyou, Dazai would fantasize about it. He’d fantasize about taking her away from him, and making Chuuya rely only on him. And he thought about how if Chuuya found anyone else to rely on, he’d kill them, too.

Dazai had never fully gotten rid of that desire. And now, having seen Kouyou retrieve Chuuya, and for Chuuya to have requested it, Dazai wanted to kill her even more. He considered, however, that the proof of his own growth had to be in the fact that he hadn’t killed Kouyou. If Dazai had been seventeen, and Chuuya had called for Kouyou to save him, Dazai might have gutted her the moment she entered his line of vision.

It was almost as if Ranpo had heard where his thoughts had gone, and he crushed his bag of chips loudly. 

Dazai blinked and focused back on his computer screen. He moved the cursor.

__________

“Dazai-san.”

It had been weeks.

“Dazai-san.”

He’d dealt with years, but those weeks had been worse.

“Is he just ignoring me, or can he not hear me?”

If it continued to get worse, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. He’d never dealt with such an unacceptable circumstance in which he still could fix it.

“I think he’s just ignoring you.”

Dazai hadn’t heard at first, but then he’d started ignoring.

“Dazai-san, I think it’s serious,” Atsushi said, much too earnest. “Are you listening?”

Dazai blinked slowly and turned to look at Atsushi. Kyoka was hovering just behind him, listening.

Atsushi looked almost surprised at the look on Dazai’s face. He shifted uncomfortably and then opened his mouth, and then shut it. He shook his head, seeming to be going through a conversation all on his own. “Ah, Dazai-san, it’s about Akutagawa—”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Dazai said loudly, waving his hand. “I’ve heard enough! The answer is no!”

Atsushi frowned. “But, Dazai-san, he’s been very adamant about wanting to speak to you.”

Dazai narrowed his eyes at him. “And you’ve been having regular chats with Akutagawa, have you?”

Atsushi waved his own hands then, much more frantically than Dazai. “No, no, not like that! He practically barreled into me in the street actually, I think he was waiting to ambush me…”

Dazai sucked his teeth and turned away again. “Regardless, I couldn’t care less! I’ve been avoiding him for a reason.”

“Ah, so you really were avoiding him…”

“Of course! Did he not know that?”

Atsushi made a face. “I think he knew, Dazai-san. It’s why he cornered me.”

“And you thought that even though I’ve walked extra long ways home to avoid him just meant that I wanted to hear it from you instead?”

“It’s not about Akutagawa though, he’s just the messenger—”

“If it’s so important, they should have sent someone else,” Dazai said dismissively. 

“Err, it doesn’t sound like the sort of thing someone else would report.”

Dazai started to ignore him.

“Dazai-san,” Atsushi said again.

Dazai began to fake working.

Atsushi let out a dejected noise, but then shuffled forward. “You can pretend to ignore me, Dazai-san, but I’ll tell you anyway.”

Dazai plugged his ears.

Atsushi let out a frustrated sound and began tugging on his arm. “It’s about Nakahara-san, just listen and then don’t do anything about it if you don’t want to!”

Dazai stilled for a few moments. But then continued to try and plug his ears again. “Why would I care about what concerns that tiny little dog?”

Atsushi was impressively strong, however, and he yanked. “Akutagawa-kun said it was about corruption.”

Shit.

Dazai dropped his arms. There was no way for him to avoid a conversation about that. He turned to Atsushi. “What about corruption?”

Atsushi blinked, hand limp on Dazai’s forearm. He let go quickly and took a few steps back again. He looked unsure what to do with Dazai’s sudden attention, and the tone of his voice. Kyoka was frowning at Dazai.

“He wants you to talk to Nakahara-san.”

Dazai stared at him.

“He said that they have something coming up that might require corruption, but Nakahara-san refused to ask you to come help and said he could manage it without using corruption. Akutagawa-kun doesn’t think it’ll work, so he wanted to see if you would come anyway. I think he thinks that it will impress someone or prove something if he takes the initiative here, but I don’t really think—”

Dazai stood up from his chair.

Atsushi stared at Dazai and then glanced at Kyoka.

Dazai brushed past them and walked out of the room.

His mind felt blank. He was so angry that he didn’t feel angry. He was so empty that it really felt like nothing. 

The door slammed shut behind him.

__________

Dazai knew that Akutagawa would follow him after leaving the building. He let him, despite the fact that his presence was an irritating weight on his back. Another practiced impulse was to discard him, to turn him away in a way that would crush him, but there was no place for that.

Akutagawa didn’t say anything when they reached the headquarters. Dazai had only just stopped in front of the building and waited. Akutagawa went to walk ahead of him, and opened the doors. Neither of them spared any glance to anyone who had started to gape. Some, even, had the good sense to look nervous.

They still did not speak, even as they stood in a silent elevator. Dazai’s hands remained in his pockets, and his breaths were even. Even still, despite all of that emptiness, his heart pounded in his chest, and he did not bother to calm it. It was the most sensation he’d felt in weeks.

The elevator opened, and Kouyou was standing in front of it.

Kouyou did not move, and she leveled Dazai with a flat look. 

Dazai wanted to kill her. He was going to kill her.

“Kouyou-san,” Akutagawa murmured. “Please.”

Kouyou didn’t even look at him. “This is none of your concern.”

Dazai was going to kill her.

“Kouyou-san,” Akutagawa said again, almost nervously.

“Leave, Dazai.”

Dazai was going to kill her.

Akutagawa seemed to catch on, and when the elevator doors began to shut, he put his arm out to stop it from closing. “Kouyou-san, he’ll get himself killed.”

She finally looked to Akutagawa. “And what does Dazai Osamu care about that?”

There was a sort of fog taking over Dazai’s brain. It began to cloud first in his mind’s eye, where he went over multiple scenes of how to kill her, and then it began to cloud at the corners of his vision. He’d get like that sometimes, back when he was in the Port Mafia. People had grown accustomed to that expression.

Kouyou seemed to take note of it, and there was a weary turn of her brow.

“Chuuya is mine,” he said, “and when he attempts to kill himself, I am burdened with the responsibility of making sure he stays alive.”

Kouyou’s lip curled back slightly as Akutagawa sucked in a sharp breath. “Is that so? You weren’t so burdened when—”

Dazai stepped toward her, and the both of them stiffened. “I’ve always wanted to kill you.”

Kouyou’s face was carefully blank.

“Is there a way you would particularly dislike?”

“Dazai-san,” Akutagawa said, somewhat strained. “You cannot threaten an executive in front of me and not expect me to—”

Dazai brushed past Kouyou without another word, and he made sure to touch her, so that her ability would falter.

Kouyou didn’t try to stop him when he walked down the hall. Akutagawa did not follow either. Dazai knew they would both linger, despite the fact that if he could have thrown them from the nearest window without consequence, he might have.

He pushed open the door to Chuuya’s office and stepped inside. He shut the door behind him.

Chuuya hadn’t looked up. His chin was in his hand while he used the other to fill out a form. He didn’t have his gloves on. They were lying on the desk next to him. He wasn’t wearing his hat either. The light from the window behind him was shining off of his hair, and the way his fingers drummed against his cheek did something miraculous within Dazai’s body.

Then, it was as though he’d sensed it was Dazai, like he had in his apartment. He stopped writing. He then took a deep breath through his nose. “What the hell are you doing here?”  He asked, practically muttering.

Dazai went over to him, not entirely sure how he wanted to start the conversation, mainly because he didn’t even know what conversation it was he wanted to have.

Chuuya only looked up when Dazai got close enough and didn’t stop, and he looked wary. Dazai, with no heed to Chuuya’s papers, went to sit on his desk, right in front of him. “Ah, what the hell, Dazai!” He shouted, shoving at him. He pushed at him, but didn’t throw him off.

Dazai felt fond. Chuuya could have thrown him, if he really wanted to.

“Chuuya,” he said. “I’ll help you with corruption, if you want.”

“I don’t want,” Chuuya shot back immediately. He pushed back in his chair to put distance between them. “Just go back to your Agency. I don’t need your help.”

Dazai was quiet for a moment. “You wouldn’t ever use it when I’m not around, would you?”

“I also love this city, you know,” Chuuya said. “I wouldn’t do something that could cause irreparable damage.”

“But if you were to give out, your body, before you could cause irreparable damage—would you do that?”

Chuuya frowned at him. “I’m not the one with a strong penchant for suicide. Don’t project your fantasies onto me.”

“You aren’t answering my question.”

Chuuya’s mouth flattened into a line.

“Chuuya,” Dazai said sharply, abruptly full again, no emptiness, and all of that filling was unpleasant, and made him sick.

“It’s not off the table,” Chuuya said eventually, somewhat sheepish. “But only if there was no other option, and only if I was certain that I wouldn’t cause unnecessary damage. It wouldn’t be for fun, or because I was angry, or anything like that.”

“It’s not on the table,” Dazai said, just as sharp as before. He leaned toward him. “Do you understand me?”

Chuuya narrowed his eyes at him. “I don’t recall you ever being the one in charge of my decisions.”

Dazai sneered, unable to help himself. “You don’t remember being my dog for so many years?”

Chuuya sucked in a breath, enraged. His voice was a hiss. “Listen here, you piece of shit—”

“I won’t hear it~!” Dazai sang loudly, bringing his hands up to his ears. He began to sing incoherent words over Chuuya’s shouting.

Eventually, Chuuya stood up, gripped Dazai’s wrists, and yanked them away from his head. His face was twisted up in an angry snarl. “Why are you here, and why are you asking me this? I’m not using corruption for any mission, whether you’re there or not.”

Dazai allowed Chuuya to hold onto him. It felt nice. Chuuya hadn’t grabbed him or held onto him in a long time, even if all of Dazai’s memories of it were from Chuuya’s intent to bully him. “I thought about what you said that night,” he found himself saying.

Chuuya faltered somewhat, grip loosening. “What?”

“I thought about why you weren’t sleeping or eating, before the confrontation with Lovecraft and Steinbeck.”

Chuuya let go of him quickly. He looked away, as if embarrassed. He took several steps back. “Who cares if you have been?” He muttered.

“You were really that torn up, seeing me again?”

Chuuya’s cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. He turned even further, even though he looked like he was trying to seem irritated.

Dazai watched him. Chuuya’s reaction alone had answered Dazai’s final question—had that turmoil been regret or hope? It seemed that it had been hope. And then Dazai had left him in the woods to die. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Chuuya’s eyes snapped toward him. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Dazai repeated, “for leaving you.”

Chuuya swallowed, and his eyes darted around like he was either lost, or looking for an escape. “Which time?” His voice was bitter.

Dazai cracked a smile. He put his chin in his hands, elbows on his knees. “Both times.”

Chuuya went back to his seat and sat down rather heavily. He leaned back into it. “What do you want?” He eventually asked, as if burdened.

“What do you mean, chibi?”

“You’d never come here and say all that unless you wanted me to use corruption. What do you want it for?”

Dazai resented that.

Chuuya met his gaze again, and the pink was already fading away. “Well?” He prompted.

“I don’t really know,” Dazai said. “It’s one of the very, very, few times in my life that I’ve done something without a real agenda.”

Chuuya frowned again.

Dazai moved over to him and stood over him, as he had in Chuuya’s apartment. This time, however, he put a hand to Chuuya’s cheek, the way he had when Chuuya saved him the last time. His thumb brushed over Chuuya’s cheekbone, and he watched it turn pink again, slow, as he stared up at Dazai with a flabbergasted expression. His mouth parted, and Dazai found himself staring at it.

“How beautiful,” he murmured, just as he had the last time he’d touched him like this, too. For a moment, it almost felt like they were back there, up in the air, when they’d never been more themselves, and they’d never been more in sync.

“Dazai,” Chuuya said weakly.

“You know, when you saved me, I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so happy. I still can’t.”

Chuuya didn’t need more clarification about what Dazai was talking about, because like Dazai, even despite his recent loss of faith, he had also felt happy to know each other still, so vividly, so assuredly. He reached up to grab onto Dazai’s wrist again, this time much gentler. “I’d felt happy then, too,” he said, voice low. “You even took care of me that night.”

Dazai was unsure if he would ever find the words to articulate how desperately he always wanted to do that. And that sometimes, in his endless search for the best alternative, taking care of Chuuya meant leaving.

“You don’t have to trust me with you,” Dazai said. “But I can’t bear you not knowing me. And in order for you to know me, I suppose I’ll have to spell it out for Chuuya’s tiny, tiny, little brain that no matter what I do, none of my actions remove my affections.”

Chuuya’s fingers dug into Dazai’s wrist. “You came all the way to the Port Mafia to tell me that?”

“You know, one of the few remaining joys in my life is you.”

Chuuya, for the first time in many years, did something that surprised Dazai. His eyes grew misty, and though he did not cry, Dazai could see the tears starting to form. Dazai stared down at him, a twin expression of surprise on his face, he was sure.

“Chuuya,” Dazai said, his own expression still frozen. “Why on earth was it that one usage of corruption that broke your trust in me, and not me leaving the first time, if you feel this strongly about our partnership?”

Chuuya blinked several times, as if coming out of a stupor. The tears disappeared, but his gaze was still intense and unapologetic. His jaw tightened when Dazai’s thumb absently brushed over his cheek again. “I could understand you leaving,” he said. “It was in your best interest. And even though it hurt me, and I didn’t like it, I’m not selfish enough that I would ask you to suffer, just for my sake.”

Dazai could put two and two together. “And me leaving you there after Lovecraft made you think that I lacked the reciprocity to want the best for you, regardless of what I wanted.”

Chuuya nodded.

Dazai bent down a little, so they were more level, and he kept Chuuya’s gaze on his own. “I have my plans,” he said, “and I have my calculations in order to achieve them. I would be frustrated if they were not to go according to my expectations. But the one thing I could not bear is losing you. I’d alter my plans, whatever they were, to avoid that.”

Chuuya was like a statue for several long moments. And then, “I’m going to kill you.” His voice was a whisper. “If this is some bullshit ploy, I will literally kill you, Dazai Osamu.”

Dazai brushed his thumb over Chuuya’s cheek one more time. “Now that I’ve revealed my most secret agenda to ever be, I expect you to call me first whenever even the thought of using corruption comes to your mind.”

Chuuya blinked owlishly. Dazai, who had known loss, but never the worst loss, found that he was terrified of it. He relished the feeling of Chuuya under his palm for one more moment, and then pulled away.

“And if you go on your mission, knowing you need to use it, and get yourself killed, just know I have my own ways of dragging you back here to suffer the consequences.”

Chuuya blinked again, and he had a sort-of childlike innocence on his face, as if confused.

“Do you understand?”

Chuuya nodded.

Dazai felt that fondness again. His lips turned up. “You don’t have to trust me,” he said. “But you can.”

__________

Dazai had skipped work again. After his conversation with Chuuya, he’d felt irrationally overcome with worry. And, he thought, he would need to be available. He needed to be able to make sure that Chuuya didn’t do something that would get him killed, and he needed to be uninhibited by the Agency in order to do it.

However, despite this, Chuuya hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t been around much at all. He was either in his office, or he was in his apartment. 

A few nights after he’d spoken to Chuuya, Dazai was lying in his bed, once again staring up at the ceiling. It was dark in his bedroom, and the moonlight was spilling into his room, at an angle that avoided his face but rested on his legs. He thought about Chuuya, and he wondered about him, and he made his plans, for every scenario he could come up with.

It was alright that Chuuya hadn’t done anything yet. Those few days, Dazai had to confront that perhaps the feelings he had were much more easily quantified than he’d originally thought, and all of it had come from a frequent, constant reminder flashing through his brain every few moments. Chuuya’s pink cheeks, and the feeling of him under his hand. This had not been according to his plan either, and he found himself planning even for that.

He had not planned, however, that Chuuya would kick his door down.

Dazai, when he’d heard his front door crash open and practically come off the hinges, already knew it was him. In the secret dark of his room, before Chuuya reached him, Dazai felt a bludgeoning sense of dread and relief as he pushed himself up. And his own dread, at his own feelings, flared, when Chuuya came stomping toward his room.

He stood, just as Chuuya reached him. He seemed angry, and that, for some reason, made Dazai feel angry, too.

Chuuya grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “Say it all to me again.”

Dazai stared at him.

“Do it, or I’ll conclude that it was all some sort of scheme.”

Dazai, who loathed to admit anything hard, found that it enraged him Chuuya would demand he repeat something that had been so difficult. He stared down his nose at Chuuya. “Get out of my apartment, Chuuya.”

Chuuya shoved at him, though he didn’t let go, and his temper flared, in a way that told Dazai he would have been using his ability if it wasn’t for the way his knuckles were brushing against Dazai’s collarbone. “Tell me.”

Dazai moved out of Chuuya’s grip, and turned away as if Chuuya hadn’t spoken.

“Dazai!” He shouted, following after him. “Don’t fucking ignore me after everything you’ve said and done.”

Dazai only sat back down on his bed and lay back down. He closed his eyes, as if trying to sleep. He might have, if he himself wasn’t so angry. Chuuya shouting and complaining at him was more like a lullaby than anything else.

But then Chuuya stopped, and he hovered over Dazai for one moment, and then two, and then three. He let out a breath through his nose. “I know,” he eventually muttered, surprisingly quiet after the yelling he’d done. “I just wanted you to prove it.”

Dazai’s chest did something funny when he said that, and when Chuuya turned away, he cracked his eyes open to watch him.

Chuuya began to walk toward the door. “If my trust had been wavering before, it’s completely gone now.”

Dazai felt the words tear through him, and it’d been another idiotic miscalculation, and he was incredibly unused to having so many. He pushed himself up and went after him. He grabbed Chuuya’s wrist and tugged.

Chuuya exploded. He whirled around and ripped his arm out of Dazai’s grasp. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

Dazai grabbed him again. “Don’t go.”

Chuuya’s face went a little red in his anger. He looked as though he might start steaming. He was deathly silent for a long time, long enough that Dazai was anticipating the mother of all meltdowns.

“You good-for-nothing piece of shit,” he began in a shout, arms moving to try and get Dazai off of him. “You have the most nerve out of everyone on this fucking planet!” He continued shouting, some of it nonsensical, but all of it angry and directed at Dazai.

Dazai continued to hold onto his wrist, and he’d started to tune Chuuya out in an attempt to come up with his own words to say to him, but he couldn’t determine anything that might help. He wasn’t sure if anything really could, after he’d spent so many years sabotaging himself from being believable.

But then, Chuuya’s voice began to wobble. “I wish you’d just leave me alone,” he said, trying to hold onto his own firm tone. “Haven’t you been cruel enough to me? I know it’s your life’s purpose to make miserable people who never asked for it, but I was your partner. And even still, you torment me more than all the others. And you were the one who dragged me into this in the first place. You were the one who left.”

Dazai disliked himself even on good days, but on this day, it was akin to something stronger than even hatred.

All he managed was a measly, “I wasn’t lying.”

Chuuya stared at him, brows furrowed, breath heaving, and his eyes were misty again.

“I wasn’t,” Dazai said again, a little insistent.

Chuuya’s jaw snapped shut and he ground his teeth.

“I didn’t know, until recently, that me being a piece of shit made you think I didn’t care about you. I thought you knew that no matter how terrible I was, I still cared about you.”

Chuuya swallowed. “I did think that. Until you left four years ago. And then again, more recently.”

“Be honest,” Dazai said. “Did you really think I left you, thinking you would die?”

Chuuya shifted. “Yes.”

“Did it hurt?”

Chuuya let out a huff through his nose. He glanced away. “Yes.”

“Chuuya,” Dazai murmured. “Do you believe that I cared about Oda?”

Chuuya did not look like he wanted to talk about Oda. His expression hardened. “Obviously. You left the mafia after he died.” And you left me there, even though you’d demanded I be there in the first place.

“If you’d told me before he was killed that I would do what I did following his death, it would sound like something I’d do.” Dazai’s hand loosened somewhat, when he felt like Chuuya wouldn’t leave. His hand moved up slightly, fingers pressing up under the sleeve. “If something were to happen to you, I do not know what I would do. I have no idea at all. Something terrible, probably.”

Chuuya frowned.

Dazai’s other hand found Chuuya’s other hand. His hands were surprisingly soft, despite how strong he was, and how often he used them. “It’s not as easy to believe a hypothetical, I suppose,” he murmured, knowing Chuuya would doubt his implication. “It’s hard for me to believe, too, because even in my hypotheticals, I can’t imagine any situation where I let you die.”

“You are the least forthright person I know,” Chuuya said weakly. “Just say it simply, and say it right away when I ask.”

Dazai laughed a little, and leaned toward him. “Of my many strengths and irreplaceable attributes, being forthright isn’t one of them.”

Chuuya swallowed and looked down to stare straight on at Dazai’s collarbone. Dazai’s fingers traced over his palm, and up to the sensitive skin of Chuuya’s wrist. He looked like he was thinking very hard, and he swallowed noisily. “You always leave me high and dry, right when I think you won’t.”

Dazai nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, “in a sense.”

When Chuuya frowned deeper, he went on.

“To me, I’m never leaving you, for I carry you in my heart wherever I go.”

Chuuya’s face shuttered a little, and then smoothed back out. “You don’t have a heart,” he said weakly.

Dazai let go of Chuuya’s arm and put his finger under Chuuya’s chin to tilt his face back up. The pretty pink was back on Chuuya’s cheeks. “That’s why I have you. You are my heart.”

Chuuya’s face was frozen, and so was his entire body. Dazai thought maybe even his blood had stopped pulsing through his veins. “You are so full of shit,” he croaked.

Dazai smiled and he leaned a little closer. “How is it you think I flirt so successfully, Chuuya?”

“Because you’re full of shit,” Chuuya repeated, reaching up to grasp Dazai’s wrist.

Dazai continued to lean in. “I thought you couldn’t control gravity when you touch me.”

“I can’t.”

“Then why?” Dazai asked, gesturing to their proximity with his gaze. 

“I’m not making you do shit,” Chuuya said, sounding breathless. “You’re the one invading my personal space, you—”

Dazai pressed his lips to Chuuya’s.

Chuuya made a choked noise, and his fingers dug painfully into Dazai’s wrists. Dazai only tilted his head and leaned in a little more.

He pulled back, let out a shaky breath, and then kissed Chuuya again. He parted his lips against his, and his tongue came out to lick at the seam, and Chuuya’s mouth opened in response. Dazai pressed into his mouth, and he tasted so much better than Dazai had imagined. Another miscalculation for the rapidly growing list.

Chuuya pulled back a moment later, abrupt. “What the fuck are you doing?” He asked desperately.

“What I want,” Dazai said. He tipped back forward. He kissed him yet again, a little more insistent, and a little bit harder. His hand moved to the nape of Chuuya’s neck and held him to himself.

Chuuya pushed at his chest. “You don’t want this.”

Dazai shot him a dark look. “Don’t tell me what I want or don’t want.”

Chuuya looked helpless.

“You’re afraid of what I’ll do to you after this,” Dazai said. “If I’ll betray you again.”

Chuuya looked guilty and unhappy with being read so easily.

Dazai’s fingers tangled in Chuuya’s hair. “You aren’t understanding that I never have. Just because I did things that hurt didn’t mean I ever betrayed you. And if chibi needs me to go over it in heavy detail, then fine. But I don’t want to talk right now.” He pressed back in.

Chuuya let him pull him in, and he remained pliant as Dazai coaxed his mouth back open. Chuuya leaned into him, and his hands moved hesitantly around to Dazai’s back, and then he wrapped his arms around him. Dazai kissed him a little deeper for his efforts, and then Chuuya’s hands gripped into the fabric of his shirt.

Dazai let out a pleased hum, and then Chuuya became Chuuya, and he pushed into Dazai hard. His own responding kisses had gone from meekly gentle to bruising, and Dazai let out another sound, even more pleased, and Chuuya drank it down.

“Osamu,” Chuuya breathed.

Dazai groaned, one hand sliding to Chuuya’s waist and pulled him closer.

“Have you ever been wrong before?” Chuuya asked against him, breathless.

“No.”

Chuuya smiled against his mouth, as if smug. “First time for everything, huh?”

Dazai bit at Chuuya’s lip. Chuuya moaned, and the sound of it shot something heady through Dazai’s entire body. It was another addictive thing that Chuuya did. Dazai was used to that.

“I really will kill you,” Chuuya murmured, licking at his own lip where Dazai had bitten him. He pressed another kiss to Dazai’s mouth. “If you’re messing with me, I will torture you to death.”

“How romantic.”

Chuuya bit him in return.

“I’ve never been more honest, chibi.”

“Say my name,” Chuuya snapped.

“Chuuya,” Dazai said. “Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya.”

Chuuya’s fingers squeezed along his back. He kissed him.

__________

Dazai was standing in Chuuya’s kitchen, watching him cook.

“Have you really never made a mistake?” He asked.

Dazai thought back to when Chuuya had asked him that last, and he smirked at the memory. Chuuya ignored his expression. “Is this Chuuya’s way of asking me to kiss him again?”

Chuuya tsked. “No, idiot. I’m serious. Have you really never?”

“I don’t know,” Dazai said. 

“You don’t know,” Chuuya repeated flatly, glancing over at him.

“I’ve never been accused of being wrong,” Dazai said. He leaned onto the counter and put his chin in his hand.

“And the other times?”

“I’ve never cared to check before.”

“But you did this time.”

“Of course,” Dazai said, watching Chuuya’s reaction carefully. Chuuya had been flushing a lot, and Dazai never liked to miss it. “I need to know everything about my Chuuya.”

Chuuya, predictably, flushed. He avoided Dazai’s gaze. “Such a smug bastard.”

Dazai smiled. “You’re the only thing I care about enough to admit I’ve miscalculated.” He paused. “But don’t get used to it. It was simply a dire situation.”

Chuuya looked over at him. “If you’re wrong again, prepare to suffer the consequences.”

“As long as it’s Chuuya who’s punishing me,” he said, cheeky.

Chuuya put a hand to Dazai’s forehead and shoved him back hard enough that Dazai almost fell onto the ground. Dazai laughed. When he righted himself again, Chuuya looked like he was laughing, too.