Ineffable Partners - Ch_ee_rios - 文豪ストレイドッグス (2024)

Chapter 1: subliminal pleasure

Chapter Text

Chuuya had a handful of ideas of what sex with Dazai would be like. Banter, a back-and-forth struggle for control, and constant annoying quips at Chuuya for a range of things including but not limited to his height. They had okay chemistry with each other, which Chuuya loathed admitting, but ultimately Chuuya suspected that Dazai would do everything possible to keep a grip on everything that happened.Manipulative bastard.Even if Chuuya did manage to take control, he'd probably have to tie him up three times over and still have to hear about how bad his knots were.

He didn't expect this.

Dazai was splayed out on the bed, lips bitten and bruised from what had been a chaotic power struggle. His messy brown hair was scattered around him and his breath came out in quick, jolting puffs accented by the annoyingly pretty flush dancing on the bridge of his nose.

The gem of it all were those wine brown eyes, widened with something like surprise that tasted suspiciously like submission on Chuuya’s tongue. His pupils were blown out with lust, so inky andglassynext to the rich irises that Chuuya could nearly see his reflection.

The bandages over his left eye had already been lost, an earlier casualty that ultimately spurred this situation on. Chuuya already knew Dazai was mostly blind in that eye (it tooktwo yearsfor the idiot to say anything about it), and with him so visibly dizzy from lust he felt a little spike of concern for the glassy quality to his eyes. It was pretty, but the still, searching quality to it made something in him twist with nerves.

It was almost as though the second Chuuya pushed him onto his back, the fight had left Dazai, leaving a confused and broken mess. At the same time, it stroked his ego, having those eyes look up at him like he was being worshipped. He knew there was a chance he'd win their back-and-forth fight for dominance, but only now was Chuuya considering that he might get tof*ckDazai. Still, that expression rubbed him weirdly.

He couldn't decide if Dazai wanted concern or the continuation of that raw, animalistic energy surging between them.

He decided to give a little bit of both.

“Oi, fish-for-brains,” Chuuya pinched the tender inside of Dazai’s wrist, prompting a twitch. Those eyes, not nearly as empty as Chuuya was used to seeing them, finally focused enough that he could see a little shimmer of light gleam over them. It made him swallow. f*ck, this was still so hot. “You good?”

The words didn't come out as harsh as he wanted, but the question seemed to startlesomethingout of Dazai, like it was the last thing he expected to hear at that moment. Then, in a flurry of movement, bandaged arms were winding around Chuuya's neck, pulling him down.

“Yes,”Dazai finally gasped against his lips, no longer trying to flip them around. He didn't really kiss Chuuya, only settled for the simple touch of skin on skin. “Hatrack, chibi, Chuuya, hurry up or I'm leaving.”

His arms were shaking. Chuuya could feel it around his neck. Something was clearly going on with Dazai right now, but Chuuya already felt a little too addicted to having a man, a control freak, a psychopathicdisasterof a human like Dazai underneath him. He decided whatever this was could wait another day to unpack as he surged forward with a dark, rolling kiss.

Chuuya bit down on Dazai’s lips again, not as a warning or a fight like earlier, but just because he could. Because for once in his gods-forsaken life, Dazai wasn't putting up the fight he expected. He was rewarded for it with Dazai's shaking, punched-out little sigh that sparked a little fire in his gut.

For a dark, curious second, Chuuya wondered if Dazai was a virgin. They were eighteen so it wasn't impossible. Dazai was shockingly not an indulgent person considering Chuuya had been the first one to get him to try ice cream of all things. If he wouldn't indulge in simple pleasures like sugar without some kind of pressure then there wasn't any reason why sex would be any different.

The still, confused demeanor offered to Chuuya made a bit more sense, then. Dazai was the same way with other firsts that Chuuya didn't care to think about for long.

Chuuya pushed Dazai further into the sheets quickly, holding his forearms down now while he settled over his pliant body. Once satisfied that Dazai wasn't going to move for now- not that he'd been putting much effort into trying- Chuuya pulled his shirt over his head before turning back to tug at Dazai’s.

“Sit up,” Chuuya ordered with a quick tap, sitting back and enjoying the confused little grind of those bony hips at the feeling of Chuuya's weight settling over them.

Dazai didn't move for a long moment, still staring with those glassy eyes and open expression. For once Chuuya wished that he'd go back to his thickly layered mask, only because this Dazai was so easy to read that Chuuya couldn't tell a damn thing (his throat clenched a little at the thought that he only ever learned how to read fake emotions on this man, that this might be the most honest he's ever seen him). His eyebrows scrunched together the longer it took for Dazai to react and he settled a hand over the thin hip, rubbing circles into it with his thumb before he opened his mouth to speak.

The touch seemed to startle something out of Dazai, because he simultaneously leaned into it and leaned up. His fingers clumsily and quickly made work out of his shirt buttons like he was possessed. He did it in a way that seemed almost panicked, the notion supported by his shaky, quick breaths.

Chuuya huffed an amused breath. “Wow, mackerel. Didn't think you'd be this easy.”

The words flowed out of him like a river now that he'd said something. Chuuya didn't want to say everything, like how he never realized how much the pretty wine-brown of Dazai's eyes resembled his favorite bottle sitting in his cupboard, or how he’d always wanted to mark up the few slivers of alabaster skin now on full display for him in between bandages, or how the little whine that escaped him was the best sound he'd heard in his life. Dazai's ego, no matter how much of a virgin he very likely was, didn't need that kind of stroking. This much was fine, though.

Chuuya didn't want to do anything more to risk stopping the surprising compliance he was receiving. Giving Dazai an inch would only encourage him to take a mile.

Dazai's body wracked with a nearly imperceptible quiver that Chuuya only noticed because he was seated on his hips like they were his throne. It wasn't exactly agoodquiver, he noticed dimly. Dazai's eyes were cloudy with a different emotion that fizzled out into nothing a second after he noticed it. He would've missed it in his lust-addled brain if he hadn't been staring at Dazai.

Chuuya rocked back without purpose or thought behind the motion, but froze once he did. Dazai let out another punched-out little moan that disrupted his finger's path down his shirt. Chuuya didn’t deign to acknowledge it because-

Dazai wasn't even hard.

Chuuya was out here, burning alive with lust, and only now feeling ridiculous at the sudden tidbit he just now noticed.

Suddenly those glassy eyes weren't as satisfying as before.

Something was wrong.

He was under the impression that they were on the same page until now, only to find out they weren't even close. And for whatever reason, instead of pitching a fit to end all tantrums, Dazai was justlyingthere.

It made Chuuya feel a little sick, and ridiculously like he wasforcingsomething on his partner.

He swung his leg back over Dazai’s hips and leaned away from him with a heavy sigh, avoiding Dazai’s searching hands and blatant, wide-eyed confusion dashing across his face.

“What,” the other man swallowed, shaking his head a little to get a few brown curls out of his face. It was kind of cute. “What’s wrong?”

Chuuya, feeling like being a little mean now despite knowing it wasn't exactly his partner's fault, brushed a finger over the front of Dazai's slacks, trying and failing to ignore the pretty little bow his spine made at the sensation. “This. You're not even hard,” he rubbed his eye tiredly. “If you don't want to do this, just say so, f*cking idiot.”

Dazai was already shaking his head, breath quickening a little more and bordering on hyperventilating. “No, no I am, Iwantto,Chuuya.”

There was a thick desperation to the way he said Chuuya's name, a pleading prayer that Chuuya was a little ashamed to say did nothing to help his erection go down. The thought that Dazai hadn't gotten any substantial pleasure from his touch had doused his mood, but Dazai's begging stirred the embers strongly.

He should stop this right now. Whatever Dazai thought was happening, whatever he thought Chuuya would do, wasn’t going to happen. It shouldn’t. Chuuya liked when his partners felt just as good as him, and this wasn’t it.

Dazai, for whatever reason, wasn’t into this.

Even though he clearly thought he was.

Bandaged fingers tugged a little at Chuuya’s sleeve, those wide eyes begging him to stay and stoke the flames between them higher. He snarled a little.

“What is it then?” Chuuya demanded bitingly, leaning a little more over Dazai than before but still on the edge of the bed. “Do you need more attention here?”

The heel of his palm ground into Dazai’s dick through his slacks with little sympathy.

“Ah, ah,” Dazai's mouth parted in a shaking moan, “I, hah, Chuuya-a-hah-”

Still, beyond a twitch and the beginning of hardness, Dazai's body had little reaction to the stimulation. His eyes were stillwrong.

Chuuya frowned. Dazai's shirt was still left open, revealing swathes of bandages. Feeling merciful on behalf of his curiosity to see what would make his partner fall apart at his hands, he lifted away the heel of his palm.

Intense stimulation didn't do much. Neither did pushing him down and taking control wherever he could grip onto it. Chuuya should still leave, but there was a sickening temptation curling in his gut.

Well, it was a little more intimate than he wanted tonight to be, but…

Chuuya tapped Dazai’s hip. “Turn on your side.”

There was a long moment where Dazai searched Chuuya's eyes, but didn't bother looking as deep as he usually did. The painful openness struck Chuuya deep again, wrapping around his heart and squeezing when Dazai turned over, leaving his back open to Chuuya. It was the most blatant show of trust he'd ever gotten from Dazai.

It was a good thing that, at least for tonight, Chuuya wasn't planning on betraying it. Quickly, he took off his pants and tossed them somewhere in the room, recognizing the shiver that ran through Dazai's body at the sound of his zipper.

He swept his legs back onto the bed and settled in with his chest to Dazai's back, curling around him intimately but angling his own erection away for now. Like this, he could feel every intake of breath.

“This okay?” He murmured into a thin strip of pale skin not quite concealed by bandages, pressing his lips against the back of his partner's neck.

Dazai nodded a little bit, but he was curling away from Chuuya in a way that contradicted his consent. Chuuya's arms snaked around his body and tugged him back in, not particularly forcefully, but Chuuya had always been the stronger of the two. Dazai was so thin that it wasn't exactly difficult to pull him closer or pick him up. He was careful not to cage him in; despite their earlier setback Chuuya wasn't exactly itching to get this over with. Sometimes Dazai could be like a skittish cat that would run at the most random things.

“Gonna need an answer, mackerel,” Chuuya chided, pressing another kiss into that bit of unconcealed skin. This time, Dazai leaned the tiniest bit into it, almost involuntarily. Normally he would accept this as a sign to keep going, but he couldn't see Dazai's face from this position, and with the odd mood that was sweeping his partner he didn't feel comfortable with only physical cues.

“...” Dazai's feet shuffled against the sheets. “Yeah, it's fine.”

Chuuya, feeling a little obsessed, kept going, brushing his lips over the small bit of skin offered to him. The majority of Dazai's body was covered in bandages, so normally Chuuya's gloved hands wouldn't even get a glimpse of what Dazai's hands felt like. Chuuya ditched the gloves for tonight but Dazai's bandages were still swathed over his body.

If Dazai asked him not to, Chuuya wouldn't keep working his lips over the patch of skin, but the little, subconsciously insistent way he was pressing back into the touch told him it was fine. He was going for verbal communication tonight, but addressing the skin thing might ruin everything.

Still, he pulled away for a moment to gauge the rest of his body’s reactions. Pressed together like this, Chuuya could feel every single shiver, flinch, or expression of pleasure Dazai might have.

His eyes roved greedily over the long, slender body, the pretty dips and unfortunate poke of bones he could see. It was only thanks to his observation that he noticed Dazai's red ears, signifying the- embarrassment? Arousal?- his partner was feeling.

Chuuya, feeling a little dizzy now, moved the arm that had been slung over Dazai's body. He slowly dragged his fingers up his torso, dancing over bandaged skin. Even through bandages, he figured that Dazai would be able to feelthis.

“Hah, Chuuya,”Dazai gasped, flinching further into Chuuya's chest where it was pressed against his back. Chuuya's fingers chased the motion, still rubbing small circles over his nipple.“Ngh.”

The sensation couldn't be as tingling-good as Chuuya knew it was on bare skin, but Dazai's reaction assured him that even this was a lot. His skin probably didn't receive much sexual or platonic skin-on-skin contact what with his obsession over hiding it.

Gods, he loved hearing his name on his idiot’s lips.

“Does that feel good?” Chuuya asked, trying to keep the smugness out of his tone but probably not doing a great job of it.

Still, Dazai's submissive mood hadn't faded even though the weird, catatonic state of it had. He didn't throw back any snarky quips, only buried the side of his face into the pillow under it. “Yeah,” he answered, panting a little already.

It was almost hotter than his moans from when Chuuya had touched his flaccid dick. It was morerewarding,in a way.

He couldn't help himself, rubbing his hands over Dazai's torso. He didn't touch the uncovered skin of his collarbones, the only part of his body that Dazai couldn't easily cover. It felt like a violation of trust. This night was supposed to be good for both of them, and that would only happen if Chuuya kept Dazai just as pliant and relaxed as he was now. His hands worked over Dazai's side with a soothing quality to the touch that Chuuya would deny till the end of his days.

It was hard to keep his hands to himself no matter how much he doubted every action, wondering if it was too much. It was so rare that he got to touch Dazai like this that he couldn't help himself. His partner was willing to be at his mercy for however long they were here.

Dazai was still letting out perfect little sighs and hums at every motion, sinking back into Chuuya with every touch like he was hypnotized. He almost wondered if this was a tactic he could use to make the idiot sleep for once. But that wasn't the goal for tonight, so Chuuya made sure to let his hands drift up to his nipples every once in a while to kindle that spark again and draw out another keening moan.

In the end, Chuuya slipped. He found that he was willing to press his hand a little too close to the burning sun that was Dazai just to see how far he could get.

“Still good?”

“Mmh,” Dazai nodded, arching into the fingers curling over his chest. “Ungh,yes.”

Chuuya smirked, half of him wanting to let the night continue like this but the other half wanting to know just how far he could push Dazai.

“It feels even better without these,” he commented blandly, fingering the edge of a bandage.

Dazai froze. His body, which had been sinking into Chuuya, became a rigid line that pulled away from his hands. His shoulders were hunched, concealing the sliver of exposed skin at his neck with his hair when he ducked his head.

Chuuya realized that he probably should've kept his mouth shut.

“You don't have to,” he amended, resting his hand on Dazai's hip and cursing himself when he flinched at the touch.

He probably ruined the night for himself.

For a long minute, they sat there in silence, Chuuya's unease growing with every passing second. He really f*cked up. His hand tensed and started lifting away from Dazai's hip.

“...you can.”

Chuuya's head lifted in surprise, jolting from the sound. His hand settled back on his partner's hip reflexively.

“What?”

For the first time in a while that night, Dazai's head turned to meet Chuuya, those wine brown eyes warm with anxiety andtrust.

“...the bandages,” he said, just as quiet but more resolutely than before. “You can take them off. If Chuuya wants to.”

Chuuya swallowed a little too obviously, but for once the flicker of amusem*nt dancing in those normally cold but suddenly, achinglywarmeyes made him feel secure instead of annoyed.

“Do you want to?” He asked instead, keeping his hand unmoving on Dazai's body. Chuuya felt feverish with the need to hear Dazai say he wanted this. The confirmation, the explicit consent, wasn't something he'd ever been so insistent on (maybe because the few other people he'd taken to bed weren't as f*cked up as Dazai and were clear about it when they were into something), but with Dazai it somehow made everything so muchbetter.

“...duh,” Dazai said, but he ducked his head with embarrassment.

Chuuya smiled sharply, hand under Dazai's chin and turning his head towards him. “Thensay it.”

Those pretty brown eyes widened minutely. Chuuya wondered if that was too much, not yet fully grasping what Dazai was letting him do. Dazai was very particular about his bandages, so the fact that he was letting Chuuya see him without them, and was even lettingChuuya himselfremove them, was probably the best and hottest thing he would ever experience in his life.

But he wanted to hear him ask for it.

Because Chuuya didn't know how to stop while he was ahead.

Because Chuuya wanted to push Dazai into a perfect role of trust, because while he didn't want to admit it, he was already planning on repeating this again andagainif Dazai would let him. So he needed to sear this memory into his partner's genius f*cking brain, every gram of pleasure etched into his skin.

Chuuya needed Dazai to want him more than he'd ever want anyone else. Physically- or even emotionally if this didn't pan out how he expected. Preferably both. As much as he could get to leash Dazai to his side with.

The air that escaped Dazai trembled, but after licking his lips, he made eye contact again. “I… Chuuya,please.”

“Please what?”

Dazai kicked at Chuuya, pushing his foot into the ginger’s behind him. Chuuya just threw his leg over both of Dazai's, locking them in place with his calf.

“What do you want?” Chuuya asked again, watching intently for the moment the indignation fled those brown eyes completely.

It didn't take long.

Dazai really was so godsdamned submissive like this. Italmostmade Chuuya feel guilty for pushing him.

“Please take them off,” he finally whispered.

Almost.

Without another word, Chuuya hooked a finger under the tucked end of the bandages around his neck, figuring it would be best to start there. Dazai was the most cagey about his arms, so that would come later.

Chuuya leaned further over Dazai to press a deep, possessive kiss over his lips. His partner softened into it, relaxing a bit more even as swathes of white fell away from him to be tossed off the bed for later. Chuuya's lips trailed away to kiss a line down his jaw, relishing in the breathy moans awarded for his efforts, pressing a few kisses just under his jawline before he pulled away to look.

It was so much better than the small inch of skin he'd laved over earlier. Stretches of pale skin were on display, revealing the elegantly long neck normally hidden away. There were scars- more than a few too many but none too surprising. Dazai had been in the mafia for longer than Chuuya, and anyone could tell just by looking at him that Dazai didn't have much in the way of a childhood.

Jagged lines, neat slices, starburst puckers of white. There was one that dragged over the horizontal length of his throat, making Chuuya wonder if someone tried to slit it. Maybe it was Dazai's own handiwork. Dazai's neck was a little paler than his face, which did make sense but Chuuya still marveled at the evidence that his partner could tan.

Unable to help himself, Chuuya slowly leaned in, pressing his lips against the expanse of skin. Dazai immediately shivered, his body rocking away and then back towards Chuuya like he couldn’t decide whether his touch-sensitive skin wanted more or less.

Both wanting to overstimulate his partner and wanting to be merciful all at once, Chuuya latched on, starting to lick and nip lightly at the skin at his pulse point. His partner gasped loudly at the sudden and unexpected sensation. Chuuya’s nose scrunched a bit. Dazai’s bandages were, to no one’s surprise, a constant in his life and not redone nearly as often as they should be. His skin was salty underneath, not unclean but not the most pleasant thing in the world. He noted in the back of his mind to not let Dazai convince him to sleep after this; he was going to make his partner get in a bath for both of their sakes even if it killed him.

He made his way down the column of Dazai’s neck slowly, taking the time to lavish every bit of skin he could without leaving marks. Dazai’s impatient little huffs were starting to build now, but Chuuya paid little attention to it. He was struck with the urge to mark up the pale skin.

“Are hickeys okay?” Chuuya murmured, face still tilted into Dazai’s skin, his lips moving against him with every word.

“Mmh, yeah, it’s fine,” Dazai spoke, sounding breathless. It made Chuuya smirk against his skin, but Dazai seemed to recover himself for a second at the sensation. “Chuuya can go back to slobbering on my neck like a dog-hngh- hah-”

Chuuya wasted no time in sucking hickeys into Dazai’s neck, replacing white lines of scars with purpling bruises. He kept going, laving over every inch of sensitive skin until Dazai was squirming from pleasure. His trail continued down to bony collarbones, where he was a little more thoughtful and gentle with his marks. Chuuya himself knew that while his tolerance for it was unfortunately rather high, Dazai wasn’t a fan of pain, and even on healthy people collar bones could be a bit sensitive when it came to marks. He nibbled gently over the protruding bones, noting again that he’d probably need to feed Dazai after this and in the morning otherwise the dumbass would go even longer without eating than he already had.

Finally, he reached the edge of the bandages over Dazai’s torso. Rather than untying the bandages then and there, he went back upwards to kiss his partner again, licking into his mouth and reveling in the panting, overstimulated and desperate participation Dazai showed. While their lips were occupied, he helped Dazai out of the arms of his now wrinkled white button-up and tossed it away. Now unbidden by fabric, his hands trailed over the bandaged torso, increasing the pressure until he was firmly running his hands over the covered skin.

Dazai reached up to tug his hands towards the tucked edge of bandages just under his right armpit. Chuuya broke apart their lips to stare in muted wonder, but didn’t let the moment die away. He tapped Dazai’s shoulder, indicating for him to sit up. Dazai slowly lifted himself up after he took a deep, settling breath. Chuuya kissed up his neck once he was fully seated upwards, a gentle and slow press of lips on skin that ended with him connecting their lips one more time in a closed mouth, comforting sensation. He didn’t mean for anything about the situation to be so soft, and yet…

There was something more in the air when Chuuya began to unwrap the bandages.

Somehow, the intimacy from their earlier position paled in comparison to this. He lusted after every inch of pale and deeply scarred skin, but it was tinted with a gentle, awed reverence that softened the moment unexpectedly. He moved from his torso to his arms right after when he was given a small, downturned nod; the only one he’d take as an answer that night.

Every scar was stark and prominent even against alabaster skin. Some laid flat, some made small divots in his skin, and even more were raised and puckered. Chuuya recognized some of them; he’d even been the one to stop a few of them from killing the man. He’d seen some parts of Dazai’s skin, but only through gaps in bandages and only when it was bloodied with gunshot or knife wounds.

It was one thing to see it while trying to stop his partner from bleeding out, it was another entirely to see the aftermath.

His arms were worse. If Dazai’s torso was a landscape of survived missions and near-death escapades, his arms were a gallery dedicated to his own struggles. They were decorated morbidly with neat lines on the insides of his wrists that carved their way up to his upper arm. Some of the lines were longer, but the ones over his arteries were the deepest and messiest, like they’d been made impulsively rather than methodically. There was a difference in the way some of them looked, like they’d been made by different people, but that could be chalked up to Dazai’s mental state. They seemed older than Chuuya thought they’d be. None of them looked to be newer than two months at least.

He wanted to touch every single blemish and memorize the way it looked. He wanted to know if there were any new additions just by glancing at the skin no matter how long they were apart. Chuuya wanted to be acquainted with every single inch of skin more than he was with his own.

He didn’t like the scars, but he felt severely tempted by the idea of knowing every speck of Dazai’s skin better than the man himself.

Chuuya wantedeverything.

“It’s ugly, right?”

Chuuya’s eyes, pupils blown wide with sudden, keening lust for his partner, stared at the hunched man. His eyes were turned down and lips curled up in something resembling deprecatingly amused shame.

“What the f*ck are you talking about?”

Dazai’s shoulders shook the tiniest bit, but Chuuya didn’t let his stupid, genius mind run him down another idiotic trail of thought. He surged forward, needing lips on his again, well and truly addicted to the feeling of Dazai’s mouth after only half a night. Chuuya’s hands roved unbidden over every divot of skin, tracing every crevice with feverish need. They hadn’t done anything inherently sexual in a while to push the night along, but Chuuya was just as hard as he was at Dazai’s first shaking moan.

Chuuya, still sensing Dazai’s confusion, huffed as he pulled away for a minute, waiting for wine brown eyes to look at him again. When they did, he pulled Dazai’s hand, previously clenched in the black duvet, towards the front of his boxers, stifling a groan at the slight touch. Dazai’s eyes widened in front of Chuuya’s gaze.

“Yeah,” Chuuya snorted derisively. “You’rehot,idiot. Still just as annoyingly attractive, so don’t worry about that.”

It was only when Chuuya let Dazai’s hand go to continue perusing the frankly gorgeous expanse of skin (he’d never tell Dazai as such) that he brushed against the front of Dazai’s slacks again. He’d been so caught up in lavishing the revealed skin in touch that he forgot about their earlier predicament.

Which, apparently, had solved itself.

Dazai was just as hard as Chuuya now, the pretty cloudiness in his eyes now easily identified as lust.

When did that happen?

Suddenly bolstered by the knowledge that Dazai was getting just as much pleasure from this as Chuuya now (a well-deserved ego boost if he had to say so himself), his eyes roved over Dazai. What did it? Was it the slowness? The touch? The removal of the bandages? The hickeys? The intimacy?

So caught up in the moment, Chuuya had forgotten to take note of what got Dazai sexually interested in their activities. He’d taken his time, much longer than he ever meant to or ever had before, and it had evidently paid off but Chuuya still cursed himself for not paying attention to what about this actually got Dazai off.

He moved his face down to Dazai’s nipples and licked a broad stripe over the left areola. Dazai audibly choked on air, but this time Chuuya was paying attention to every scrap of reaction he could get. Another broad stripe didn’t evoke the same level of reaction, so he swirled his tongue around it instead.

“Chu-uya,hm, ah,” Dazai moaned quietly, hitches of breath that corresponded with every swirl of his tongue. Chuuya’s eyes gazed upwards at his face, watching closely as he sealed his lips and gave a gentle suck. “Hn! I,ah,hm! Please,” Dazai breathed, his body jolting a bit at the sensation. The reaction was repeated when Chuuya’s right hand joined his mouth in stimulating his other nipple generously. When he pinched, it startled a short, jutting thrust of his hips.

Chuuya knew some guys had sensitive nipples; changing rooms and public baths told him enough from bandaids over the area to prevent chafing. Chuuya himself sometimes felt a bit more sensitive than usual, but the lack of stimulus plus it apparently being a naturally erogenous zone for Dazai resulted in this addicting scene that only Chuuya would ever be able to indulge in if he had his way tonight.

A quick, surveying swipe of his hand over Dazai’s pants confirmed that it was definitely good for the other teen. Chuuya, feeling a little more impatient now too, unfastened the button of his slacks but stopped there.

“Can I?” He asked shortly.

Dazai didn’t bother answering him directly, reaching to unzip his own pants and kicking them off impatiently. “Chuuya is so slow,” he teased, sounding more likeDazaithan earlier. He was still just as compliant and easy, but he’d relaxed enough that Chuuya felt confident that this wastrust,not a mask.

“Shut up,” Chuuya tossed back lightly, knowing he probably looked a little more fond than he preferred, but not caring nearly enough in the face of blatant honesty from Dazai of all people. It filled his chest with something warm and too affectionate for his liking.

He remedied the soft moment by settling his hand over Dazai’s dick while he leaned back in to suck his right nipple, leaving his other hand to pinch lightly over the left. Dazai moaned loudly, hips stuttering into the light caress of the warm touch over his dick while he arched into the touch on his chest. His breath quickened into a paced, shaking mess.

Overstimulation really was rather pretty on some people, Chuuya smirked. He’d had this done to him before, after all, by a particularly sad*stic one night stand he’d had a few months prior. It took him a lot longer to get to this point, where the barely-there touch on his dick wasn’t enough to come, but the sensations on his chest insisted otherwise. Chuuya couldn’t cum on it, though he’d gotten close, but with how quickly Dazai wasthere,he had to wonder.

It wasn’t like Dazai knew whether he could or not. His virgin theory definitely held some merit. Obviously, he had to have masturbat*d before, but Chuuya could definitely tell that this clumsy canting and desperation and lack of struggle for control once his back hit the sheets wasn’t the result of any kind of real sexual experience. The catatonic passiveness from earlier must’ve been some kind of nerves.

Whatever it was, Chuuya wasn’t interested in having Dazai tap out after coming like this, so he took his hand away and lightened his work over the puffy, reddened nipples to nothing before pulling away, drawing out a long, desperate whine. Another day, when he wasn’t quite so impatient and felt mean enough, he’d blow cool air over his spit-slick, puffy nipples until theyachedand Dazai was whining for anything else.

Not today, though.

…

Gods, it was a tempting thought.

But he'd already drawn things out for long enough that his erection was starting to get uncomfortable. It was so easy to derail his plans with Dazai, especially at the tantalizing thought that he might be the first to draw out so much vulnerability. Chuuya wasn’t one to idealize virginity; it hardly mattered to him either way, especially at their age. It was the emotional reactions being drawn out that he wanted to covet for himself.

With a few kisses of finality pressed down the line of Dazai’s stomach (he knew kissing his partner so much implied uncomfortable, emotional things about his feelings, but the desire hissed at him every time he thought about leaving an inch of skin untouched by his mouth), Chuuya brushed his fingers along the waistband of black boxers.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

With one more quick confirmation glance up at Dazai, he peeled the fabric away.

Dazai’s dick waspretty.Pale, smoother than it was excessively ridged, with a nice pinkened hardness to it. The wet precome drooling from the head was obscene in all of the best ways and Chuuya didn’t dare deny himself the opportunity to lick the tip just to get a taste. Dazai’s hips jolted another time in response, but Chuuya pushed him back down just as easily.

Rather than put more attention on the dick in front of him, Chuuya’s eyes drew themselves toward his thighs. With little fanfare, he tugged at the bandages covering both legs, grinning up at Dazai’s ever-watchful eyes. Maintaining eye contact, he pushed Dazai’s leg up until it was nearly folded against his scarred stomach.

“You’re lucky I’m flexible enough,” Dazai murmured quietly, faking disgruntlement that tasted sweet on Chuuya’s tongue when he leaned in for a quick kiss.

“Yeah, yeah,” he answered once he pulled back, unraveling bandages on both legs, waiting until they were off before he presented either with affection. The bandages went down to his ankles like the true bandage waster he was. At some point, he’d manipulated Chuuya into buying extra rolls each week along with his usual shopping, which was absolutely ridiculous.

(Not that he’d ever asked, or brought it up. Chuuya caught him reusing bandages once and the thought of his partner sitting in the infirmary with an infection made him take steps to ensure he would never have to see the pitiful sight again.)

After a moment’s introspection, Chuuya shrugged a bit to himself and leaned back while pushing Dazai’s left leg further into himself, relishing in the little yelp of indignation. He pressed his lips to the soft inner skin of Dazai’s knee. It was just as scarred as the rest of him, neat lines intermingling with pucked and twisted scars from their occupation.

He kissed his way up each scar, memorizing the shape and size of each along with the texture on his lips. Chuuya, just to tease, paid extra attention to the insides of Dazai’s thighs and his hipbones just to hear the startled pleasured moan accompanied by reflexive twitches.

A jagged line, a thin slice, a-

Huh?

Chuuya leaned back a bit and pushed Dazai’s thigh a little further up. Bullet wounds? It couldn’t be.

His head rushed with something cold and heavy when he finally saw what he'd felt under his tongue.

Eleven scars.

Six on top, five on bottom.

Deeper indents on the outer scars from the upper row.

Neat, uniform, and square in a slight curve.

Those were human teeth marks permanently etched into Dazai Osamu’s skin.

f*ck.

“Hey.”

The glassy expression.

“Chuuya?”

The hyperventilating.

“What is it?”

The catatonic behavior, like he was a doll with cut strings.

“...Chuuya?”

The difficulty in finding pleasure in their earlier acts.

Chuuya realized with a sharp intake that Dazai's behavior made sense. Sex had been done to Dazai in the same way a hurricane is done to a town. He hadn't learned how to use it to manipulate, only that his role was to hunker down and weather the storm until it was over because he knew it would mean the other person wouldn't hurt him.

Had Dazai been scared the whole time?

Was Chuuya just making him relive trauma?

Who could have-

Chuuya's eyes flickered with a dark, broiling red.

Who.

Who touched Dazai like that?

Chuuya felt sick, but his anger overtook every other emotion.

“Chuuya!” Dazai raised his voice, his hands clasping onto Chuuya’s forearms.

For the Tainted Sorrowflickered out in a split second just as Chuuya realized it had activated. He blinked, seeing the blue of his eyes reflected in Dazai’s dark irises.

“Dazai,” Chuuya swallowed, choking down his festering anger for the moment. “Who… whohurtyou?”

Dazai just blinked, like that was the last question he expected. “Do… do you want a list?” He gestured to his body.

His hands met Dazai’s and pushed them from his forearms, rubbing up and down the length of his torso. “No, I…yes,but not now. This,” he brushed against the scar, though Dazai clearly couldn’t see it, might not even know it was there, but by the way his expression shuttered a second later, Chuuya had jogged his memory. “It’s abitemark. Am I… Is this not-"

Dazai shook his head quickly. “I, no, Chuuya, Iwantto. I want you.” He shuddered but kept talking even though it looked painful. “That was… it wasn’trecent.”

That basically made it worse,Chuuya wanted to scream. They were only eighteen. That was ascar,anoldone. Years old, at least. How old was he? Who didthatto him? Mori-san had to know since he was his doctor for years from what Chuuya had gathered. If he asked, would his boss answer? Mori-san wasn’t unreasonable, if not a bit hard on Dazai in particular. He wouldn’t be too rough just for asking an unsavory question.

Dazai wasn't weak. Chuuya knew that. He'd heard rumors that Dazai had been considered talented in the mafia since the moment he stepped into their territory. There's no way he would've let someone dothat.It narrowed down suspects, but Chuuya couldn’t think of anyone strong enough in the mafia who spent enough time around Dazai to get away with something like that.

But… there was one person…

Mori-san had been with Dazai for years. Dazai had had the scar for years. Only one person in the mafia had regular access and control over his partner, and there was only one office Dazai spent an odd amount of time in, andgods Chuuya did not like the destination his thoughts were arriving at-

An arm looped around his neck and tugged him in. Chuuya, still lost in thought, jolted back to awareness at the sensation of lips on his. He tried to pull away the slightest bit, but Dazai’s tongue clumsily licked into his mouth, hesitant and uncoordinated but learning.Eager.

Chuuya could read between the lines.

Sympathy was not on the table tonight.

“Yeah?” He rasped out one more time against his partner’s lips, a single, deep question that promised a conversation for later.

Dazai sighed into his mouth, resigning and breathless all at once. “Yeah.”

Their kiss was more possessive than before. Despite his short-lived and still festering reservations, Chuuya quickly took control again, using his weight to push Dazai’s legs against his stomach. He was glad they were close to the edge of the bed, because it took only a second of fumbling to grasp the lube. Chuuya strategically kept Dazai distracted, running his hands over his naked body again. He dug his fingers into the dips of his spine when he reached around to his back, then again into the small amount of fat he had on his hips, hard enough to leave light bruises. Maybe not the smartest thing he could’ve done, but Chuuya didn’t want to look at Dazai’s body and see anything but the evidence of tonight.

Something in him that knew Dazai inside and out even better than before figured that Dazai wanted that too.

“Chuuya,” Dazai gasped when his dick brushed against Chuuya’s. He answered with a groan and the opening of a cap.

This wasn't about the past, but Chuuya would be damned if Dazai had any other word on his tongue thanhis nameby the time they were done.

He dribbled a bit of lube onto his fingers and let it warm up while he went back to brushing his fingers over Dazai’s nipples, pinching at the nubs until he was whining into Chuuya’s mouth. His other hand, satisfied with the temperature of the lube now, brushed slick fingers just above Dazai’s co*ck. They skirted around the base, all teasing and light touches.

“Hah, mmh,” Dazai looked like he was melting when their lips parted from a particularly sporadic reaction, both leaning into and away from the touch raining down on him. Chuuya, eyes on his partner, finally put his hand over his co*ck and stroked upwards, greedily taking in every reaction.

It was the first time any substantial, racing pleasure had been given that night, and Chuuya felt mesmerized by the immediate groan it elicited from those kiss-swollen and bitten lips. Already he could feel Dazai’s co*ck twitching in his hand.

He couldn’t blame him; this much build up had Chuuya fighting to keep from touching himself in tandem with those pretty moans. He couldn’t imagine how quickly the long, painstakingly slow rise to this point would’ve made him go over.

“Chuuya,Chuuya, I’m-”Dazai’s back arched on a particularly pleasurable stroke.

“Hm?” Chuuya hummed amusedly, still watching every reaction that flitted across Dazai’s face. He wanted to memorize every indication of pleasure so that he knew exactly how to make his partner fall apart.

“Close,”he keened.

On one hand, Chuuya desperately wanted to have Dazai cum on his dick. What if he tapped out after one org*sm? On the other hand, as long as Dazai consented to continuing, Chuuya could always make him cum again.

He just had to make sure he didn’t let the fire die down too quickly. If he could convince Dazai that more was better and the overstimulation wasgood,then there was no reason not to watch him fall over the edge this time.

Dazai seemed to like the excessive stimulation from earlier anyway.

Chuuya wondered distantly when he got so manipulative. He was sure Dazai would’ve gotten up and left earlier if he really didn’t want to do this, regardless of his pastexperiencewith sex, but he really seemed to bring the worst out of Chuuya.

(He also wasn’t dumb enough to think that anything he did to Dazai here wouldn’t be returned tenfold the next time they ended up in this situation. Dazai was likely cataloging every second in that big, dumb, genius brain of his to figure out how sex was actuallysupposedto go so that he replicate it all on Chuuya’s body later. The remaining raw edges of vulnerability that Dazai let stay on display were real, but Dazai’s brain never really shut off even like this. That didn’t mean Chuuya wouldn’t do his best to try.

Chuuya didn't consider that this might be the only time he'd have Dazai in his bed. Now that he knew what vulnerability tasted like on his partner’s skin, he’d never get enough of it.)

Dazai’s mouth opened, parting with every exhale that ended with a moan as the arch of his spine tightened, andtightened.

“Ngh, ah,don’t stop,”he panted, his hands scrambling for purchase and finding only the black duvet beneath them. Chuuya pitied him enough to want to grab his hand in comfort, not having a clue what this experience felt like on Dazai’s end, but he had another plan.

His fingers slicked up with more lube in his left hand while he continued working over the flushed tip of Dazai’s co*ck with his right. After fumbling with the lube, he tossed it within grabbing distance and dragged his fingers over Dazai’s balls and down,down.

Dazai hadn’t eaten in two days, which was another facet of their earlier argument. Chuuya wasn’t upset now, though. For once Dazai’s unhealthy habits served the purpose of keeping him clean as Chuuya’s finger circled the puckered ring of muscle, enjoying the flutter and loud moan at the contact. Just as Dazai’s moans teetered on a high, whining pitch, he inserted his finger up to the first knuckle.

“Chu-! Ah, ha! Ngh,”Dazai shuddered and twisted through his org*sm, ropes of cum escaping the tip of his co*ck. His eyes nearly closed, but a sliver of rich, wine brown was visible. His face went slack, mouth still open in a silent, keening moan as he tipped his head back.

Chuuya, not even a full finger deep into Dazai, could feel every pulse in tandem with his org*sm. He couldn’t wait to have him around his dick.

Knowing there was no way Dazai was ready for more sensation after what looked like a pretty euphoric org*sm, Chuuya felt darkly amused when he continued to work his finger inside, jolting one last dribble of cum into drooling down the side of Dazai’s softening co*ck.

Awareness was slowly seeping back into Dazai’s eyes, significantly less clouded than before but luckily for Chuuya still edging with a pretty, lustful haze. Chuuya surged forward to seal their lips together again, making Dazai taste himself, while he stroked his hand over Dazai’s co*ck lightly just to feel the-f*ck that was hot-hiccuping whine of dissent on his tongue.

There was a questioning hum from Dazai that Chuuya didn’t care to acknowledge verbally. Instead, he continued working his finger in and out, f*cking Dazai with what he probably thought was just a strange sensation. Chuuya himself felt pretty f*cking weird the first time someone fingered him.

“Hm, Chuuya,” Dazai tried to speak, interrupted by another kiss on his lips that he leaned into while Chuuya was still searching with his finger, prodding around with a single mission. “What-”

Chuuya finally crooked his finger just right.

Dazai’s body spasmed sharply.“Ah!”he flinched away from the sensation, but Chuuya didn’t entertain him. Sealing their lips together, he grounded Dazai’s body with his own while he continued to work his fingers over his prostate.

It likely wasn’tpleasurable,exactly, especially oversensitive after an org*sm, but Dazai was still teetering towards and away from him, squirming desperately. He probably felt out of control of his own body, an icy-hot dizzying array of sensations making his limbs twitch and shake. The muscle fluttered around his fingers when he worked another one in, delighting in the sharp, high, loud moan of pained, confused pleasure. Dazai didn’t like pain, but Chuuya wanted to make him give this a second to get used to before he tapped out.

Chuuya was trying to get him out of his head, after all. What better way than putting all of the focus on the physical aspects of their arrangement?

“T-too mu-uh-ch,” Dazai whined.

He’d been lavishing attention onto his prostate for only a few minutes, but already Dazai’s co*ck betrayed him, twitching into half-hardness. It seemed that Chuuya had gotten over the mental block from the beginning of the night, allowing Dazai to succumb to his every whim.

Overstimulation wasbeautifulon Dazai. His twitching limbs, scrunched brow, sweat-slicked hair, and kiss-bitten lips were amazing to watch. The contrast between alabaster skin and obsidian bedsheets really did him justice, Chuuya thought, not for the first time that night.

He waited until Dazai was a little harder before he dipped his head to take the tip of his co*ck into his mouth and sucked.

Dazaiscreamed.

His legs kicked at Chuuya, but his hands finally tangled in ginger strands reflexively, shifting between pushing and pulling for less- more- less-more.

Chuuya was planning on f*cking him, but he felt a little tempted to watch Dazai fall over the edge again just like this. Distantly, he knew he’d been dripping precum for a while now, making his own mess on the bed, but it felt like his gratification came second to Dazai’s in that moment.

Dazai seemed to like the overstimulation because he was babbling some combination of Chuuya’s name and something that sounded suspiciously likeplease.Chuuya could probably make him cum again after this. Even if Dazai couldn’t ejacul*te normally again after a third, dry org*sms probably weren’t off the table at this point (Chuuya didn’t think much of anything would be off the table as long as he kept Dazai in this state of overstimulation).

Chuuya began to alternate rubbing his prostate with scissoring his fingers gently. The stretch was probably teetering on the edge of being just as overwhelming as everything else, but Chuuya couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about it. Dazai’s mouth parted on another loud moan that disrupted the mindless babbling.

And then heparted his legs wider.

It was so surprising and unexpectedly hot that Chuuya had to take a second, feeling closer to the edge than before just from that single, addictingly gorgeous move. The sight of Dazai spreading his legs shouldn’t be nearly as hot as it was, but it was enough to make Chuuya jump on board with his tentative plan to make Dazai come again before he even got him close to his co*ck. Heneededto see his idiot partner fall apart underneath him as many times as he could.

Dazai was panting loudly, not doing great, probably way too overstimulated for his own good, but still canting his scarred hips. He wassogood like this.

He deserved to hear it.

Chuuya took a second to pull off, pressing kisses and laving his tongue over the skin. “f*ck, you’re so good for me,” he said roughly. Dazai clenched down tightly, f*cking himself down uncoordinatedly and moaning a little louder, his dick twitching obviously in a clear admission of pleasure.

“Chuuya!”

Of f*cking course his idiot had a praise kink. Chuuya should exploit that- he wanted to, and hewould,but for now he was busy.

Feeling dizzy with the pressure of his lust, Chuuya went back to focusing on the head of Dazai’s co*ck, interspersing sucks with calculated swirls over his slit that lined up with his fingers that were now aiming directly for his prostate, abandoning his task of stretching him for now. Dazai’s legs kicked with panicked, wheezing energy as Chuuya stoked the flame higher, higher,higher.He drifted his left hand down to his own dick, working over himself quickly and groaning around the tip, sending vibrations that made Dazai moan loudly again.

He’d only had his hand on himself for a second before he felt close, so worked up that it was distressingly easy to get himself to a delicious, coiling edge.

With his hand jacking himself off and his mouth and fingers working together to bring Dazai close to the edge, it only took a minute before his partner’s legs twitched and faltered, kicking against the sheets for leverage and finding none.

He fell over the edge with another loud wail that would’ve made Chuuya nervous about his neighbors if he weren’t following right behind (they were all mafioso anyway; so what if they knew Chuuya’s partner, the Demon Prodigy, was being f*cked well? They should be jealous). The heat stoked to an unbearable degree before snapping. Chuuya coated the duvet beneath him with his release while he swallowed Dazai’s down.

It wasn’t good. Salty, not as bitter as he expected but definitely not the best. It wasn’t unbearable so he willingly swallowed it down, noting to buy pineapples in the future. If he was going to make Dazai eat food, he might as well skew their diet for activities like this in the future.

Whereas before he’d lifted off of Dazai’s dick post-org*sm, Chuuya chuckled a little to himself, waiting only a second before he lowered his head all the way down, deepthroating Dazai. He was a bit longer than Chuuya but hardly close to being as thick, so he didn’t feel his jaw ache too badly.

It was worth it to hear Dazai’s shriek.

“No!” He wailed, his hips now angling away further and further.“Can’t, no, Chuuya, please.”

Chuuya was already planning to give Dazai a break; two org*sms in a row was more than he thought he’d get from Dazai earlier in the night, and if he wanted Dazai to agree to having Chuuya’s dick up his ass, he probably needed a second away from the razor-sharp edge of pleasure. Chuuya himself needed a second after his self-done handjob that felt a little too good for what it actually was. Still, it was tempting to keep going when he realized that Dazai wasn’t trying to pull him off. His hands were still tangled in red strands but not pulling, just laying there tightly. It was more of a desperate attempt to ground himself than it was to get Chuuya to stop.

Still, his moans were pitching higher and higher, scraping against groans and mixing with desperate, whining huffs of breath.

Finally, Chuuya heard a shudderingsobfrom above, so engrossed in his task that he’d let his eyes drift away. The sound had him focusing right back on Dazai’s face, scanning it with- worry? Greed? A sick twist of lust?

Dazai wasn’t crying, thankfully or unfortunately (Chuuya couldn’t tell which he was feeling), but his eyes were wide and glassy again. Not in a bad way this time, Chuuya realized proudly, but with a sheen of wetness that reflected off of the dim lighting from his standing lamp.

His co*ck wasn’t twitching with hardness again just yet, but Dazai’s eyes hadn’t closed with exhaustion and there was still a haze of lust building back up again in his irises, framing his lust-blown pupils, so Chuuya felt secure enough to lift off of Dazai’s co*ck. He sucked intermittently as he drew himself off just to hear the responding hiccups and hitches and whines.

Chuuya backed off of Dazai’s prostate and slid his fingers out for a minute. He didn’t miss the uncomfortable shift Dazai’s hips made from the emptiness, nor did he miss the scrunch of his brow in displeasure.

“Don’t worry,” Chuuya grinned, more than a little mockingly, but most of the bite was doused in pride and fondness. “I’ll fill you back up in a minute.”

“Wasn’t worried,” Dazai tossed back, voice hoarser than Chuuya’s but still dripping with an edge of something he hesitated to label. It wasn’tbad,though. “Chibi’s still trying to get his dick wet, after all.”

Chuuya snorted with a pointed look at Dazai’s trembling limbs and shifting hips, zeroing in on the way his hole clenched at Chuuya’s perusal. “I don’t think I’m the only one.”

Slicking his fingers back up with the lube, Chuuya slid them in again, prodding at his entrance with a third before sinking it in too. His index, middle and ring finger thrust at his prostate one more time just to cut off whatever retort Dazai was mustering up.

As his fingers angled away from his prostate to stop torturing Dazai and focus on stretching, Chuuya returned his focus to Dazai’s scarred skin. Under Dazai’s heavy gaze, Chuuya lavished his lips back onto the scarred expanse of pale skin, licking and nipping the sensitive tissue and enjoying the quiet hitches of breath whenever he ran his mouth over a particularly sensitive scar on his torso. He was working on building the pleasure back up properly this time, interspersed with his hand straying back down to trace around the base of Dazai’s slowly hardening co*ck, filling back up for the third time that night.

And to think he’d been wondering whether Dazai would be interested in Chuuya f*cking him.

Another time, he might tease Dazai with filthy words, degrading and praising alike. He was still toeing a delicate line with his partner, dancing along the edge of what would keep Dazai in his bed as long as Chuuya wanted and what would chase him away.

He needed this to be so incredibly good that if Dazai tried to find pleasure in another partner, all he would be able to think about was Chuuya. He craved that permanence with every touch.

Just as his lips moved further upwards, back towards Dazai’s nipples, he started rubbing against his prostate again.

“Ah, god,” Dazai gasped. He didn’t fight as much now, clearly a little affected by two consecutive org*sms. His legs twitched weakly when Chuuya brushed over it again, regaining enough strength to muster up a stronger jolt when he nipped over his areola. Chuuya tongued his nipple a little more surely now, laving over it and sucking before moving to his other nipple, leaving the other puffy and slick with spit.

As he paid attention to Dazai’s nipples and worked to keep him as still as possible even as he thrust his fingers into his prostate, Chuuya remembered he’d wanted to do something earlier. He’d thought it was a little too much at the time, but clearly, Dazai wasintotoo much.

With Dazai’s restless and panting cries encouraging him, Chuuya pulled away, smirked a little meanly, and blew cool air over his puffy, wet nipple.

“Un, huh?” Dazai leaned away, moaning when the movement resulted in a slightly more forceful jab at his prostate, but Chuuya could already see the areola pebbling.

He followed the movement, blowing more cool air over the area before switching to his other nipple. Dazai’s hums and pants were confused, but it wasn’t long until they devolved into a frustrated tone.

Chuuya had had this done to him before, so he knew intimately that, while starting off as a weird mix of sensations, it eventually ached. For Dazai, whose nipples were more sensitive than Chuuya’s, it probably bordered onpain.

The thought sent heat spiking down to his dick again.

He was plucking at Dazai’s nerves, playing him so well and urging him into a sweeter, deeper submission. Chuuya had to wonder if Dazai would let him cause a little more pain if he forced a few more org*sms out of him. Nothing permanent, just something along the lines of hair-pulling. He didn’t want to try now at risk of ruining the carefully cultivated mood, but it was a conversation he wanted to have later.

Dazai was pushing back into his fingers now, comfortable with the stretch and needy for more pleasure that Chuuya was more than willing to dole out in spades. He hadn’t gotten friction on his co*ck in a while, so Chuuya was sure he wasn’t close, but Dazai acted like it, whining and begging in moans and clenching his fingers in the black duvet. He still just laid there, taking the touch without fight or argument, accepting everything Chuuya gave him. The compliance made Chuuya shiver a little, because he knew that the next time they ended up here it would be a very different story. Dazai was collecting information just as much as he was sinking into pleasure.

The reminder made Chuuya’s dick twitch a bit in impatience.

That’s right; they hadn’t even gotten to the main part of the night.

Chuuya slipped his fingers out of Dazai just as he swiveled his hips down needily.

“What-” Dazai tilted his head to see what was happening, only for his eyes to widen. A breach of blunt pressure brushed his sensitive hole.

“Yeah?” Chuuya asked, lightly pressing the head of his dick to Dazai’s well-prepared, slick entrance.

Dazai was already nodding, head tipped back into the pillow, before Chuuya could take another breath. “Yes,yes, Chuuya,yes. Come on.”

Taking a deep breath, Chuuya put a little more pressure, just enough to force Dazai’s hole to open over the tip of his co*ck. Then, a thought striking him, reached up over Dazai, accidentally pushing himself further in, hissing at the tightness while Dazai’s breath shuddered. He grabbed a pillow and leaned back, slipping back out of Dazai and grinning a little at Dazai’s displeased huff. He reached under Dazai andlifted,hoisting his partner up and slipping the pillow under his hips.

He glanced up while he realigned himself. “Better?”

Dazai’s eyes were wide, blinking occasionally but trained on him. The flush on his face was darkening severely. “You… just picked me up. With one arm.”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? I’ve done it before.”

“Yeah, but not like…” Dazai snapped his mouth shut, looking irritated and flustered and like there were far too many thoughts running around his brain for Chuuya’s liking.

(Those moments, Dazai thought, dying a little inside, had only happened because he was injured and literally couldn’t walk. The casual reminder that Chuuya, even withoutFor the Tainted Sorrow,physicallydoubledhis strength had him reeling.)

Chuuya pushed the head of his co*ck into Dazai to disrupt his thoughts. It worked, pushing a little gasp out of Dazai’s lips. Slowly, he kept going, pushing his co*ck further into Dazai. It was tight. Even with liberal stretching, Chuuya knew he wasn’tsmallso he took his time, letting Dazai feel every inch and get used to it.

Even with his patience, Dazai was trembling. Chuuya, noticing his eyes were shut tightly and his breathing was labored, leaned forward. Dazai’s arms were up by his head with his palms facing upward, his finger hooked under dips in the fabric of the pillowcase. Chuuya reached his left hand up and gently cupped his flushed cheek.

After a second, Dazai’s eyes opened, blearily looking up at Chuuya’s blue eyes, those dark, widened pupils reflecting the blue hue and making him looketherealwhen he leaned into Chuuya’s hand.

.

Ethereal?

Since when did he think aboutDazailikethat?

Dazai’s small, painfully affectionate smile cut through his thoughts. Chuuya couldn’t help himself from smiling back, a little secretive thing, like they were sharing something between them that they didn’t dare speak into existence. He pushed forward a little more, reaching up to clasp Dazai’s hand with his right when it shook.

It felt so much more intense than anything they’d done until then.

It felt like a century had passed when Chuuya’s hips were finally flush with Dazai’s, so deep inside his partner and stretched over him in an intimate position that he could hardly tell where he ended and Dazai began. Dazai’s mouth parted in a desperate gasping for air. He looked….

Gods, Chuuya really was lucky.

Scary? Skeletal? Death warmed over? The idiots in the mafia had no idea what they were talking about. Dazai wasf*cking beautiful,from the lines on his skin to his stupidly swoopy, curly hair and even his dumb, gorgeously long model legs. Those pretty, bright, warm eyes were the most decadent wine Chuuya had ever seen.

He’d never tell Dazai any of it, but it was the principle of the matter.

His hips stuttered out and in, eliciting a little equally shocked and pleasured sound from Dazai. It was all he needed.

Chuuya, feeling like every part of him was on fire, pulled out and thrust back in, using his weight in the downwards angle of his f*cking as he pushed into Dazai quickly.

“Ah, hah,hm,Chuuya,”Dazai choked on his whines with every thrust.

It was like electricity zapped with every slide, every curve of friction. Chuuya felt possessed, his pace not faltering despite the tingling that skittered up his arm whenever Dazai unconsciously tightened his grip on his hand. It was almost as telling as the fluttering of his ass whenever something felt good. Dazai wasn’t particularly strong, but his grip was tight enough at times that his knuckles were white with the force of it.

Chuuya loved the reminder that Dazai was just as pleasured by this. His partner, his idiot of an executive, had cum twice on Chuuya’s fingers and tongue and was still letting him f*ck him into oblivion. The power rush was insane.

Everything about this was an ego boost, from Dazai’s clear, unhidden arousal to his alluring little hiccups every time Chuuya thrust at just the right angle. He felt mesmerized, eyes on Dazai like he couldn’t bear to look anywhere else.

Dazedly, hips still moving and chasing the deliciously tight and lube-slick, wet friction, Chuuya abandoned his left hand’s spot at Dazai’s cheek, heart clenching at the way his partner head leaned to chase the touch, to pinch at his nipples. Dazai didn’t like his nails long, so there was only a little bite into his hand when Dazai’s grip tightened to the point where Chuuya suspected it was straining his own hand.

Still, his loud, wailing moan at the overwhelming amount of sensation and continued, probably nowpainful,sensation on his nipples was deeply gratifying. The thought of Dazai twinging with this kind of pain in a sexual context had a groan rumbling in Chuuya’s chest.

He tried to keep his pace as steady as possible, not wanting this to end too soon for either of them. Dazai’s other hand was still gripping at the sheets desperately, trying to get some kind of grounding leverage away from the pleasure. Something darkly possessive gripped Chuuya. He abandoned his assault on Dazai’s nipples in exchange for grabbing at the wayward appendage.

His hand landed on Dazai’s neatly lined forearm. Chuuya’s pace faltered a bit.

He hadn’t lavished these scars with the attention he’d given everywhere else. These weren’t battle wounds, after all. These were self-made, precise, done with the intention of taking this insane man away from him.

They felt off-limits to Chuuya, like even though he’d unraveled their barrier from his eyesight he shouldn’t touch them.

Dazed, distantly recognizing Dazai’s wriggling and searching hips trying to restart the devastating pace, Chuuya lifted that arm towards him.

Under Dazai’s confused gaze, Chuuya pressed his lips tenderly to the white lines, maintaining eye contact the entire time. His blue eyes seared into Dazai with every bit of intent he felt. It wasn’t the roaming, desperate search to know and possess every inch of skin. This was a deep, gentle intimacy. Dazai’s eyes widened, and he could see every single movement of those eyes, the thoughts behind them, the way they roved over every inch of Chuuya’s face and begged for answers. There was the calculative edge Chuuya was deeply familiar with, the vulnerable one he’d recently gotten to know, and some deeply saddened, desperate clawing.

And then came the heat.

Dazai’s hips shifted down, gasping, f*cking himself on Chuuya’s co*ck, some renewed desperation to be touched and owned that Chuuya only barely caught before he was throwing his head back in pleasure at the sensation.

“Chuuya!” Dazai cried out loudly, sensual and needy.

Chuuya pulled out and slammed back in faster now. Again, again, until he could feel the constant, pulsing fluttering and hear loud wailing from Dazai, growing louder and louder. His co*ck visibly twitched from where it was pressed between their stomachs. Chuuya didn’t have a hand free to touch it, busy holding Dazai’s right and gently running his fingers over the scars on the left.

To make up for it, he f*cked into Dazai a little harder, more pointed, trying to direct every thrust at Dazai’s prostate and hearing his trembling, hitching little hiccups from the sensation.

It was so much.

Just as the coil in his gut started to tighten considerably, he heard Dazai’s pants reach some kind of miniature crescendo. “Chuuya, please, please,touch me,”he begged, and he would have dropped everything to do whatever Dazai asked in that moment, but his grip tightened contradictorily on Chuuya’s hand and his other clasped onto his forearm to ground himself, effectively keeping him from moving. It would take a moment to wrestle his arms away without ruining the mood.

So Chuuya smirked instead.

“You can come just like this,” he said, thrusting into Dazai a little more forcefully.

“Please,”Dazai begged, but his breath was hitching and his whines were reaching the pitch they had the last time he org*smed on Chuuya’s tongue.

The flame stoked higher and higher between them, Chuuya’s thrusts starting to stutter just as Dazai’s moans turned into a high, breathy pitch and he was wheezing like he was drowning. So caught up in the feeling of Dazai’s ass tightening around him and how close he was to cumming, Chuuya didn’t realize that Dazai was that close until his ass fluttered around his co*ck and his partner was nearly screaming, again, so high on pleasure that he’d cummed just from anal stimulation.

Barely able to keep it together enough to f*ck Dazai through his own org*sm, Chuuya spilled moments later, the coil tightening to a fevered pitch until he couldn’t hold out any longer.

“f*ck,”Dazai breathed out, slumping back.

Chuuya, managing to hold himself up where he was hunched over Dazai’s body, huffed out his agreement.

They stayed there for a few long moments while Chuuya’s racing heart settled back into something resembling normal. It wasn’t long until, when he sat up, he dimly felt his co*ck still in Dazai’s ass. There was a disgruntled, oversensitive whine at the sensation. Chuuya kissed his apology into Dazai’s thigh before lowering it and pulling out.

.

sh*t.

Chuuya wasn’t going to get hard again after that.

He knew that.

But gods damn.

As soon as he slipped out, a dribble of his cum started leaking out of the soft gaping of Dazai’s ass. His legs were spread naturally, occasionally spasming from residual sensation. Dazai’s chest was even puffier in the aftermath than it was while Chuuya was working over it, all reddened and bruised. The hickeys from earlier were stark and showing up against pretty alabaster skin. His scars were quickly joining them, purpling from the hickeys he’d sucked over the white lines. His face was slack with relaxation from the euphoria of three intense org*sms.

He looked f*cked out andowned.

Chuuya’s eyes kept drawing downwards, hyperfocused on the way cum was drooling out of his ass, the reddened ring of muscle clenching softly every few seconds.

It would be way too much. Chuuya should start cleaning them up. But every time he thought about getting up, he felt so f*cking tempted. His fingers reached up to brush over Dazai’s abused chest with wonder.

“Hey,” Dazai flinched away, but Chuuya’s fingers followed, settling onto the overworked nipples and rubbing over them. “Ah, why…hm,hurts,” Dazai whined at the sensation, but he wasn’t moving away as much as he would be if he really wanted it to stop.

And “hurts” wasn’t ano.

Well, it kind of was, for Dazai. But Chuuya didn’t take it seriously when Dazai leaned the tiniest bit into it after a moment’s evaluation of the feeling.

He kept going, not pinching- because that probably reallywouldhurt- just settling flat pressure over them until he saw Dazai’s hips squirm. Chuuya stopped his ministrations, gaining a confused, tired and dazed glance from Dazai.

Chuuya rested a hand on the soft skin of the back of Dazai’s thigh and pushed it up. Just like he thought it would, Dazai’s hole clenched and more cum dribbled out.

When Dazai didn’t voice any complaints, only squirming embarrassedly at the wet feeling, Chuuya gave in to the temptation. He dipped his head down and licked a broad, flat stripe over the twitching hole and delighting in Dazai’s gasp.

“Chuuya, what- hah! Hn.”

Chuuya licked over it again, repeating the motion until Dazai’s thighs bracketed around his head with a needy little shuffle. Finally, he sealed his lips over the muscle andsucked.

Dazai made a new sound altogether, something edging on possessed but with the same loud, wailing, pitchy whistle of a scream. Chuuya wished he could see his face, because heknewthis felt good, especially after getting f*cked well. And Dazai had been, if he said so himself, considering he’d fingered him into two org*sms and f*cked him right after. Chuuya was not a selfish lover, which worked well for them, considering Dazai was drinking down every scrap of pleasure Chuuya had to offer.

He continued to alternate between sucking on the twitching rim and lapping over it with thick, broad strokes until Dazai was mostly hard and panting again. Chuuya noticed with more than a little pride that after a few more minutes of stimulation Dazai’s legs couldn’t even fully wrap around him, laying limply at the sides of his head and shaking with exhaustion from the effort it took to keep them somewhat out of Chuuya’s way.

He could’ve held them back himself, and if he were feeling a little nicer he might’ve gone ahead and done it, but seeing Dazai’s wavering concentration after three org*sms wascute.

He wasn’t driven by lust at this point; Chuuya didn’t particularly like the taste of his own cum, no matter how hot the sight of it dripping from Dazai’s ass was, and he didn’t have as short of a refractory period as Dazai, so another round was out of the question unless his body was put through as much stimulation as he had subjected Dazai to.

The emotional reward of hearing Dazai’s pitchy desperation caused solely by Chuuya outweighed any physical gratification he might’ve sought.

(And, maybe, it was a little selfish on his part too. If Dazai ever dared to seek out a lover that wasn’t Chuuya, he wanted to have indulged Dazai in his every whim. There weren’t many who were willing to go along with Dazai’s ridiculous standards and requests, and even fewer who had the stamina to keep up with the sex drive Chuuya was openly encouraging. Chuuya wanted to be on Dazai’s mind every time someone refuses to do something or simply doesn’t think about it so that all Dazai would be able to think was“Chuuya would have.”)

As soon as Chuuya thrust his tongue into Dazai’s hole, he knew this wasn’t going to last for much longer. Dazai’s legs spasmed at his sides and he could hear the weak, overwhelmed little yelp that accompanied the full-body jolt.

Chuuya licked into him with more conviction than before, curling his tongue again and again when it dragged a deep whimper out of Dazai. He didn’t let up even when Dazai started twitching away, no doubt a little weary of the climbing pleasure of a fourth org*sm.

Chuuya didn’t let him get too far, bracketing Dazai’s hips with his arms and holding them down as he licked faster, deeper. His head bobbed with the force of it while he tongue-f*cked his partner hard and as deep as he could get, tightening his hold on Dazai when the force of the shaking increased drastically and his noises kept climbing in volume. His hole was twitching and he was crying out loudly, having passed some kind of edge but not cumming, not yet.

“Ah, ah, ah, I’m- I’m there, I-” Dazai cried, confused and dazed and grinding back onto Chuuya’s tongue. “It’s- why-”

Chuuya wanted to see that look, that confusion as he soared past his usual precipice. Consecutive org*sms could be weird like that; when it was too good, too much, so much all at once, the euphoric clenching and unclenching and release of endorphins just didn’t stop. Real, substantial ejacul*tion was around another corner and Chuuya chased it for Dazai, following the high, breathy, desperate panting and confused grinding with a single-minded intensity.

When Dazai’s breath hitched more when Chuuya curled his tongue into one spot over another, he switched to focus on it, overstimulating the spot until Dazai was sobbing dryly, hiccuping and grinding and begging for something he didn’t understand, but knew only Chuuya could give him, not even trying to touch his co*ck even as it bobbed.

This is what Chuuya wanted.

Dazai would never get this from anyone else if he had his way.

Dazai’s head tipped on a silent scream and his hips jolted away, away, away seconds before his co*ck actually started ejacul*ting. Chuuya’s hold tightened a little more, keeping Dazai on that razor edge and forcing him to ride out the longest, worst, greatest org*sm of his life on Chuuya’s tongue. His sobs weren’t actually producing tears, but Chuuya suddenly wished they were. The desperation was gorgeous on Dazai.

Next time he wanted to try edging andreallymake him cry.

Even when Chuuya finally pulled his head away, Dazai took a long time to come down from his fourth and final org*sm of the night. He laid back, eyes closed but (probably) not sleeping. His body twitched slightly every few seconds from what was probably the most intense sensation of his life (outside of the pain of being shot or stabbed or having his throat slit, Chuuya amended after one more look at his scars).

“What was that?” Dazai asked distantly, sounding a little airy and gone still.

“Rimming,” Chuuya answered, eyes bright. “Thought you’d like it.”

Chuuya took the ensuing quiet moment to head to his ensuite bathroom and grab a washcloth, rubbing his sore jaw. It’d been a while since he’d even tried eating anyone out. He made his way back into the bedroom, taking a short second to admire Dazai’s form splayed out on his bed. Gently, he ran the washcloth over Dazai’s skin, smiling a little at the pleased hum that escaped him at the sensation. Chuuya’s washcloth was probably softer than any of Dazai's blankets.

He’d noticed at some point that Dazai’s bandages, while genuinely meant to hide the scars on his skin, also kept it from touching rough textures. His partner’s skin was particularly sensitive to certain fabrics. Chuuya was glad that ever since he started getting his mafia paycheck he hadn’t settled for anything with a thread count lower than six hundred. Being a street kid for so long made him realize that he deserved the finer things in life, unlike Dazai who acted like he was allergic to self care.

His 1200 thread count, one hundred percent Egyptian cotton sheets would probably be heaven for someone like Dazai as soon as they were clean enough to slip under.

Chuuya would even grab his nicer duvet set from the closet just for tonight. It was sinfully comfortable, which was a problem when Chuuya needed to get up in the morning so he tended to leave it in the closet until he had a break. They both had a few days off, though, so it was fine.

After wiping down Dazai carefully first, being extra gentle with his abused nipples, and then himself with much less fanfare, Chuuya tossed the cloth into his hamper and started the bath water, making sure it was just under scalding. For some reason, Dazai was particularly fond of the heat, and nothing less than almost burning would do it for him. He only knew that because the last time he’d seen him somewhat relaxed was when they had a chance to visit a natural hot spring during a mission a few months back.

He came back into the bedroom to sit on the edge of the bed. Dazai had come down from his high at that point, but despite not wanting him to fall asleep, Chuuya almost wanted to leave him like this.

The sight of his still partially sticky skin firmed his resolve.

Rather than argue with a tired Dazai, Chuuya snaked his arms underneath Dazai, causing his eyes to open in brief alarm. Chuuya just aimed a satisfied smile at him while lifting him into his arms and carrying him toward the bathroom.

“Come on, mackerel,” he spoke into somewhat sweaty brown curls.

“I can walk,” Dazai murmured a little indignantly.

Except Chuuya knew that Dazai would’ve pitched a fit and thrashed around if he really didn’t want to be picked up, so he didn’t think much of the words.

“Sure,” he rolled his eyes instead, setting him down in the traditional shower on the stool already in there.

“I just want to sleep,” he complained at Chuuya, who leaned over to shut off the bath water.

“And I wanna have clean sheets,” he snarked back, turning on the showerhead and facing it away while waiting for it to warm up.

“Is this how you treat all of the people you have sex with?” Dazai shook his head mockingly, but it was weaker than usual. “Chuuya’s such a brute.”

“Shut up, dumbass.”

He didn’t get a response for a long minute. Maybe Dazai really was just tired, but he’d thank him (not openly, but internally) for making him bathe his sore muscles when he didn’t have to go through the next day with cramps he’d complain to Chuuya about.

(Dazai just didn’t think Chuuya wanted him to stick around overnight. It contradicted his understanding of one-night stands but succeeded in warming his cheeks.

He kept his face forward to hide it. There wasn't anything to look at in Chuuya's bathroom anyway. He took showers here often enough that he knew what it looked like.)

“Eyes,” Chuuya spoke blandly before bringing the showerhead over to wet Dazai's brown hair, dragging his fingers through it to bring it away from his face. He methodically went about making sure every strand was soaked, then reached for his citrus shampoo and lathered it into the curls.

Dazai had been taking more showers at Chuuya's apartment ever since they became partners and it showed. He didn't know what kind of thirteen-in-one nightmare Dazai had been using before, but Chuuya's curl shampoo and conditioner (though he suspected Dazai didn't bother with the conditioner when he was over) had revived some definition in the previously frizzy locks.

He was lucky they had a similar hair type.

After another brief reminder to close his eyes, Chuuya rinsed the shampoo from Dazai's hair and went about the same routine with the conditioner. Dazai usually smelled like grass and some kind of wood, but Chuuya liked to smell the artificial citrus on him.

He washed Dazai's back for him, taking less time on his body than on his hair. The caressing touch had been welcome in the bedroom, but he wasn't sure what boundaries remained outside of sexual activity.

Once Dazai was properly cleaned, Chuuya quickly went about his own routine, quick and without nearly as much care as he'd taken with his partner.

He grabbed a fluffy towel for himself to dry off enough to step onto his carpet. Then he reached over and lifted Dazai off of the stool, noting that Dazai didn't have a quip this time. For once, he seemed to have tired his insomniac out. He settled him into the bath.

“I'll be back in a minute,” he said, briefly finger-combing wet brown curls one more time.

Chuuya scrunched his long hair with the towel while he walked back into the bedroom, grabbing out a pair of panda-covered shorts for himself. He quickly dressed, then retrieved the largest, softest shirt he owned (which, ironically, had been a gag gift from Kouyou featuring a cartoon fish) and his softest sleep pants, decorated with sloths, along with a pair of boxers Dazai had left over during one of their sporadic sleepovers.

Did Chuuya like graphic designs? Yes. He'd never gotten to have them when he was a kid on the streets, so he indulged whenever he could now. He had a video game and animated movie collection in his apartment's living room to show for it.

He had a sickening feeling, while he ran his hand over the fabric, that Dazai probably still didn't get to indulge. The weird reactions to sweets and touch and simple indulgences made more and more sense after he saw that bite mark. A lot of little, weird things were clicking about his partner and Chuuya wasn't sure how to feel about it.

They'd both had sh*tty childhoods, but Chuuya was only now considering that Dazai might still be living in that nightmare.

He'd been standing there lost in thought for long enough that when he walked into the bathroom with the clothes, Dazai was already trying to stand on shaking legs.

“You good?” Chuuya asked, a brow raised in amusem*nt.

Dazai flipped him off. “Just fine.”

And then he almost slipped and cracked his head open.

Chuuya helped him out after that and toweled him off, bracing Dazai against him for a moment until he got himself together. It was just long enough that Chuuya, using his shorter height to his advantage for once, managed to scrunch Dazai's curls rather than let Dazai rub the towel over his hair like a maniac. Chuuya felt a little accomplished when he saw a few defined curls flop over his partner's blind eye.

“Get dressed,” Chuuya nudged him. “Bandages are in the top left drawer.”

He walked out of the bathroom, feeling Dazai’s keen, piercing eyes watching him, and quickly stripped the duvet off the bed, tossing it into the closet at random and grabbing the nicer one.

After placing it nicely over the bed, he took the time to replace half of his silk pillowcases with Egyptian cotton ones for Dazai. After finishing his task, he picked up their discarded clothes and put them into the small washer so that Dazai wouldn’t be able to just get dressed and leave the second he woke up. Chuuya still needed to stall him long enough to put some breakfast in him. When he finished, he went back to the bathroom to check on Dazai.

He was standing where Chuuya left him, his fingers squirming over the soft materials draped over his body. His attention was stuck on the unfogged mirror. The steam from the bath had covered their reflections, but now it was clear for Dazai to fully inspect the marks covering his scars.

Chuuya's eyes didn't fail to notice that the drawer of bandages hadn't even been opened.

“Ready?” Chuuya asked.Do you want me to put them on for you?

“Yeah.”It's fine.

It was too late to cook, and honestly, Chuuya didn't want to sabotage Dazai's sleep when he saw the drooping eyelids and barely suppressed yawns. So he led him straight to the bed. Chuuya climbed in on the side with his silk pillowcases quickly so that he could watch the moment Dazai touched the Egyptian cotton sheets.

Dazai didn't disappoint him.

After peeling the blanket away, he touched a hand to the sheets to brace himself and stopped the moment he did, eyes wide in wonder. A tenseness Chuuya didn't quite notice earlier melted away from his partner.

Dread,he realized, at getting into a bed with fabric he couldn't fall asleep on. Dazai had been resigning himself to a night of discomfort.

Chuuya watched while Dazai slipped into the blankets quickly, his unbandaged hands and arms running over the fabrics he was enclosed in. Chuuya couldn't stop his smile at the almost audible sigh of teary relief that escaped Dazai when his head touched the same fabric instead of glossy silk.

Chuuya slept with silk pillows for his hair, but the fabric didn't quite agree with Dazai. He was already making plans to buy more Egyptian cotton throw blankets for his living room for times when Dazai would sneak in at night without warning. Chuuya never asked why, but he felt like he had a few more clues after tonight.

He didn’t bother smothering his smile when Dazai turned over to face him. Those wine brown eyes were still glimmering with unconcealed emotion, but Chuuya wasn’t naive enough to think he’d see the same sight when morning came. He reached out and tugged Dazai over while he shuffled closer, bringing the both of them to the middle of the bed so that Dazai didn’t have to touch his silk pillows. He gently manhandled Dazai into laying half on top of him while he tangled their feet together.

They’d been in a similar position before, but never so tightly. It served to bring Dazai comfort and also made sure that if he tried to leave in the morning, he’d wake Chuuya up in the process.

No words were spoken, but after a minute, Dazai finally laid his head fully over Chuuya’s heartbeat with a small, indulgent sigh. He slung his arm over, latching onto Chuuya just as much.

His body relaxed, but Chuuya didn’t drift off. Instead of falling for it, he stayed up for what must have been another hour on his phone until he felt Dazai’s body slump the tiniest bit more against him, finally falling asleep for real rather than the facade he'd tried to pull. Just as Chuuya began to fall asleep, there was a small buzz to his left.

Dazai’s phone, one of three that he owned, lit up just barely within reaching distance. Chuuya, a little curious, reached over to grab it, spotting a text fromOdasakuin the lock screen preview. If it were anyone else, he might’ve ignored it, but he knew Dazai hated ignoring his very few friends. He knew Dazai’s passwords just as he knew all of Chuuya’s so he quickly tapped the passcode in just to check if the message was important.

Odasaku: if you have your phone on you, me and Ango just got back

Odasaku: heading to Lupin rn

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed.

Not‘if you’re awake’but‘if you have your phone.’

Like they didn’t think Dazai would be with anyone or doing anything. Like the only reason Dazai wouldn’t drop everything would be if he didn’t have his phone to check their texts.

Chuuya had met Odasaku once and only once and didn’t really like the man. Not only was he not suited to being in the mafia, but Dazai hardly looked at anything,anyone,else when he was in the room.

He lifted his hand to run his fingers through Dazai’s hair lightly while he stared at the text message. It turned out to be a good distraction from breaking the phone altogether when Dazai’s head tilted into his touch and he rubbed his cheek against Chuuya’s chest.

Impulsively, he swiped out of the messenger app and tapped into the camera. Feeling a little vindictive as he did so, he was thankful that he’d waited to turn off the bedside lamp as he snapped a picture of Dazai curled into him, passed out on Chuuya’s obviously bare chest with fingers tangled in brown curls and wrapped under blankets. The angle made it so that it wasn’t clear whether or not Dazai was wearing a shirt, but Chuuya’s face was visible, contorted into a smug smirk.

Me: (1 attachment)

Me: He’s busy.

He ignored the ensuing messages, pouring in from both Odasaku’s and a number saved underAngo.Chuuya sent the picture to himself, deleted it from Dazai’s phone, and then tossed it aside on the bedside table after silencing notifications when his screen wouldn't stop lighting up. He flicked the light off and leaned his face into the conditioner-softened brown hair, breathing in the comforting scent of citrus as he dozed off.

Yokohama, Japan

1:43 a.m.

The lights were rather dim in the bar that night. One of them was out in the corner, creating an odd shadow on the far side of the bar counter.

Ango sat beside him, drinking his tomato juice mindlessly and looking a little uncomfortable.

Oda picked up his glass of whiskey and rotated the glass. It wasn't often that they had such a quiet night anymore. Before they ‘took in’ the skittish kid that was Dazai Osamu, their nights were always like this.

He sighed and checked his phone one more time.

“Nothing?” Ango asked, feigning a certain level of disinterest.

Oda sighed again. “Nope. Dazai's probably on a mission.”

The thought twisted his gut a little. Dazai always looked so blank after a mission, like a doll with its strings snipped. The sight was unnerving.

“Text him?” His companion suggested, finishing off his tomato juice and waving for another.

Oda’s nose wrinkled. The last time he texted Dazai to ask where he was, he'd gotten an annoying and worrying reply featuring a bottle of bleach and a river. Dazai didn't really sleep, so he knew he was probably just lying awake if he wasn't on a mission, staring up at the ceiling with that dead expression in his one eye.

“You know Dazai,” Ango said when he saw the reluctance on Oda’s face. “He always comes back fine.”

“Still….”

“Then send him the text,” he said calmly, taking a sip from the tomato juice passed in front of him, flashing a quick smile to the bartender.

Oda gripped his phone and sighed.

Me: if you have your phone on you, me and Ango just got back

Me: heading to Lupin rn

He set his phone aside after and took a sip of his whiskey that he'd gotten the kid hooked on. Dazai needed a destresser, and in the mafia alcohol was one of the more tame choices. It wasn't like the kid was worried about his liver when he went around trying to drink bleach and throw himself into rivers.

Actually, he was surprised when he first found out the man who'd sat next to him in Lupin three years ago had never tried alcohol. It made a little more sense when he found out the stray dog he'd met was more of a straypuppylike the orphans he took in, no older than freshly fifteen.

No matter his personal opinions on Dazai and the implications of his age when he joined the organization, in the mafia age was a fact, not a number. If nothing else, it hardly mattered to their boss.

Oda was somewhat placated by the fact that Dazai had managed to make it to eighteen without dying.

In any case, he knew the kid wouldn't come by if he thought Oda and Ango were about to leave, so he'd let him think they'd just showed up. As far as Oda knew, Dazai didn't drink by himself even though alcohol poisoning was a viable way to die.

“Any reply?” Ango asked, again attempting to seem less concerned than he really was, but the man had always been a bit easy to read, an unfortunate trait considering the things he was tangled up in.

He shook his head. “Maybe he's really-”

His phone buzzed.

“Nevermind,” Oda blinked, flipping his phone over.

Ango leaned over, “what is it?”

Oda pinched the bridge of his nose. “There's an attachment.”

“Is he by another river?” Ango asked, a wrinkle of distaste disrupting his brow.

Flipping open his phone, Oda took another long drink of his whiskey, expecting to have to leave to fish Dazai out of the water again-

And then he promptly choked on it.

“What is it-?!” Ango lurched forward to see what had gotten Oda so shocked, then reeled backwards himself. “Am I hallucinating?”

Oda's eye twitched and he blinked disbelieving into the distance of the bar. “If you are then it's a shared one.”

After a long, grounding moment, Oda turned his attention back to the phone.

Stray Puppy: (1 attachment)

Stray Puppy: He's busy.

Oda recognized Nakahara Chuuya easily. The red hair and that sharp, smug smirk were distinctive enough. He'd only met the teen once, but he was Dazai's partner in the mafia.

And…

And apparently, his partner in- ah-another contexttoo. Yep.

He did not need to see the kid like that.

Curled, presumablynaked(he needed another drink) like Nakahara, under bed sheets with his head on the other teen's shoulder with fingers tangled in his wet hair (did Nakahara get him to shower? At least there was one positive, he just needed to focus onthat,not- whatever the picture was implying).

“Why?”Ango spoke finally, sounding strangled as he forced the word out.

The picture was sent by Nakahara, not Dazai, so he did feel a little spike of concern. The kid was unconscious- asleep?- in the photo.

Me: is Dazai okay?

No answer. Ango had recovered a bit, so Oda frowned at him. “Did Dazai say anything to you about his and Nakahara’s relationship?”

“No?!”Ango breathed. “Who evenisthat?”

Oda huffed a little amused breath at the dramatics. “Nakahara Chuuya, Dazai's partner.”

“He's dating someone?” The other man looked reasonably shocked, but he shook his head.

“No- I don't think so. His mafia partner.” Oda pursed his lips. “I'm a little worried. Nakahara was kinda rough with the kid when I met him.”

Ango's reactions sobered up a bit into something more serious. Dazai was a delicate person, if not physically then mentally. Regardless of how unhinged Dazai could seem at times, they both cared about him. “I'll text him.”

Dazai didn't respond that night, nor did Nakahara, but they got a very embarrassed text telling them to forget they saw anything the next morning.

Chapter 2: centripetal force

Chapter Text

Two months after their first ice cream date.

A month after their first time together.

Ten days after Oda Sakunosuke went and got himself killed.

Dazai was gone.

Chuuya hadn’t slept in a week.

The first emotion was anger. It came in spades, nearly leading him to destroy his entire apartment, but not enough to convince him to burn the Egyptian cotton blankets or sheets that had never really been for Chuuya. He almost threw out all of his expensive hair products when he realized that somehow, slowly, the scents began to remind him of Dazai. The faux orange scent had never been so nauseating.

He bought another roll of bandages when he reluctantly went shopping despite already having six in his bathroom cabinet. Chuuya didn’t notice the habit until he was already home. When he saw the extra roll in his shopping bag, he sat, catatonic, in his kitchen for almost an hour before drinking two consecutive bottles of wine.

He told everyone around him who noticed his hangover the next day that it was in celebration. Finally, his stupid mackerel was gone. Finally, he’d get some work done without having to do twice the amount because Dazai was allergic to paperwork.

His…

His stupid mackerel.

f*ck.

A tiny, angry part of him was bitterly happy for Dazai. He was out, away from his abusers and at last had a chance to be happy for once in his god forsaken life. But he couldn't help the rage, because he’d thought, for a second, that he had carved out a good enough place for Dazai next to him.

Dazai was an empty, gnawing hole of a person. Chuuya could stay right there next to him, trying to shovel happiness down his throat, but it would be years before he’d put a dent in that emptiness. The emptiness carved out by the people he’d left Chuuya with.

It took five more days, twelve after Dazai’s defection and fifteen after Oda died.

A sullen, slow, almost inaudible knock sounded on Chuuya’s apartment door sometime near three in the morning while he’d been in the process of burying himself in blankets that smelled like a mix of citrus and earthy notes, trying to come up with an excuse to not wash them for another week.

It was so out of place, so unintrusive, that Chuuya didn’t think it was anyone important. The only person he simultaneously wanted to and dreaded seeing wouldn't have bothered knocking.

He got up and answered anyway. He couldn't pretend not to be there because every light in the apartment was on. The dark always felt intrusive and- and not scary, but… well. The feeling worsened without someone to share a bed with him

Chuuya pulled open the door, ready to yell away anyone who bothered to come and disturb him.

He froze.

Dazai was layered in a familiar tan trench coat that hung a little too much on his shoulders to be his and at least a dozen masks that weren’t quite enough to hide his reddened eyes, both of which were on display. Aside from the figurative, he actually had a paper medical mask tucked awkwardly behind his ears like he thought that would do anything to keep Chuuya from recognizing him.

He wanted to cry, just a little bit.

“Traitor,” he hissed instead.

Dazai didn’t say a word, but something flashed in his eyes that Chuuya would recognize if he took a second to feel anything other than fierce rage.

He feared that if he let anything else slip out, he might just shatter.

Chuuya, a snarl curling on his lips, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and threw him into his apartment, slamming the door behind him and ignoring the flicker of guilt when he heard Dazai collide with the wall.

“What the hell are you doing here,” he growled lowly, turning to see Dazai on the floor from the force Chuuya displayed, eyes blinking up at him blankly.

He couldn’t tell if he was angrier that Dazai left the Port Mafia or that he waited fifteen days to come talk to him. He decided that both reasons were justified in that moment as he yanked the dumbass back up to something resembling standing and shoved him against the wall.

Dazai’s mouth shifted imperceptibly, but in Chuuya’s grip he was slack, like a puppet with cut strings, unmoving. Chuuya wanted to hear something, anything, even if it was just a confirmation of Chuuya’s doubts that he wasn’t good enough to make Dazai stay. At least then he would have an excuse to release some of the tension he felt.

Dazai kissed him.

Chuuya’s eyes were wide at the press of skin. It wasn’t a good kiss, or an attempt to light something on fire between them. It felt like an invitation.

Chuuya didn’t take it.

He pushed Dazai back against the wall, his eye twitching at the pained little gasp that escaped Dazai when his head collided with the surface. “What do you think you’re doing?!” He shifted his grip to Dazai’s neck, his fingers pressing into the place where he knew a horizontal scar laid beneath bandages and fabric. He hated himself a bit more for memorizing such intimate knowledge about Dazai. It would be so much easier to do this if he hadn’t mapped out every inch of scarred skin.

“Chuuya’s angry,” Dazai murmured, a small tremble running through him, but he still reached out to graze his fingers along Chuuya's skin like he was trying to goad him into something.

(He felt a little sick when he considered that this might be another one of Dazai's attempts to punish himself. Like he thought that if he made Chuuya angry enough then he'd forgo his usual tenderness in favor of taking what Dazai apparently thought Chuuya wanted.

Well too f*cking bad for him. Chuuya was not going to become Dazai’s new knife to cut himself on.)

“No sh*t?!” Chuuya shrieked, batting the bandaged hand away. It was dumb to raise his voice in mafia apartments, but he figured his building mates were used to the noise after a week of his not-so-quiet breakdowns. “You were gone for days and now you’re here like you’re not going to get killed! Like it’s not my job to kill you now!”

Dazai’s lips twitched. Chuuya released a tiny bit of pressure so that he could speak because even like this he still wanted to hear what Dazai had to say. Jesus f*cking christ he was just as pathetic as Kouyou’s staring implied. “Not your job,” he choked out quietly.

Chuuya’s grip faltered completely at that, a bit of the anger giving way to confusion.

“What are you talking about,” he asked suspiciously, fingers starting to twitch back into his unyielding hold. “You’re a traitor-”

“M’not,” Dazai rasped, a hand coming up to rub his neck passively, looking far too nonchalant considering the situation.

Chuuya stared for a long, long moment.

“Please for the love of god don’t tell me what I think you’re about to.”

Dazai’s lips twitched into something teasing and his eyes glimmered mischievously even in the low light. “I really got you, didn’t I?”

Chuuya, his face contorting into something bordering on mildly relieved disgust, finally let go of Dazai altogether. “You blew up my car,” he intoned lowly.

“Boss’ orders.”

He smacked Dazai upside the head. “I liked that car!”

“Guess you’ll have to get a new one,” Dazai chirped, stepping away from Chuuya.

“We have to tell Kouyou, she’s literally trying to kill you, you f*cking idiot,” Chuuya spat, but something light was bubbling in his chest (so light, in fact, that he didn’t even think to ask about Oda, the glaring fault in Dazai’s story. Later, he’d almost be glad he didn’t). “Not that you wouldn’t deserve it.”

“Chuuya,” Dazai tittered, faux disappointment crossing his face. “I’m your partner and beloved owner, how could you say that?”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Stop calling yourself that. Complain on our way to Kouyou’s,” he pushed past him, reaching for the doorknob. The woman was likely still awake despite the painfully early hour.

Dazai caught his arm. “Sorry, hatrack,” he spoke, but there was a weird flutter of something in his expression. “We have a mission.”

His spine straightened at the word, but, a thought crossing his mind, he narrowed his eyes at Dazai. “....if we didn’t have an assignment, how long would you have waited to tell me you were faking being a traitor.”

It wasn’t a question.

His idiot genius of a partner grinned cheerily.

It wasn’t an answer.

“Dazai!”

Chuuya didn't know what kind of mission needed half of his wardrobe, all of his passports and IDs, and the majority of his substantial amount of money transferred to a separate, non-mafia affiliated account, but Dazai told him to.

.

Which, admittedly, wasn't a good enough reason on its own, but when it came to mission assignments Chuuya was used to hearing about them from Dazai only, considering the weird amount of time he spent in Mori’s office.

Which Chuuya, unfortunately, now knew the reason behind.

With that distressing thought in his head, Chuuya tipped his head back, enjoying the fresh air. At Dazai’s brief insistence two hours prior, when he’d barged into Chuuya’s apartment to tell him that not only was he not a traitor but also a sh*tty inconsiderate f*cking excuse of a partner, he’d silenced his work phones in his carry-on duffel bag that carried his mission-related items. The only phone he carried on him, tucked into his jacket pocket, was his personal cell.

He sped up his motorbike on the next turn he took through the city. It was five in the morning, he hadn’t slept for a long, miserable week, and he was kind of looking forward to a long plane ride to their overseas mission destination.

Chuuya hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye to Kouyou, considering he’d gotten only two hours to get ready for what was apparently a multi-month long undercover mission. He’d see her when they got back, though, so he didn’t worry too much. The long hiatus might give her time to cool off for when she inevitably saw Dazai again.

It wasn’t often that they were given overseas missions like this. Chuuya hadn’t gotten too many details, but that wasn’t uncommon from Dazai, who often waited until the last minute to tell him their mission objective. He was grateful for the distance from Mori and the presumed chance for downtime with Dazai in between reading through mission specs.

“Chibi!” Dazai cheered when he pulled into the seaside runway. He was standing by the water to the left of the private jet, his back to the sea. His hair was illuminated by the burning sunrise slowly extending over the city, casting a halo over him and painting his features in sharp relief.

Chuuya took a second to remember how to breathe.

Hopefully they were taking a luxury jet. Regardless of his residual frustration, he was more relieved that Dazai hadn’t left him. The beautiful scene ahead of him deserved to be worshipped (or punished, but he hadn't decided yet) in its entirety in reclining leather seats.

Smirking at the tempting thought, Chuuya passed the keys to his bike to an attendant bustling quietly around the runway. They’d put the bike and strapped on luggage on the plane for him, along with the extra helmet clasped to the back that Dazai never used even though Chuuya sniped and pushed at him about it.

…it wasn't like Chuuya wore a helmet himself, but he was significantly more muscled and less breakable than his spaghetti noodle of a partner.

He strode across concrete and looped an arm around Dazai’s waist, pulling him in. “I’m still pissed at you,” he said, tugging a little at the longer strands of Dazai’s curly hair.

“I’m surprised you have enough brain cells to feel anything with that hat of yours,” Dazai teased, but Chuuya could hear the smile in his voice so he only dug his foot into Dazai’s with moderate strength behind it. “Hey! Chuuya’s such a brute,” he complained, elbowing him a bit to get him to move towards the plane.

Chuuya snorted and elbowed him back, but replaced his arm back over Dazai's waist and rubbed circles into the skin right after while they walked towards the boarding ramp. Normally he wouldn't dare to be so touchy, especially not in the open before a mission, but his dumbass hadn't been in Chuuya's bed in two weeks. Sue him if he maybe, possibly, slightly missed touching him. He delighted in the privilege.

It wasn't like Dazai's body didn't lean into the touch, relaxing imperceptibly and stoking the fire in Chuuya's gut the slightest bit. He knew himself well enough to have already realized at some point that he got off on Dazai handing over trust and control to him. With other partners he'd had before it wasn't something he cared as much about, but with Dazai the trust he showed was irresistibly attractive.

He'd never wanted anyone as much as he did Dazai. It was the kind of feeling that made him anxious but so fiercely protective over every scrap of emotion the brunette shared with him.

“Oh my god,” Chuuya muttered at the sight of the luxury plane’s interior, from the actual sofa to the conference table. He’d gotten used to putting in his services to the mafia in exchange for living in the lap of luxury, but his internal street kid still balked the tiniest bit at the frivolity of it all.

Eat the rich, his younger self hissed.

Eat out your partner instead, his more embarrassing impulses insisted.

He liked expensive things and wasn’t ashamed to say that the price tag could sometimes be more tempting than the actual object. His wine collection was a testament to that. The taste had grown on him enough that he genuinely enjoyed it, but the zeros on the price were alluring, unlike Dazai who drank bottom shelf whiskey regardless of the occasion.

Some would call him an alcoholic. Chuuya would call himself a well-deserving, properly indulgent person.

Despite his partner’s lack of attachment to spending his well-earned money, Chuuya didn’t fail to notice the way Dazai hardly batted an eye at the interior before dialling the light switch to dim the interior to being lit but not bright. He forgot sometimes that Dazai had been much younger than fifteen when the Port Mafia took him in, but like this, when he kicked off his shoes and socks and flopped down onto an expensive couch in a private jet unbothered and uncaring after carefully setting his tan coat on a coat rack, wearing perfectly tailored clothes in mafia black and white, it showed.

The decadence of the sight was unfortunately hot.

Chuuya wanted to lap up the privilege on his tongue. Call it his tendency for indulgence or a shallow reason to want his partner in his entirety, but the price on Dazai was the most attractive he’d ever seen in his life; a demand for pleasure, for money, for emotional vulnerability and a willingness to hurt.

He wanted to spend everything he had on him just to see if Dazai would pay him back in full.

The plane ride, according to Dazai, would be just under eight hours. It was more than enough time for Chuuya to properly make his partner regret not telling him about faking his defection.

…he hadn’t tried org*sm denial on Dazai yet.

Before, he’d deemed it too mean, too much, too soon. He wanted their sexual excapades to be nothing but good for Dazai. They’d only really had sex twice, and the embarrassment of their second time had been enough for Chuuya to take mercy on Dazai and abandon his plans.

Just the thought of that night elicited a short chuckle from Chuuya, drawing a glance from a sliver of wine brown from where Dazai laid on the sofa.

Dazai's eyes were wide and expectant as he got onto his knees in front of the edge of the bed. Chuuya swallowed thickly. Dazai really was a dream like this.

But he didn't move. For a long moment, he stayed there on his knees, something distant in his eyes growing as he waited there. Chuuya wasn't sure what he was waiting for, he'd been explicit with his own consent. Dazai was free to do whatever he liked.

A minute ticked past and Dazai was breathing a little harshly, his eyes flicking over Chuuya with a haze of confusion. And then, with a small, full body shiver, he seemed to come to some kind of conclusion, then opened his mouth and stayed like that, his eyes gone and body tensed with nervous anticipation.

Oh.

Chuuya felt a cold tendril snake up his spine. Did Dazai really think- for his first time going down during sex between them- that he was going to- going to hold his head down and make him? He'd purposely sat back for this, intending to let Dazai have full control.

He knew Dazai wasn't treated well, but the idea that he'd lowered himself to being so blatantly used…

Chuuya cupped Dazai's jaw gently and leaned in to press a kiss against his top lip. Like he'd been shocked, Dazai jolted out of the haze he'd built around him and shut his mouth, leaning into the kiss like he needed it, like the validation he was seeking would be found in the friction of their lips. Chuuya pulled away and pressed their foreheads together.

“You don't have to,” he murmured into the space between them. Dazai's eyes dilated distantly. “But if you still want to, I'll keep my hands out of it. It's all you, mackerel.”

The air between them lifted drastically in the next moment, like Dazai had finally been able to breathe.

“I want to,” he breathed into that pocket of intimacy, bending down to be face level with Chuuya's co*ck.

And then he promptly tried to deepthroat him all at once.

Keyword: tried.

“Drink some water,” Chuuya insisted a minute later after he walked back to the bed, pushing the cup into Dazai’s hands almost sweetly, but he was laughing the whole time, his eyes tearing up with the force of it.

His amusem*nt was only increased by Dazai’s petulant little glare that wasn’t nearly as threatening as usual when his face was red and his long eyelashes were clumping with reflexive wetness. He took the water and sipped, trying a little too obviously to seem like he wasn’t embarrassed when he had to pull away to cough a little again.

Of all the things Chuuya would have guessed Dazai wouldn’t automatically be a genius at, oral sex was not one of them. The startled, wide-eyed look as he realized that it wasn’t as easy as Chuuya made it look was probably one of his favorite expressions he’d ever seen on Dazai’s face. The sputters and desperate coughing afterwards weren’t as funny, rather having been alarming, but his clear dissent at not going down on Chuuya properly was definitely hilarious.

“Shut up,” he hissed at Chuuya, huffing into the glass with bright red ears.

Chuuya just raised a single eyebrow at him. Dazai rolled his eyes and tried turning away, reaching for the sleeve of his discarded shirt that had caught on the side of the bed, clearly intending to leave and preserve his ego from the mortification. Suddenly, the situation wasn’t nearly as funny anymore.

Quickly, Chuuya pulled Dazai back in by his arm and grinned, pressing a kiss to the tightly creased brow. Dazai’s features smoothened a little bit at the contact, so Chuuya kept going, peppering kisses over his face and neck until he relaxed against him again.

“Don’t think too much,” Chuuya said in between little chuckles, pressing one more kiss to Dazai’s lips before he bent down, swallowing his dick down all at once just to show off, then humming just to hear Dazai scream.

“What are you laughing about?” Dazai asked, letting a thin veil of curiosity show on his face.

Chuuya smirked, striding towards Dazai and lifting his legs up, sitting down, and placing them on his lap instead, the movement made easier considering Dazai had laid down on the wider portion of the sofa, clearly meant for napping. He didn’t miss the bob of Dazai’s throat at the action. Casual physical intimacy wasn’t new between them, but the boldness and intensity of it was something they were working on.

“Just the time you tried going down on me,” Chuuya teased.

Dazai immediately tried kicking at him to escape, but Chuuya had planned for it, grasping onto his ankles with his hands and caressing his legs. “f*ck off,” Dazai pouted when he realized he’d been caught without getting a good hit on his partner, turning his head away. The tips of his ears were flushing red.

“And,” Chuuya kept talking, his smirk sharpening into something a little more predatory, “how you didn’t tell me what you were doing and left me thinking you were gone for two weeks.”

It was supposed to be suggestive, a lead-in to Chuuya’s attempt at getting Dazai interested in sex. He couldn’t hide the hurt that bled through, though, a little too genuine and thick to be mistaken or ignored. Dazai’s head turned to face him with something almost like guilt brimming in his eyes. Not regret, not what Chuuya wanted to see, but if Dazai could muster up the ability to feel guilt over anything he did, then it was good enough.

“Chuuya,” Dazai faltered. He shifted uncomfortably, those eyes straying away to anywhere that wasn’t Chuuya’s face. “I… didn’t think it would hurt you.”

“No,” his grip tightened on Dazai’s calves. “You didn’t.”

Because Dazai didn’t understand why anyone cared about him. Because Dazai had been broken, shattered into a million pieces by hands that claimed to love him. Because after all of the trauma, he’d been rebuilt wrong, pieces missing and some in all the wrong places. Something was irreparably broken in his partner that Chuuya couldn’t replace.

“I’m sorry,” Dazai whispered into the empty space between them, eyes on Chuuya this time.

It wasn’t as sincere as he wished it were. It wasn’t for leaving him, or for not saying a word, or even for any of the f*cked up mind games he’d played with Chuuya over the past few years. The only thing he knew how to apologize for was his difficulty with understanding why any of it mattered.

And….

And yet it still had Chuuya’s heart thumping wildly against his chest.

He was scraping and searching for any ounce of redemption that he could get for Dazai that the man would never look for for himself. But at the very least, if nothing else, that simple apology meant Dazai had the capacity to try.

It was enough for Chuuya.

“You better be,” Chuuya muttered, but it wasn’t angry anymore. “You’re going to be,” he said next, teasing with an edge of possessiveness intending to kindle the air between them.

But, as Chuuya often still did when it came to his partner, he misstepped.

At the words, Dazai’s back slightly straightened in muted alarm, his eyes suddenly a little more alert, an ounce of weariness lingering behind them- not a huge change, but a noticeable one. Chuuya's eyes widened in response and his hands spasmed the tiniest bit against Dazai's skin. It was definitely better than their first time, where Dazai had been a lifeless doll, and an improvement from the nervous energy brimming in the room during their second.

Still, Chuuya recognized his mistake in the- not fear, but something close, something distant and skittish- he read in Dazai’s frame.

He hadn’t said the right thing, clearly, but he wasn’t always going to have the right words. Dazai’s trauma was an ever evolving monster that Chuuya was only ever scraping the surface of. Internally, he noted to never imply, playful or not, that Dazai was going to be ‘sorry’ for anything in a sexual context again. Sex wasn't meant to be a punishment; no matter how it was disguised as Chuuya ‘getting back’ at Dazai for leaving without a word, he was craving the wanton and over-pleasured reactions he elicited from his partner more than he did genuine sadness or guilt on his face. He still came back, after all.

He pressed his apology into the soft, tender divet of Dazai’s ankle, lifting it to meet his lips softly in lieu of words that would lull the mood Chuuya was trying to build between them. Dazai hated when his trauma stopped Chuuya from doing things like this, so rather than stopping altogether, he tested the waters gently with a lingering caress of his lips.

His partner untensed, forcibly calming the rigid line of his body. He met the unspoken question in Chuuya’s eyes with a small smile.

Chuuya knew not to question Dazai's consent unless it was painfully clear something wasn't right. Doing so would only chase the man away.

(He knew that Dazai was still getting used to concern and basic decency in the same way Chuuya was still struggling with his fear of abandonment and separation anxiety. They had flaws, problematic ones, ones that pushed them to manipulate each other in little ways sometimes, but they were sort of working on it. Slowly.)

Chuuya's hands pressed into Dazai's torso, dancing around the concealed skin. His partner sighed, eyes slipping shut again as he relaxed back into the cushions fully now. The admission of comfort with Chuuya's touch seared him hotly. His hands wandered a little more insistently, caressing pointedly around Dazai's covered nipples.

That evoked a slightly more erotic reaction from the man even though he hadn’t actually touched them. Chuuya loved to abuse Dazai's nipples any time they had sex, but also during the handful of quick handjobs they had managed between missions. It was just so easy to get Dazai on edge and panting that he’d unintentionally (or maybe just subconsciously; Chuuya wasn't as experienced or elegant with manipulative tactics but he had his moments) conditioned Dazai into anticipating the touch even before he actually bothered to make it happen.

The thought was more enticing than any wine.

Dazai’s breath quickened the closer Chuuya’s hands strayed near his nipples. It was so alluring that Chuuya purposefully moved his hands away, ignoring Dazai’s frustrated huff and piercing gaze with a small, self satisfied smirk dancing on his lips. He turned his attention back to Dazai’s torso, running both hands down the sides of it. He wondered, briefly, if he could convince Dazai to wear one of his corsets over one of his plain white button ups. He had a feeling the sight would be absolutely sinful on the solid lines of his partner’s body.

With that thought, he switched gears to unbutton Dazai’s shirt, shifting his body so that he had a thigh in between his legs to keep them open while he hovered over Dazai’s torso. He felt deeply pleased by the thinner layers of bandages on his body than usual; clearly Dazai had either been too lazy to wrap them properly before the flight, or he’d been expecting something like this. Chuuya let himself believe it was for this purpose.

“Pretty,” he breathed out unintentionally as he worked open the last few buttons, recognizing his mistake the second he heard himself say it.

f*ck.

“What was that?”

Chuuya only caught a glimpse of the pure, scheming satisfaction on Dazai’s face before he firmly reached for his nipples to shut him up before he could say another word. It worked for a moment, Dazai writhing when his fingers meanly pinched the sensitive nubs, working over them quickly and intensely. He even shifted his thigh into Dazai’s clothes co*ck a few times, keeping his own erection away to avoid giving Dazai the satisfaction of feeling how much Chuuya wanted him.

“I, hah, hn, thought I haa-hea-ea-eard my dog- Chu- ah- call me pretty- y- nngh,” Dazai gasped, far too smug considering he was panting just from having his nipples touched and a little friction on his dick.

“f*ck, you’re so easy,” Chuuya degraded lightly, not able to deny he’d said anything, but not willing to give Dazai the inch he was looking for. If Dazai wanted to call him out for his momentary slip-ups, then he’d have to deal with the consequences. He could sense the slight bit of antsy energy, the willingness to snark back that made Chuuya want to grab the reins a little tighter as a reminder to his partner of who was in control. “You’d probably get off on that, huh? Me calling you pretty?”

Talk like that was new for them, to say the least. The most Chuuya had said during sex were simple little compliments, observations or parodies of their normal day-to-day banter. This was uncharted territory, purposely calling out Dazai’s reactions and admitting a fraction of the awe he felt towards him, but it worked, somehow. Dazai’s face was bright red, more flushed and embarrassed than before. He was still for a moment, likely processing how he felt about it, before his hips were bucking a bit more surely into Chuuya’s thigh.

“Chuuya,” he keened, canting and pushing up into the rough pinching on his chest. It was the most open, pleasure-seeking movement he’d ever seen on his partner. He’d rocked down onto Chuuya’s fingers before and was definitely an enthusiastic participant in sex now, but the way he arched his hips just to get a scrap of friction when they’d hardly even started just because Chuuya tossed around a little bit of praise was delicious.

(Dazai got off more on the idea that the most powerful ability user in the world was deferring like this to him. It was a rush of attention, of the feeling of his own ability writhing under his skin at every glance of their skin, reaching out and desperately wanting to absorb every inch of Arahabaki, of Corruption, of For the Tainted Sorrow. While more than easy to ignore and most times outright unnoticeable, Dazai’s ability attracted him like a weak but persistent magnet to strong ability users, and Chuuya’s skin, the power of his physical body and his ability, had him power drunk on the feeling. It was partly why he stayed, why he would never get bored of Chuuya. Why he would do or say anything to keep him close.)

Chuuya couldn’t wait to see his face when he denied him for the first time. He wondered what addicting expression Dazai would show him then.

He’d definitely thought about it before, but he’d have to exploit Dazai’s glaring praise kink. If not now then soon.

Just to see Dazai writhe a little more, he pressed forward with his thigh into his co*ck.

“Hn, gods, Chuuya,” Dazai groaned, throwing his head back and pushing his hips up.

Chuuya pinched his nipples more firmly now, tugging and working over them until Dazai's high whines that accompanied each exhale were teetering into something more pained. The areolas were pink from the abuse, a reddened soreness creeping in. Just as he started flinching more away, sacrificing the pressure on his dick to get away from the excessive, painful touch, Chuuya pulled his hands off and dipped forward to lick over them.

“Please!”

Dazai gripped onto the leather seat, bracing himself. It didn't last long when, with a devious smirk, Chuuya reached a hand down to palm over the front of his slacks.

When Dazai’s whole body lifted, pushing into the pleasure while he begged for it in desperate, seeking whines, Chuuya had the tempting thought to make Dazai cum in his pants. It would be sticky, and more likely than not some degree of embarrassing. Perfect fuel for future teasing.

Dazai liked when Chuuya was nice and made him cum over and over. What face would he make when Chuuya got mean?

Chuuya abandoned that thought completely for today. While it was very tempting to degrade his partner into the dirt and work him over the edge of org*sm all at once in a beautiful juxtaposition of pleasure-pain-embarrassment, it would definitely be too much in all of the wrong ways.

Instead, he pulled his hand away, drawing out a displeased moan, and quickly went about undoing his work slacks and dipping a hand into his boxers. He properly wrapped his hand around Dazai's co*ck.

“Ah, hah! Hm, Chuuya, yes-” Dazai babbled, definitely feeling just as on edge from the sexual hiatus as Chuuya. He was so needy like this.

Chuuya quickly worked his hand over Dazai's co*ck, doing his best to bring Dazai to a razor’s edge. As soon as Dazai reached that precipice for the first time that day, he'd pull away and worship his half-naked skin as much as he wanted.

“Hah! I'm-” he cut himself off with a pleasured little jolt and hiccup.

“Close?” Chuuya asked innocently, occasionally laving his tongue back over both of Dazai's nipples.

“Yes!”

Not realizing that that single admission just signed over his org*sm, Dazai's eyes snapped open when Chuuya backed off completely, leaning back to massage his clothed thighs.

“...huh?”

Gods, he was such a lewd sight. Eyes wide and searching, skin flushed, nipples spit-slick and red, shirt open but not removed, slacks open and boxers pushed down just enough to free his pretty, twitching co*ck.

Rather than giving an explanation, Chuuya leaned in for another kiss and pushed the shirt off of Dazai's shoulders, easing it off of his arms. He tossed his own shirt off after and started working on Dazai's pants. Chuuya tugged at the waist of them once and pulled back to wait for Dazai's nod before rolling them down with his boxers.

Chuuya fingered the edge of a thinly layered bandage. Even though Dazai seemed to like the skin on skin contact during sex and only once during a quick blowj*b weeks ago asked to keep them on, he still made sure to check in. This was a touchy subject for his partner and Chuuya wasn't interested in pushing hard boundaries.

Dazai didn't have the same concerns. He nodded vigorously. “Yes, take them off, I don't care, just touch me.”

His hips bucked upwards, begging for a hand on his co*ck. He'd only been denied once and already he was so needy for it. Chuuya didn't often brag about sexual accomplishments, even to himself, unlike other things he did that he'd spout off about forever. This, though, stroked his ego long and fierce. The Demon Prodigy was begging him after having only his first edge denied. Chuuya had had the thought weeks ago about never letting anyone else see this side of Dazai, but it rang especially loud and true now.

Ownership was for objects, and for all Dazai's teasing, he knew the other teen would never seriously say he possessed Chuuya, so he would never even think about dehumanizing Dazai. This was less about owning him and more about making Dazai so needy, so desperate for Chuuya that he'd never even consider letting someone else unfold him so completely.

Just to tease, Chuuya let his hand stray back toward Dazai's co*ck and stroked it fast and hard.

“Chu-” Dazai's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden pleasure, but he adjusted quickly, bucking into the touch. “f*ck, yes, yes, Chuuya-”

It wouldn't take long for him to reach that edge again. Chuuya hadn't let the pleasure fizzle out properly, so he'd be close soon. It was so worth it to watch the pretty little bow of Dazai's spine when he arched into it. Up, up, begging, moaning-

And then he took his hand away and reveled in the long shudder of dissatisfaction.

“What are you doing?” Dazai panted, leaning upwards helpfully when Chuuya tugged at and unraveled the bandages on his torso, shivering when he danced his fingers over the revealed skin.

Chuuya leaned in, pressing his lips against Dazai's exposed neck. “Denial, mackerel. You'll get used to it.” Then he sucked and nibbled hickies into his neck, feeling the heat spike when Dazai sighed high and breathy. With his mouth occupied, Chuuya worked his hands down Dazai's arms and thighs, unwinding bandages as he went.

He'd never get bored of doing this. The exposure of addictive, pale skin. Even the scars were almost pretty- in a f*cked up way. Maybe it was the reminder of how strong Dazai was. Maybe Chuuya was just as crazy as his partner. Chuuya leaned back to see them. He knew every dip and line intimately, having mapped it out with his lips. Still, it was so f*cking electrifying to see every scrap of skin that he kept hidden away. Honestly, Chuuya almost liked that he did, because the sight felt like it was for his eyes only-

Huh.

Five new lines, carved into the tender inside of Dazai's wrist. They weren't healed over just yet, still pink and scabbed. They had to have been done within the month at the very least.

Chuuya felt a cold lump settle in the back of his throat. He should've expected this; Dazai had been so good for weeks since they began getting even closer, more intimate, so obviously ‘defecting’ and being away for a while would damage his already f*cked psyche. Still, he'd hoped it wouldn't result in him taking a blade to his own skin. It seemed either infected or getting there, actually, now that he looked closer.

He wasn't sure what expression was on his face, but Dazai looked uncomfortable when he noticed where his eyes were looking. Chuuya sighed heavily.

Carefully, he lifted the wrist towards him and under Dazai's heavy gaze, he pressed a kiss to the skin above the marks. They'd have to talk about it. Not now, because Dazai might actually (try to) kill him if he didn't pay attention to the small, needy grinds of his co*ck against Chuuya's abs, but later.

Dazai's expression was deep and layered unintentionally. There was softness, a bitter spike of anxiety, and the heavy curve of lust, all lurking in those pretty, sad eyes.

He wanted to kiss all negative emotions away until there was only a melty puddle of relaxation, trust, and overwhelming lust.

But Dazai wasn’t looking for that level of soft. Chuuya could tell in the tense line of his body as he continued to seek pleasure with every jolting little thrust of his hips. This wasn’t the time or place for that conversation, so after he pressed his lips to pale, injured skin in one more lingering caress of affection, he pulled away and kissed down Dazai’s chest.

Chuuya ignored his nipples for now, leaving the puffy nubs alone as he continued his way down to lines of Dazai’s body. The bullet marks, lines, stab wounds, all healed over into white were generously given attention to the backdrop of Dazai’s increasingly heavy breath.

He loved feeling the dips and lines under his tongue. It was a heady level of control that was emphasized by the punctured little moans escaping Dazai when he nibbled new hickeys over where his old ones had faded. No one would ever see them under those bandages that he was working on unraveling still, but Chuuya would know they were there. Proof that Dazai belonged with someone, that the space Chuuya had carved for himself in the hollow of his pretty glass heart was real and ever-present in the mess he was about to make of his partner.

Dazai didn’t have abs, persay; not like Chuuya, at least. He had definition, but whether by lack of a consistent workout routine or his atrocious non-diet, he had little muscle actually on his body. Chuuya had been trying to get him to eat whenever he could, even if it meant making crab for the upteenth time in a single week, but Dazai was a persistent idiot.

It wasn’t even that he was trying to starve himself for vanity or punishment (as far as Chuuya knew, anyway), Dazai just genuinely forgot to eat. It was a foreign concept for Chuuya, who sometimes felt the gnawing phantom pains of hunger even after eating, reminiscent of his time on the streets, but it was a problem. Even more concerning was the weird non-reactive state he went into whenever Chuuya got particularly pushy about food. He didn’t want to force Dazai to eat, but when he’d go three, four, five days in a row with little to no food, he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing while his dumb mackerel wasted away.

For someone like Dazai, who had a naturally slender figure, every pound he managed to put on was precious. Chuuya pressed adoring, sad kisses into the hollow divots of skin, each of them results of his partner’s poor lifestyle that he vowed to tackle headfirst with more gentle ferocity.

As he worked his way down pale skin, Chuuya laved his tongue around the base of Dazai’s co*ck, never quite stimulating it. His hips jolted in protest of this, so Chuuya settled his hands on either side of Dazai’s hips and pushed him back down into the cushions, eliciting a surprised, aroused moan.

Dazai definitely had a thing for Chuuya’s strength. Not particularly surprising, but another stroke to his ego that he took a second to revel in. He worked hard to maintain his physical fitness, after all. He deserved to have it appreciated.

Finally, after a few more teasing licks around the base, Chuuya gave in and licked a broad stripe up the side of Dazai’s co*ck and swallowed him down in the same fluid motion.

“Chu-Chuuya, gods, hah,” Dazai shifted, his hips jumping and co*ck twitching. Already, his moans were bordering on the pitchy, panicked little edge that Chuuya had begun associating with an impending org*sm.

Chuuya quickly pulled back and slowed down to kitten licks up the side of his co*ck to keep him close but not teetering over. His partner groaned, clearly already frustrated after only a few rounds of denial. The closest they had gotten to doing anything like this was during their first time when Chuuya wasn’t aware of Dazai’s short refractory period, before he decided to just make him come four times over. This conscious, intentional denial for the sake of building pleasure up to a point of being painful was definitely different.

Speaking of…

While he wasn’t planning on making Dazai come just yet, that didn’t mean Chuuya couldn’t indulge himself in a few org*sms, right? His gaze wandered down to just below Dazai’s balls.

Dazai could get f*cked without actually cumming. He liked rimming, too, so Chuuya could start with that. Then he could finger him with the lube he’d stowed away in his carry-on, cum in him a few times so that he was nice and wet and shaking from the denial even while getting f*cked. They didn’t have a butt plug, so Chuuya would have to eat him out again after, maybe make him cum dry after watching him fall apart.

Gods, the possibilities had a bit of drool pooling in his mouth. He swallowed it down harshly and smirked. It didn’t really matter what he did. With denial, Dazai would be forced to stay on the edge, so Chuuya could do whatever he liked (to an extent) as long as he promised his partner an org*sm by the end of it. Maybe three org*sms, four or five if he wanted to match their record.

With little warning, Chuuya dipped his head down and licked a broad, wet stripe over Dazai's puckered rim.

“Ah!” Dazai yelped in surprise, clearly not expecting the sudden switch. The shock wore off in moments as he shifted his hips a little and reached blindly for a pillow. “Don't break your neck,” he rolled his eyes a little, throwing the couch pillow at Chuuya.

“Hey!” It hit his head squarely. Unamused, he swatted at the tender skin under Dazai's thigh, prompting a little hiccuping squeak. “Yeah, yeah.” Feeling a little petulant, Chuuya hoisted him up in a way that folded his legs quickly against his torso in order to slide the pillow under him. It was clearly an uncomfortable position. “You should be nicer to the person who's about to eat you out, jackass.”

Despite his darkened blush, Dazai still found it in himself to scowl after he was dropped back onto the pillow. “I will if you make me cum-!”

Chuuya picked that moment to start tongue f*cking Dazai in earnest, sliding his tongue shallowly in and out of Dazai's ass. He swirled the appendage and leaned back to suck once on the rim before f*cking it back in fully.

The quick onset of pleasure easily had Dazai melting back into it, squirming and shaking and moaning. They'd never started with this before, so Dazai was probably used to being more sore and letting this be a soothing balm to build him up into one last org*sm. Starting with it just felt wet and dirty and Chuuya capitalized on that feeling, delighting in the crude little clenching motions around his tongue.

Chuuya usually wasn't really into eating other people out. It didn't exactly do wonders for his jaw, which tended to ache afterward, and he liked having it done on him more. Dazai really was so annoyingly addictive with every reaction and yelp that he couldn't help himself.

As expected, with every thrust, the little groans and desperate shaking increased into tellingly pitchy moans and violent trembles around his head. Chuuya smirked a little to himself and went faster, f*cking him in earnest and pulling back to suck once, twice, three times-

Just as Dazai's hips started lifting, Chuuya reached a hand up and meanly gripped the base of his co*ck to keep him from cumming. He kept sucking even as Dazai shrieked his dissent.

“Chuuya- No ! Let me cum, Chuuya- Chuuya let me cum,” he whined, bucking upwards and hiccuping on a dissatisfied hitch of breath when Chuuya used his other hand to push him back down. “St- I- hah- pleasepleaseplease-”

He kept sucking, alternating fully and quickly between fluttering his tongue back inside, sucking on his rim, and f*cking into him for real. Chuuya himself wouldn’t have lasted long on this kind of pattern, so Dazai’s begging made more than enough sense. He worked a little faster for a few moments just to hear Dazai’s moans teeter on something broken and unhinged, overwhelmed, aching, watching for the moment his hands twitched to leave the couch cushions-

With one more swirl of his tongue, Chuuya pulled off fully, to Dazai’s audible sob of confusion and annoyance. Chuuya stayed close, keeping his hand firmly around his dick to keep him away from that edge. A few moments later, he lifted his head fully to check in.

“That was mean,” he groaned sufferingly when their eyes met, but didn't bother jacking himself off when Chuuya let go of his weeping co*ck, wet with precum and dark with denial.

“One second,” he tapped Dazai’s bare thigh reassuringly rather than responding, leaning away to reach for his luggage that was set down over the armrest of the couch. He rummaged through a few pockets, tossing aside Dazai’s Egyptian cotton throw blanket that he’d thoughtfully packed for his dumb, unthankful partner.

(It wasn’t technically Dazai’s- Chuuya bought it, kept it in his own apartment, and occasionally used it while reading on his couch where he always left it. But he’d gotten it for Dazai and left it out for Dazai because his dumb mackerel sometimes liked to spend the night in Chuuya’s apartment without telling him he was there, just curling up in Chuuya’s living room in the middle of the night even though Chuuya was sleeping not far away in the blankets he kept on his bed specifically for the mackerel. Dazai was annoyingly allergic to doing laundry, so it always smelled like him because- well- Chuuya didn’t have all the time in the world to wash a random throw blanket. Obviously. And if Dazai slept without a blanket, he’d get cold, and then he’d get sick because he was so unhealthy that his immune system was shot. And he wouldn’t even know he'd gotten sick until Chuuya pointed it out, so then it would actually end up being his problem so it was easier to just get Dazai a blanket. It was about efficiency. Duh.)

Finally, he grabbed the lube and turned back to admire the sight in front of him. Dazai had clearly gotten an idea of what Chuuya was planning, so he already had his legs spread a bit. His co*ck looked so f*cking obscene already, a deeper flush already tinting the head of it. Dazai had more than likely never been edged, so the pretty, dark pink flush to his co*ck probably felt a little bit miserable to him.

Good.

Chuuya, while loving the sight of Dazai with his legs spread for him and him alone with a shine of wetness circling his loosened hole and his chest heaving from a denied org*sm, wished that they were on a bed so his partner could put himself on full display.

Later, he promised himself as he uncapped the lube.

“You better let me cum soon,” Dazai huffed, panting a little while he shifted down to welcome the finger circling his asshole. The longer they did this, the more scraps of Dazai shone through. He still got a little dazed, a little gone sometimes, but it was rewarding to hear him, for the most part, fully present in the moment. It had also gotten easier to trust in his physical cues, too, rather than checking in every few minutes. Dazai didn't need or want that level of concern. It would only make him antsy.

“If I feel like it,” Chuuya replied shortly, to Dazai visible dissent. He didn't bother trying to argue, but he still clenched his fingers into the cushions upsettingly.

“Chuuya's mean,” he pouted, but the expression didn't last long when Chuuya inserted his index finger all at once. “Hn!”

Chuuya, knowing Dazai was stretched enough for two fingers, decided to take his time anyway. He worked the finger in slowly on the next thrust inwards and swirled it. It wasn’t like their first time where Dazai was clumsy with the stretch, too tense to relax, too awkward to enjoy it at first, too dazed from an org*sm to really feel it. Without a lingering high of an org*sm, this was probably a lot to feel and his partner was vocal about it.

He really did love when Dazai got loud. Even with other sexual partners that he’d stopped pursuing a while ago for reasons he didn’t think about, it was a preference that Dazai filled beautifully. The validation was good for him.

With a little bubbling smirk of a smile playing on his lips, Chuuya poured a little more lube on his finger on its way out and inserted two on the next thrust. He didn’t take the time to tease his rim with the extra stretch, so Dazai jolted at it.

Normally, if this were anyone else, Chuuya would go ahead and tease their prostate knowing it would keep them on the edge but not tipping over, maybe offering some stimulation to their co*ck to keep them wanting. But Dazai could cum untouched, so it was with a close eye on his co*ck that Chuuya went ahead and worked his fingers into his prostate.

“Mmh- ah, hah, Chuuya, gods,” Dazai’s reaction was immediate, his head tipping back and body working back into the feeling. It could sometimes be a toss up as to whether or not he’d find the stretch comfortable, if it would make him freeze up and catatonic like their first time, but this worked well enough to bring him to that brink.

It was with that in mind that Chuuya, rather than thrusting or trying to stretch him, kept his fingers at the spot and leaned forward to press kisses over his sternum. After a moment, he started massaging into it.

Dazai’s full-body, high-pitched keen was easily one of the prettiest sounds he’d ever heard from his partner. They were pitchy, and airy, and kept climbing after only a few seconds. His eyes were big and his pupils blown as he rocked back, into it, more, more, more, and then shuddered and shook like his own reactions were shocking him.

“Clo- ah- hm-!”

Chuuya’s eyes widened.

That was quick-

He could barely make out a full word, but Chuuya heard the aborted warning for what it was and snaked a hand up to grip his co*ck again.

Even as Dazai groaned, shifting, begging and whining for stimulation Chuuya wasn’t interested in giving him, his eyes were a little wide in surprise. It hadn’t been that long, but Dazai was already tipping the edge with little scraps of pleasure.

How many org*sms would he have had by now?

It was an interesting thought- not one he was entertaining at the moment, but something to return to later.

This time, even as Chuuya backed away from the pleasure, he continued methodically stretching him out, just avoiding his prostate and keeping a grip on the base of his co*ck.

Dazai, swallowing and choking down the remnants of pleasure still sending little shockwaves with every little scissor of Chuuya’s fingers steadily prepping him for a third, managed to get himself together for a moment. “Chuuya’s- hah- gonna f*ck me, right? And- and that’s… hnn… how I’m gonna cum?”

Even with his ears tipped a dark red and the bridge of his nose heated considerably, he sounded so sure of himself. Like just asking was a favor to Chuuya. Like he knew he was right.

And- honestly- he almost was. Chuuya had been thinking about making Dazai cum on his co*ck when those pretty whines started bordering on something aching. His co*ck was a little purple now- it was more than likely getting painful. They could try to go for longer later, but this was starting to border on too much in the wrong way. He didn’t want to risk forcing Dazai to tap out.

But that tone, that face, that smugness, the surety that he was right…

Chuuya sneered.

“No.”

Dazai’s eyes widened with a panicked edge. “Wait, Chu- ha! Hm! N- Ch-! Ah!”

He gasped on a high, pitching moan when Chuuya jabbed into his prostate at the same time as he thrusted inwards with a third finger. His hand was still firmly keeping Dazai from cumming, so he just held him at that precipice meanly.

After one, two, three more jabs at his prostate, Chuuya grinded his fingers into it, milking the bundle of nerves and making Dazai’s eyes nearly roll back into his head. He kept going, bolstered by the pleasured reactions. His legs were spasming aggressively now, like Dazai had lost control over his body movements, lost to the pleasure. Even so, he was scrambling for purchase, his hands leaving the cushions and waving blindly to grasp onto Chuuya. The sudden, grounding contact was so surprising that Chuuya, eyeing the motion, slowed down to a stop.

“What is it?” Chuuya asked, waiting for the quick jumping breaths to go down on his partner. There was an unintelligible murmur of something that Chuuya couldn’t hear, so he didn’t respond, waiting patiently for Dazai to actually look at him. He took the moment to peel Dazai’s hand from his arm and press kisses into the scarred wrist.

Finally, those big doe eyes cleared enough that he could see a glimmer of anxiety. “You… ha… Chuuya is gonna make me cum, right?”

Oh.

Chuuya blinked, feeling a little out of depth- because wasn’t it obvious…?

…

No. Of course it wasn’t. Not to Dazai.

He let go of the wrist and leaned up to press a reassuring kiss to Dazai’s lips. He smiled against them. “Yeah, you’re gonna get to cum, mackerel.”

Dazai’s little, honest sigh went straight to his mouth and it felt sweeter than it should. Something more mischievous curled against his mouth next. “Now?”

Chuuya leaned away with a raised eyebrow. “Soon,” he said, not deigning to entertain Dazai’s attempts at negotiation.

“Soon… in a little bit?”

With a reluctant little laugh at Dazai’s obvious attempt at innocence with his eyes widened in a purposeful doe-like resemblance, Chuuya curled his fingers back up into Dazai’s prostate just to hear him moan. “Soon,” he said more firmly.

Chuuya worked him up, keeping a hand on him because Dazai really was so easy to get over the edge. He scissored his fingers a few more times to test the stretch and grinned a little when Dazai easily opened up for him with a soft moan. He took his hand away from his partner’s co*ck to pull down his boxers and kicked them away, taking his fingers out of Dazai to stroke himself a few times to relieve the pressure.

Dazai’s eyes blinked back open slowly at the removal of Chuuya’s fingers and widened a little at the sight of his dick, dazed wine brown glimmering in the dimmed lights. “Yeah?” Chuuya asked, pressing the head teasingly to Dazai’s entrance with a little, sharp smirk.

“Nngh, yes,” Dazai said immediately, his co*ck so purple and desperate for any worthwhile sensation that he wrapped his long legs around Chuuya’s waist just to force the head in, clearly having run out of shame after the first round of denial. He tipped his head back at the sensation, accentuating his puffy nipples, hickey-covered neck, bare skin….

f*ck. Gods f*cking dammit. Dazai was an absolute dream and Chuuya still had no idea how he’d managed to get him in his bed, his arms, whatever-

Chuuya thrust in at the same time as he leaned forward to capture those lips with his own. Dazai’s moan echoed into his mouth as he bottomed out quickly and grinded in slowly. Their lips broke apart when he pulled back to thrust in faster now, but Chuuya didn’t stop teasing him with his mouth, latching onto his neck to decorate it with more dark hickeys.

“Chuuya! Ple- ea- ease,” Dazai cried out. Chuuya’s hand warningly returned to squeeze the base of his co*ck. “No! No, no, no- let me cum, please let me cum-!”

He pulled back for a second, admiring the way his blue eyes were reflected in Dazai’s brandy irises, reaching up with one hand to tease one of those abused nipples just to feel the way Dazai clenched around him maddeningly. He was so f*cking tight and wet.

Chuuya would cum too quickly if he wasn’t careful.

Not that it mattered, though.

Dazai wasn’t going to cum unless Chuuya wanted him to.

Chuuya rocked forward, working himself up to an org*sm however he liked and ignoring Dazai’s pleas for the meantime. Dazai hiccuped on a little sob when he rolled into his prostate.

“Please… please I’m there- I can cum- I wanna cum,” Dazai begged, his co*ck looking absolutely obscene now, so dark and flushed with the edge of an org*sm that Chuuya was keeping him from falling into with an unyielding grip.

Feeling a little excited, a little too close, a little too dizzy with lust, Chuuya kept rolling into his prostate with vigor now, taking a hand from his nipples to yank one of Dazai’s legs from his waist and hook it over his shoulder. As he f*cked into his partner with a dark, sickening glee from the power trip, he pressed a few kisses into the sensitive inside of his thigh. Chuuya didn’t stop aiming for his prostate even when Dazai’s moans peppered into something bordering on a wail, chasing his org*sm fully now, f*cking fast and hard.

“Chu- u-” Dazai babbled, trying for his name but ending up with a few incoherent syllables here and there. Chuuya got the picture, though.

Picture…

He should photograph Dazai one of these days. Save a photo of him just like this; begging, gasping for air, his co*ck drooling so much precum over the purple head and-

Oh…

Oh those were tears, huh?

Glittering in those decadent eyes were budding little tears that peaked at the ends of his long, dark eyelashes like rare, expensive jewels. He liked expensive things- he indulged in them more often than not, but this was something else. The way the wetness glimmered around the gorgeous depth of his dark, lust-blown pupils and complemented his open, panting mouth was a sight worth everything he owned. Chuuya had to take a second to breathe- he was so f*cking close just at the sight. Gods, Dazai looked beautiful in tears, like a painting, like a godsdamn wet dream. He was such a f*cking vision, so pretty and begging and desperate for Chuuya-

Keeping his grip secure on Dazai’s co*ck, his hips stuttered one, two, three, four more times before he slammed himself in and came inside his partner to a beautiful backdrop of his whimpering cries begging for release.

f*ck, he could do this a thousand times and never get bored. Chuuya was glad Dazai hadn’t fully grasped his desperation or else the other man would’ve used and abused it over and over already.

When his head finally cleared enough to tend to Dazai, he realized with a sudden electric shock of lust that Dazai’s eyes had gone hazy and distant. Not- not in a worrying way, or in a ‘flashback’ way- he was still twitching back onto Chuuya’s softening co*ck and his mouth was working around words, but he looked so drunk on pleasure- or lack thereof, or maybe just the excessiveness of it. He was still hard, purple with the weight of it, and hadn’t climaxed yet, but it looked like he did. A little bit of drool was escaping his mouth, a dazzling sight when paired with the wet tear tracks on his face.

Chuuya had never seen a reaction like this to edging, but then- he’d also never edged anyone for so long, or kept them from cumming even after f*cking them.

When Dazai clenched down a few more times, Chuuya finally gave in to the hiss of oversensitivity gripping his co*ck and slowly slid out, releasing his grip on his partner’s co*ck after he slipped out.

Unlike the first time, where he’d been caught off guard during a casual perusal, Chuuya kept Dazai’s leg on his shoulder and pushed the other one back into a pretty spread. With both hands free, he reached down and hooked two thumbs just inside the ring of muscle and spread his ass just to watch his cum drool out of that f*cked hole. Dazai whined loudly, kicking a little at him, but Chuuya ignored it.

“Can….” Dazai whimpered when Chuuya dipped his thumbs further in, clenching down desperately. “Can I cum now?”

Chuuya blinked. It wasn’t like he wasn’t planning to make Dazai cum, but did he want to drag this out longer? When another dribble of cum slid out, he let out a little amused huff. No way was this ending just yet. He was going to tease him a little longer.

“I dunno,” Chuuya mused, watching Dazai’s lower lip tremble. “I mean, you’re still pretty dirty down here,” he thumbed over his wet, sloppy entrance and watched, entranced, as his co*ck bobbed at the sensation. “I think you need to be cleaned up first.”

Dazai, visibly frustrated, tried to kick him again, but Chuuya leaned his head away and raised an eyebrow. “After,” his partner hissed, a little puddle of tears pooling in the corner of his eyes again. Even like this, though, he still had to be Dazai. “Good dogs are supposed to listen to their masters.”

Chuuya laughed, for once a little more amused than annoyed at the term. Using his pointer and middle finger, he scooped up the cum that hadn’t quite reached the couch cushions and stuffed it back in, pressing his thumb over the entrance to keep it inside. Dazai blushed. “Really? ‘Cause right now, I think you’re the dog here, mackerel.”

His flush only deepened and he squirmed, shoulders hunching in with his embarrassment. It was cute in a way that Dazai only ever managed to be in these situations.

“After all,” he continued talking, swirling his thumb just inside of the loosened entrance, “you’ve been begging this whole time. And we can’t leave this mess,” he tugged at the rim for emphasis, “for someone else to clean up.”

They could. Obviously. Chuuya was spouting off lies and they both knew it. They were mafioso- Dazai was a f*cking executive. They could, realistically, do whatever they wanted and as long as they completed the mission there wouldn’t be any consequences.

Still, Dazai whined again, his blush deepening just a little more at the words. He turned his head, letting fluffy brown curls hide his face. That was fine. Chuuya wouldn’t have been able to see his face anyway.

He dipped his head down and vowed to listen carefully to keep Dazai from going over. Chuuya wanted a clear view of his face the moment he tipped into org*sm.

Chuuya swirled his tongue inside easily and methodically went about cleaning Dazai up, interspersing genuine effort with teasing little f*cks of his tongue that made Dazai’s thighs shake tremendously.

He’d been feeding Dazai more fruits whenever he had the chance, so by proxy of making food for both of them, his own cum wasn’t as bitter as before. He was sure that Dazai’s improved diet had suffered over the past two weeks, though, which kind of tossed a decent bit of his efforts down the drain. Now that Chuuya had Dazai with him again, he’d be even more mindful of what he was eating.

Still, it made eating Dazai out post-f*cking a lot more pleasurable on his end. For Dazai, the pleasure level seemed about the same, but with a long edging session he was clearly tipping near the edge with every movement of his tongue. Chuuya could tell from the increased rhythmic clenching around his tongue that Dazai was getting close, but for whatever reason, he wasn’t as loud or pitchy….

Chuuya, eyes narrowed suspiciously, reached over to grasp the base of Dazai’s co*ck and pulled back up. Dazai’s hand was clasped over his mouth, biting into the side of it to muffle any noises. It took a few moments for him to notice, but when Dazai’s eyes made contact with Chuuya’s, he pulled his hand away and set it back on the couch with a panting, faux-innocent little smile that cracked with every wave of aborted pleasure that spasmed through his body. He was trying to get Chuuya to send him over the edge without him knowing.

And here he thought Dazai was still going to be good and listen to him. He should've expected something like this in hindsight.

“If you can’t handle this,” Chuuya swiped his thumb over the (mostly) clean, spit-slick rim, “then I’ll stop.”

And then he pulled his hands away entirely.

Dazai blinked, his mind visibly whirring. “Stop… stop the- the… or… or altogether…?” There was a panicked little wheeze slipping in there and he bucked up into Chuuya’s unyielding grip. “No… no, please,” he reached out, not for his co*ck but for Chuuya, a little too gone even in that genius brain to realize he could just get himself off. “Don’t stop, I’m close, f*ck, you said I could!”

Chuuya was bluffing, obviously, but Dazai was getting worked up for real, an angry, sharp edge decorating his tone. It was fun to see, especially considering how much time Dazai dedicated to the sole purpose of screwing with Chuuya. Feeling a little light with his smugness, he shook his head and kissed Dazai’s thigh first, then leaned up to kiss Dazai properly, carefully keeping his torso out of reach of his bucking hips. Already he could feel himself getting harder, a twitch of interest building steadily at the petulance he could see in the hard lines of his partner’s body. It was so interesting to see Dazai get mad that he couldn’t stop himself from ravaging his lips briefly.

Chuuya could tell Dazai was getting tenser, more desperate. It was probably well and truly painful now, being so close to the edge. A few more minutes and he'd make Dazai cum. Maybe he’d f*ck him and let him cum like that and keep going even when he was shaking and screaming the way Chuuya knew he would….

With their mouths connected, he reached down to tease around the swollen head of Dazai’s co*ck, dancing his fingers around in tiny, barely-there touches that drew out pitchy, high and desperate moans from his partner.

Just as Dazai's spine tensed intensely, bowing up, up, up, chasing the friction and sobbing deliriously, Chuuya pulled his hands away again. Dazai wailed this time, shuddering and shifting from sweet, aching pleasure that wound a little tighter, so close to snapping but not enough, when Chuuya brushed his nipples. He smirked, and only a second later, brushed a teasing line over Dazai's dick just to see his mouth gape open.

“Chuuya, Chuuya, I'm- ah-”

Gods, the sounds he made.

Just to tease, Chuuya grazed his hand a little longer, drawing out a high keen as he shuddered up and into it. But when he took his hand away at the warning just before what he thought was Dazai's limit, his body didn't stop tensing.

More.

“Chuuya-!”

Higher.

“Hah- I- Chuuya- I don’t- hnngh-hah-”

Up, up, up-

Chuuya didn't realize his mistake until it was too late.

“No, no- I'm- it's-” Dazai's co*ck twitched as he came without sensation, cum dribbling pathetically. He let out a long, mournful cry.

“No… no, no, no!” He shrieked, actually crying now. The tears bubbled and spilled hotly, scalding his flushed skin.

Chuuya had already pulled away from Dazai. His eyes were wide, trained on the line of denial overwhelming Dazai's body. In his dazedness, he didn't even reach out a hand to try to stroke him through it in an attempt to retain some pleasure for his partner, feeling stunned and frozen.

Oh sh*t, he swallowed a little when Dazai glared wetly with a terrible mix of frustration, and submissively searching confusion filling his eyes through pained, pleasure-ached and denial-spilled tears, gasping and panting with little, aborted moans. He was still coming down, climbing, shaking and dazed all at once, but it wasn't good. There was no pleasure in it.

A ruined org*sm. After over thirty minutes of build up.

Chuuya didn't want that, didn't mean to do it, and his guilt nearly swallowed him when Dazai shuddered and shivered through unsatisfied relief from the tense coil of pleasure and ache of sensation.

“Chuuya,” Dazai whimpered, pawing at him with a weak grip. “Chuuya, why- I was- you said-”

(Later, Chuuya would look back at that moment and realize with a rush of heady control and power over his partner that even at that precipice, at the realization that he was falling over without touch, Dazai had kept his hands away from his own co*ck. It was hot, admittedly, but nothing they'd agreed on beforehand.)

Gently, affectionately, feeling a strong spike of guilt in his gut, Chuuya shook his head. He shook off Dazai's reassurance-seeking hands and didn't let the fraction of betrayal flickering in his eyes at the move build into anything substantial.

Quickly, feeling a little panicked at the distress in Dazai's features, he braced his hands under Dazai and lifted him, shifting to sit down where Dazai had been laying, kicking away the pillow and placing his partner into his lap. Dazai was carefully set sideways in between his open legs and cradled into Chuuya's chest. Chuuya only caught a glimpse of those wide, glittering wet wine brown eyes before he was pressing the head of curly brown hair into his shoulder.

He roved his eyes over Dazai’s body, looking desperately for something, anything he could do. Dazai’s co*ck was still bobbing with residual, unfeeling pleasure, so he finally had it in his head to brush over it to try and retain some sensation, but Dazai’s little pained shriek of overstimulation had him pulling his hand away like it’d been scalded.

When Dazai's frame shook a bit, shuddering and hitching breaths gasping against Chuuya's skin, he pressed his lips in apology into slightly greasy brown curls (had he not showered properly since he ‘left’?) and hugged him a little tighter against his body.

The guilt was eating him a bit. It already took an incredible amount of trust and strength for Dazai to let Chuuya touch him like this without bandages, especially considering his past trauma. And he’d just….

f*ck.

“I didn't mean to,” Chuuya murmured sullenly. He ran his hands up and down Dazai's body, trying to ground him after such an intense denial.

A small remnant of wetness brushed off on his shoulder. The tears weren't as satisfying anymore.

“Not your fault,” he choked out quietly again, the violation of the remarkable trust he'd been given settling heavily in his stomach. Chuuya wracked his mind for words to say to remedy the situation.

“So pretty,” he complimented mindlessly, not thinking about what he was saying, only focused on what might make Dazai feel better. Dazai's head pushed a little more into his shoulder at the words.

“You are,” Chuuya insisted, stroking his hands over Dazai's hips and thighs, tracing back up the curve of his spine, dipping his fingers into scars with care, and squeezing intermittently into the bare skin. Praise was good for Dazai, and while it stung him a bit to be so verbally open with the thoughts he'd been having about his partner for months now, it wasn't about him. He screwed up, and it was too early in their sexual escapades for him to pretend it had been intentional.

Dazai didn't need that, and likely wasn't ready for sex to be anything but mind-numbingly good as Chuuya had been trying to make it feel thus far. “Prettiest I’ve ever seen,” he murmured quietly with another soft kiss. org*sm denial had the eventual payoff of more of that good, intense feeling, so Chuuya had deemed it worth the frustration Dazai would feel in the moment.

Anything like this was meant to be saved for a while into the future and needed explicit consent. Chuuya would've bet against Dazai sticking around long enough to be ready for true org*sm denial, true submission of his body and his right to pleasure.

He pressed his lips together tightly in dismay at himself. Chuuya leaned in a little more to peck more kisses against Dazai's hair. He shifted his left arm to continue to brace Dazai's body against him still, letting his legs hang a bit out of the hold considering Dazai was too tall and gangly for Chuuya to hold all at once, then adjusted his right hand to be placed into brown curls. He scratched over his scalp gently and carded through the locks, untangling them with slow, methodical gentleness. “So good for me,” he spoke softly. “Always so, so good for me.”

(Sex feels great, Dazai thought, a little dazed, a little wired up, feeling too many physical and emotional things at the too-soft, too-good touch and compliments, but this is almost better.

He was naked on a plane, several thousand feet in the air, for all intents and purposes trapped with and by Chuuya's arms after an awful non-org*sm that Chuuya screwed up, but he didn't want to escape.

…he wished he was dumb enough to not have any idea of what that probably meant.)

Chuuya let his chin sit on Dazai's head and closed his eyes, the angle just right enough that he only felt minor discomfort at the position. He hummed quietly, gladly ignoring his own softening erection in favor of the platonic physical intimacy. Dazai needed affirmation and care, and Chuuya didn't want to risk ruining the easy physical closeness they had managed to build between them.

“So pretty, mackerel, so good,” he reaffirmed, just letting the repeated words soak into Dazai’s skin as he leaned further into Chuuya with little residual hitches and huffs of tears.

His hand began to rub up and down Dazai's torso comfortingly again, firm and gentle. With how he was wrapped around Dazai, leaned back into the couch with his head perched on soft brown curls, the position was almost soothing enough to lull Chuuya into a nap. He figured it was the same for Dazai when his body melted into the hold.

But, apparently, it wasn't.

Dazai shifted a bit when Chuuya's hand slid back to his hip during one of his broad strokes. His eyes opened a bit at the movement. He stilled his hand, but when Dazai didn't make another move, he continued to sweep over his bare thigh, figuring his partner was just getting comfortable. But then, when Chuuya's hand was working back up, Dazai shifted again, enough that Chuuya's hand brushed his ass cheek.

….what?

Chuuya's eyes opened fully. Dazai was still tucked under his chin, his head pushed into the crook of Chuuya's neck and his lips near his collarbone. Dazai must have noticed a change, because he suddenly pressed his lips into Chuuya's chest and squirmed again in his hold.

Not fully grasping what was happening, Chuuya looked over Dazai's body. He paused.

Oh.

Dazai's co*ck was hardening again, bobbing pinkly between his pretty pale scarred thighs, the appendages still twitching weakly.

Praise kink. Right.

He’d had a clue since their first time that real, genuine physical and emotional intimacy in any capacity could be a turn on for Dazai, but Chuuya had thought that the sexual tension between them had passed for the rest of the flight. He wouldn’t have blamed Dazai for wanting to stop then and there.

…Dazai was still f*cked open, wet with lube from earlier. Chuuya could f*ck him right now easily. He wouldn't even have to move Dazai too much, just lift him the tiniest bit upwards and ease him onto his dick. And yet-

He still had an ounce of reservation tingling in the back of his brain. Dazai, no matter how submissive, could still get mean at any point. He could go from pliant and sweet to a jagged edge for Chuuya to cut himself on in a second. The pushing of boundaries wasn't exactly an indication that he would keep trusting Chuuya to have control over everything.

Just because he was turned on by their position didn’t mean he wanted more sex.

“Dazai,” Chuuya spoke thickly, drawing his left hand from Dazai's hair to brush over his face. “Look at me.”

Either out of embarrassment or a sudden, defiant will to be a brat that Chuuya had never seen from his partner in a sexual context before (Dazai nearly always found a chance to be bratty every day of their lives outside of the bedroom- or plane, in this instance), Dazai hummed a little and shook his head, shifting his hip against Chuuya's hand in a play for friction. He might feel awful for ruining the other teen’s org*sm after such a long buildup for his first time at delay, but Chuuya was not interested in letting Dazai run this show. Not yet, at least. Not anytime soon.

(At first it was mostly because Chuuya was nervous Dazai might take the opportunity to put a knife in his back, but even with those concerns waning steadily, now nearly gone entirely, Chuuya just wanted to milk his gorgeously submissive behavior for as long as he could. Dazai seemed to like this arrangement anyway.)

Chuuya slowly moved his hand over Dazai's ass, rubbing over the skin. He pretended like his hand was going for Dazai's dick, then drew his other hand from Dazai's face and tangled it in the back of his hair and firmly pulled his head away from Chuuya's collarbone.

Dazai's eyes were wide and he was whining a bit at the supposed pain (which Chuuya would bullsh*t on; he wasn’t even tugging), but he wasn't leaning away or fighting it, so Chuuya knew it didn't hurt enough for him to ask to stop.

His co*ck even twitched prettily against his own thighs, which were still pressed together and perched daintily over Chuuya's right leg. Cute.

Chuuya felt a little feverish, roving his eyes over that expression, the little gasp that slipped from his lips, the way they were still so swollen and bitten from earlier. His face was a little pink still, especially the sickly, irritated redness around his eyes that made him look so f*cked out and dazed. He hadn’t been, not properly, not yet, not the way Chuuya was planning now if he’d let him, but gods above he definitely looked the part. Without his bandages, warm and comfortable from the cuddling (he had to call it what it was) and covered in hickeys, he looked so exposed under Chuuya’s gaze and was simultaneously flinching away from the observation and preening from the attention.

“Need a yes or no, beau- mackerel,” Chuuya fumbled a little, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth from the obscene vision. Dazai was beautiful, but he didn’t want to say it. They were leaning away from the delicate, soothing aftercare; which was, of course, the only reason why Chuuya had been so soft. They weren’t together, this wasn’t romantic, and everything they did was physical. He repeated it internally a few more times to keep himself sane.

Dazai’s eyes still glittered at the half-spoken word, something soft and overwhelmed glistening on the rim of his waterline. “For what?” He asked, trying for a teasing tone and ending up sounding like pure sin, his voice cracking and rough, a little airy, a little breathless.

Chuuya would've grabbed his co*ck and stroked it so that Dazai had no room to pretend to mistake what he was going for, but he needed consent. Despite how obvious and needy Dazai was being about his regained lust, it wasn’t a yes. “Yes or no,” he restated firmly, eyes serious and his left hand fully leaving Dazai’s torso in warning.

At that, Dazai seemed to finally get himself together long enough to realize he wasn’t dancing past this. “Yes, duh. Chibi is so slow,” he rolled his eyes a little to be difficult. Half a second later, he wiggled his toes and licked his lips thoughtfully, eyes flickering away to something else in the plane. “Just… no more of the- the denial.”

Gods he liked when Dazai communicated so well. It was probably because Dazai so rarely told him what he really wanted, not without his ‘request’ being clearly fabricated (like making Chuuya think he actually wanted two live hermit crabs as pets for his birthday, along with an extravagant tank to keep them happy), so anytime he was honest about something he did or didn't want, Chuuya couldn't help but obey. It made him feel a little more considerate.

Chuuya’s hand stroked long and indulgently over Dazai’s co*ck, prompting a little, electrified jolt and a moan. “Wasn't planning on it, beautiful,” he spoke lowly into Dazai’s ear, letting go of Dazai's hair. The fully-spoken endearment had him cringing internally, but apparently Dazai liked it, because he shuddered through the next stroke pleasurably. It was meant to be teasing, a tactic to put his pleasure-greedy partner on edge.

And it worked, mostly, but Dazai had gotten used to Chuuya using pleasure to distract him from replying, so he didn't stay quiet for long.

“You think I'm beautiful?” Dazai panted a little.

He blinked, his hand stilling in surprise. Chuuya didn't think Dazai would call him out on it. Compliments weren't something the two of them acknowledged. They sparsely littered their conversations as it was without one of them picking on the words.

Chuuya's face was warm. Embarrassing. If he said no, Dazai would probably fake being upset. He could still get them into some kind of mood, but that depended on how worked up Dazai really was at the moment. If he made a joke out of it, Dazai would snark back and more than likely get further away from the submissive mood Chuuya was trying to work him into. If he was honest….

Well. Dazai would never let him live it down after they were done. Did the embarrassment justify the reaction he could get right now?

“Yeah,” Chuuya said, a little hoarse, a little too genuine. Dazai's eyes were wide in surprise. “You always are,” he kept speaking because he didn't know how to stop, putting his right hand on Dazai's cheek while he continued to stroke his co*ck with his left. “You're beautiful.”

The air between them, punctured occasionally by Dazai's hitching moans, felt electrified. Dazai surged forward in a sloppy, desperate kiss, moaning loudly into Chuuya's mouth. Chuuya licked into him, working over his wet co*ck faster now. His own erection was digging into Dazai's ass, stimulated lightly by his squirming movements.

Dazai panted louder, breaking the kiss to place a sloppy line of kisses down Chuuya's throat. They weren't good, but the thought that it was Dazai doing it made it better. He quickened his pace again, jacking off his partner in earnest and feeling Dazai's shuddering breath against his skin, complemented by the trembling lips on his neck. He was moaning louder.

“Ah, hah, faster,” he begged, crying out when Chuuya obeyed, willing to do whatever Dazai asked at this point. “Chuuya, Chuuya, more, please.”

Chuuya groaned loudly when Dazai, likely swimming in pleasure, bit into his neck a little too hard to muffle his panting cries. The pain only made him grind up into the soft skin of his ass. “There's my good boy,” he said, his right hand’s gentle, soothing path down Dazai's back contradicting the fast jerking pace of his left. The words bolstered Dazai's loud moans to that pretty, familiar pitchy degree that Chuuya had come to enjoy hearing and teasing Dazai for (not that he could talk- if they ever got to a point where Dazai managed to get Chuuya under him, he’d be surprised at just how loud Chuuya could get).

He bucked weakly into Chuuya's hand, not having enough room to chase his own pleasure with Chuuya so determined to do it for him. “Cum whenever you want, beautiful. You've been so good.”

The words weren't spoken with finesse, a little too awkward and gangly in Chuuya's mouth. They never applied to the Dazai he went on missions with, or to the Dazai he walked along the streets just to get lunch with, the Dazai who made fun of him mercilessly and goaded him into fighting over the pettiest things. But this Dazai, the one stripped of a hundred layers both physically and emotionally, the one who bared himself to Chuuya's eyes and touch and let himself be vulnerable definitely deserved to be called good. Somehow, this Dazai, the Dazai that Chuuya wanted to call his real, honest self, was someone he liked. Genuinely.

Chuuya chose to be around this Dazai. He thought, in the back of his mind, that he would always choose to be around this Dazai. He sniped and quipped and joked and got defensive, but it was playful instead of the sharp double-edge it usually was. He was clingy, soft, and normal. He made Chuuya feel all of those things too. He made Chuuya feel real when it was just them.

He was just Dazai Osamu, a messed up, normal teenager that Nakahara Chuuya, also a messed up, normal teenager, liked to be around. It was simple, more so than they ever had the right to be.

Chuuya was doing too much- thinking too much, feeling too much, but he couldn't stop. The need to call Dazai beautiful, to compliment and lavish him in praise and shatter him so gorgeously and put him back together properly this time was so intense.

When Dazai’s hips lifted up and he shuddered into the grip, Chuuya let him. When he pawed at the couch for some kind of purchase, Chuuya maneuvered one of Dazai’s arms into settling around Chuuya’s neck and kissed him. He tasted the whine on his lips, the salty tear tracks, the rich hint of peppermint from Dazai’s stupid peppermint candies that were going to rot his teeth one day, a little bit of whiskey, and swallowed down the high moan when he org*smed, white ropes drooling over Chuuya’s hand as he lightened his touch and worked him through it.

When Dazai leaned a little more slowly into the kiss, he matched his pace and carded his fingers through his brown curls, playing with the ends that had gotten longer than Dazai usually liked his hair to be.

If Dazai wanted, they could stop here. Chuuya told himself that he’d be fine with that, but when Dazai adjusted to get a better angle into their soft makeout session, he coincidentally squirmed over Chuuya’s erection. He groaned into Dazai’s mouth, unable to help himself from making noise at the stimulation.

There was a pause, a short moment that hovered in the air between them. And then Dazai was clumsily rocking back onto Chuuya’s co*ck, letting his thighs stimulate him while he kissed Chuuya a little more firmly. Gods he loved his partner’s short refractory period. Or maybe that was just his willingness to be f*cked no matter the situation. Either or, he was thankful for it as he worked his hand down Dazai’s back, over a pale expanse of scars, some that had been made by a whip (f*ck Mori), and trailed further down to circle over Dazai’s wet rim.

Dazai’s startled little yelp had him grinning into the kiss. He slipped a finger in, followed by a second a short moment later. Dazai was still very much stretched from earlier, and Chuuya could tell he hadn’t fully cleaned Dazai because there was an extra slickness of lube and cum. He still reached for the discarded lube, pouring a generous amount and pressing his fingers into Dazai a few more times to make sure he was properly wet. And then he poured a little more lube just to make the sight more debauched as he curled his fingers into his prostate a few times.

“f*ck, Chuuya,” Dazai broke their kiss finally to press open-mouthed kisses to his throat again, working a clumsy little hickey into Chuuya’s skin. “Just f*ck me already, gods.”

Chuuya felt a little flash of icy heat wash over him. He would ask if his partner was sure- maybe reposition them, or at least let Dazai prepare for a new position. But he was a little out of patience at the moment, so instead he tightened his grip on bony hips and lifted him, quickly aligned him with his co*ck, and slowly sank Dazai down.

“Hah-! What-?!” Dazai let out a started, oversensitive moan at the new angle and the feeling of quite literally being held in the air while getting impaled on a co*ck. Sitting on a dick was different from being f*cked missionary style, which Chuuya had stuck to originally for his partner’s sake. This tended to get a deeper angle and a slight increase of pressure on the prostate.

He went a little slower when Dazai was halfway seated, but couldn’t help himself from shallowly f*cking up to that point and groaning at the way the tight heat encompassed him. Chuuya held him there for a moment longer before lowering him further, further, a little too quickly, a little too rushed, until he was fully seated on Chuuya’s co*ck.

“Nngh,” Dazai keened, eyes wide and blown. His lip trembled when it grazed Chuuya’s collarbone on his way to lower his head to his shoulder. “I- so deep, oh gods.”

It was just an observation, spoken quietly like Chuuya wasn’t meant to hear it, but he did and he burned. This was how Dazai should always feel, so full and f*cked and pliant that he never needed anyone else. Because he had Chuuya to do this for him, to him. His ass was clenching wildly and a cursory glance confirmed that he was hard again.

Dazai had already been f*cked, so Chuuya didn’t feel bad about slamming him down to hear the writhing scream that forced itself out of Dazai’s throat. Oversensitivity was a bitch and it seemed like his partner was well and truly feeling it now, begging for more while flinching away. Chuuya wasn't worried; this was the one kind of pain Dazai never minded.

Chuuya leveraged him up to f*ck into him a few more times, watching the long column of his neck display itself when he tossed his head back in pleasure in tandem with the tantalizing fluttering from his ass around Chuuya’s co*ck. Gods, he loved watching this. They'd only been at it for a minute and already Dazai's thighs were trembling a little with aftershocks of pleasure. If they were shaking like this, when Chuuya literally was doing all of the work, he wondered how much worse it would get if he made his lazy mackerel ride him-

Oh.

Chuuya’s eyes widened a little with the sudden, incredible thought.

Too in his head to notice he'd stopped with Dazai fully seated on his co*ck, he snapped back to focus at his panting whine and clumsy little grind down onto Chuuya.

He smirked and leaned back into the couch cushion, taking his hands away from Dazai's ass to let him sink down completely.

“What-” Dazai choked for air, blinking rapidly to try to clear his vision. “What are you-”

“Y'know,” Chuuya interrupted, “I was thinking, nngh, about it and I realized that you've got a lot to make up for, mackerel.” He couldn't stop his groan at the way Dazai clenched down on him, but resolutely didn't f*ck up into him.

Dazai’s eyes flickered with a shadow of anxiety, but Chuuya had left his expression perfectly open for Dazai to read, so after those keen eyes scanned him he reluctantly relaxed a little. His hole fluttered around Chuuya when he shifted just right and startled a little moan out of himself. “Why should I?” He asked just to be difficult like Chuuya knew he would.

But Chuuya wasn't unprepared to handle the brattiness. “Because if you wanna get off again, you're gonna have to do it yourself.”

Wine brown eyes widened in disbelief. His lips parted once with an aborted question and closed again. Slowly, like he wasn't sure if Chuuya really meant what he said, the skepticism in his eyes more than implying he thought Chuuya was being dumb, he reached down for his own hard dick. Chuuya swatted his hand away and instead thrusted his hips up a bit.

Dazai's flush had recovered a little bit from earlier embarrassment, but now he was red with the realization of what Chuuya was planning to have him do.

“Ah, Chibi- Chuuya should just f*ck me,” he pouted, purposely working to keep himself still even though the desperate, quick clenching of his ass disagreed with him. Chuuya just rolled his eyes, biting back his moan at the feeling.

“Not happening.”

Dazai stared at him, looking less and less confident that he was going to convince Chuuya to just get on with it. Chuuya maintained eye contact with a raised brow, pointedly shifting his gaze down whenever Dazai clenched over him needily. Dazai broke eye contact first. A little nervous shiver ran up his spine visibly, and Chuuya recognized that he should have probably made sure he was fine with this first. He tapped Dazai's thigh with a question in his eyes, to which Dazai shook his head and lifted his chin defiantly.

“Fine, then, if I have to do all the work,” he said haughtily, but he was squirming with thought, clearly trying to come up with the best way to do this, the muscles in his thighs straining for a good position. He ended up on his knees with his legs bracketing Chuuya’s. There was a small ounce of confidence when he started, but he was already shaking when he slowly lifted less than halfway off of Chuuya. When he dropped down, clearly a little too affected by the sensation to do more, it was with a punched-out moan that had him hunching forward a bit and the confidence leaving him. It would’ve been easier if he’d just put his hands on Chuuya’s shoulders or around his neck, but he’d let his partner figure it out for himself.

Chuuya couldn't stop his quiet groan at the feeling when Dazai tried to f*ck himself down again, building a little louder the longer Dazai tried to keep up with the pattern. Dazai was whining with the effort it took to support himself and panting whenever he crudely let himself drop haphazardly onto Chuuya's hips.

Not for the first time, Chuuya felt a tiny bit grateful for Dazai's natural slenderness and his own regular workout schedule. If Dazai were any broader or too much heavier, the hard drop would've quickly started to ache. He wasn't even trying to support himself when he dropped, just letting himself sit on Chuuya with an equally pretty and pathetic groan before doing it again.

Dazai's eyes had a tiny prick of tears at the edge, and he knew that it was from a different kind of frustration now. He probably wasn't even managing to hit his prostate most times, but unlike Dazai even this clumsy non-technique had Chuuya working towards an org*sm.

“Chuuya,” he whined long and sad in between his panting breaths, those doe eyes strategically widened and his lip trembling nearly as bad as his thighs. His dick bobbed weakly between his legs, untouched because for whatever reason Dazai didn’t seem inclined to get himself off when Chuuya was letting him do as he pleased.

Gods, he was such a gorgeous sight. Light bruises, more than a few hickeys, a pretty flush and those red-rimmed wine-brown eyes were so f*cking enticing. For once, Chuuya didn't mind having the stupidly tall genius idiot above him, if only because he looked so pathetically hot like that, weakly bouncing on Chuuya's co*ck for an org*sm he didn't know how to f*ck himself into.

“Tapping out already?” Chuuya asked mockingly with a smirk playing on his lips. He reached up to run a finger over Dazai's cheek, his heart squeezing when his partner leaned into it needily. “You must not want to cum.”

But Chuuya did. f*ck, he wanted to cum into that pretty, sore hole. Even if Dazai had to throw in the towel, which looked likely to be sometime soon by the look of his quivering thighs and tensing stomach, Chuuya would just push him down and f*ck him anyway. Screw his pride, this was too hot to stop now.

Would Dazai gloat? Yes. Did Chuuya care? Well, he would , but not now.

Instead of stopping, a little fire sparked in brandy eyes and he shook his head, not speaking (probably because his voice would end up shaking if he tried. Cute). Dazai bounced on Chuuya's co*ck faster now, but definitely even less coordinated than before. He seemed to realize it was easier to keep going if he didn't drop entirely on every single jerk of his hips, so he managed to build some odd, half-satisfying rhythm.

And then his eyes widened on a random shift of his hips.

“Ahh~ hah, Chuuya-!” Dazai cried out and, giving Chuuya's mesmerized eyes a front-row view, he started f*cking himself down a little more surely, continuing in that one direction even though he was hunching over and his thighs looked like they were starting to cramp.

He clearly wasn't managing a good angle every time, and it was easy to tell when he shuddered on a whine and lifted quickly to try again that he still wasn’t coordinated enough to hit his prostate on every drop. Dazai was faltering on nearly every up and down movement, but he didn't stop, even when he leaned forward to put his hands on Chuuya chest to brace himself, clearly desperate for an org*sm now to get this over with even in his exhaustion.

Dazai wasn't there yet, but the vigor, the single-minded focus to keep f*cking himself on Chuuya's co*ck to get himself to cum had Chuuya close. He couldn't let his partner have that over him, so he reached out and started jacking off Dazai quickly.

“Ngh- hah- Chu- m-” Dazai was babbling, begging and trying to keep himself moving but only managing little grinds of his hips onto Chuuya's co*ck. Luckily for Chuuya, who was moaning along at the teasing, tight sensation, Dazai's moans were starting to build and his hole was fluttering more intensely.

With a loud moan of completion, Dazai cummed over Chuuya's hand. Not even a moment after he org*smed, Chuuya wasted no time in gripping his fingers back into Dazai's hips and manhandling him over his co*ck, f*cking into him quickly even when Dazai squirmed and cried out at the sensitivity. He f*cked hard and fast, getting closer, closer, closer with every spasm of his pretty, wet hole.

With a loud moan of his own, Chuuya slammed Dazai down one more time and came into him.

For a long minute, the only sounds were their joint panting as Dazai slumped forward fully into Chuuya. His thighs were shaking badly in the aftermath, and he knew they'd definitely be more than a little bit sore for a day or two.

(Probably not the best idea he'd ever had on their way to a mission…)

The base of his co*ck felt wet, and not exactly in a good way. Chuuya used too much lube earlier to make Dazai’s hole sloppier, and it worked, but now the mix of cum and lube had leaked out while they were f*cking. Now that he’d been f*cked twice and org*smed three times, Dazai had relaxed enough that a wet sensation had pooled a bit on his hips.

He really wanted to find a towel for himself… and for Dazai, maybe, but he was more interested in seeing if Dazai could support himself on his shaking, abused knees long enough for Chuuya to wring out another org*sm or two.

For now, though, he let Dazai slump against him, still seated on his co*ck with his sweaty (gross- he was definitely looking forward to that hotel room when they landed) head of hair resting in the divot of his collarbone. Chuuya sighed fondly and ran a soothing hand up and down Dazai’s back, running his fingers over scars and rubbing into the base of his tailbone to try and undo the tense knot that had built up there. Dazai groaned airily and relaxed into the touch a little more. He really had been so good despite his inexperience with riding co*ck. He wasn’t anywhere near as good at it as Chuuya, but it was a decent first attempt considering he wasn’t in a patient enough mood to offer any pointers.

His heart clenched a little bit at the tiny snuffling sound Dazai made against his collarbone and hoped he couldn’t tell how fast Chuuya’s heart was beating. Holy sh*t. The Demon Prodigy had no right being cute.

Feelings were starting to bubble up in his throat, which was Chuuya’s cue to ruin Dazai even further so that he’d lose the chance to make fun of him.

If a ruined edging org*sm, a good one that Chuuya had let him fall into easily, and a third that Dazai had to work for had him this f*cked out, a fourth- maybe even a fifth if Chuuya was in a good mood by the end of it- would ruin him.

He couldn’t wait to see it.

“Hey,” Chuuya murmured, turning his head and nipping at Dazai’s long neck. He leaned away for a moment and then fell back into the sensation.

“Hey,” he croaked back, the screaming and crying having done a number on his voice. “Hm,” he hummed, pleased when Chuuya pressed more kisses down the side of his throat from his position. He kept them nice and light, a gentle caress at first that steadied with a bit more pressure. Dazai willingly tilted his head to give Chuuya more room, likely not quite grasping what Chuuya was going for just yet.

He jolted when Chuuya licked over a spot he’d kissed just over Dazai’s pulse and gently sucked it. “Hah, hey,” Dazai sighed again at the sensation, but was tilting his head back to escape it. “I can’t…. hm, can’t do another,” his words were slurring together a little bit.

Chuuya nipped at the skin again and let Dazai feel his grin against his neck. “I think you can cum again.” He laved his tongue down to the junction between his neck and shoulder and worked a hickey into it. “I think you can have as many org*sms as I give you.”

In truth, Chuuya himself would’ve needed another moment, but Dazai had done four org*sms before. He didn’t doubt he could make his partner do it again.

Dazai’s no doubt sore voice let out a high little whine of disagreement, but he didn’t move away, settling back in and accepting the touch. Chuuya, grinning to himself again at the obedience, gently shifted Dazai back and made him sit back on his co*ck fully.

“f*ck,” he hissed at the sensitive feeling of that tight heat gripping him. Dazai’s eyes, which had hazily gone back to watching him, glinted a little bit. He clenched down again purposefully and Chuuya sneered at him. Two could play that game.

Even while he cringed at the hypersensitivity, Chuuya bucked up into Dazai's prostate to watch him fall over himself, then did it again to hear him whimper. Dazai clenched down tighter in retaliation, which kick-started a little back and forth as Chuuya f*cked up into his wet hole to make him shiver. Finally, with one more little gasp of a cry after a few minutes had passed, Dazai dropped down and stayed there, fully bottomed out and flush with Chuuya, then dug his fingers into Chuuya's thighs to try to keep him still.

Chuuya's co*ck was already twitching a little inside of him with the beginning of hardness. But he read the little petulant glimmer in Dazai's eyes as a momentary white flag, so he pried away his fingers and lifted him off his co*ck entirely. The head of his dick popped free with a little wet squelch, and already he could see Dazai's rim leaking with lube, spit, and cum. Quickly, he maneuvered him to be ass up on his knees to keep his rim from leaking too much.

“Hah, Chuuya,” Dazai whimpered a little, his displayed, f*cked-loose hole clenching around nothing. His thighs were shaking tremendously and he was already wavering forward to lie down.

Chuuya grabbed him by the hips, pulling his ass towards his mouth. “Stay there,” he said firmly. Dazai swayed with a little whine but did as he said, arching his back to bury his head against a cushion and cringing away from the fabric.

It was enough to make Chuuya feel a fraction of sympathy.

He pulled back with a quick reminder tapped into Dazai's ass to keep himself there and leaned over the couch for his abandoned bag. He'd tossed the blanket out already, so he pulled it towards him and threw it over at Dazai's head.

“Huh?” Dazai's head perked up while his fingers came to pull the blanket away. Chuuya couldn't see his face, but he could see the moment Dazai realized what he was holding because he froze with the exception of his quivering thighs. “You…” He whispered something a little too quietly for Chuuya to hear, but it couldn't have been anything bad because he quickly settled the blanket over the pillow and laid his head on it, tangling his fingers in the rest.

Dazai seemed to sink a little more into the idea of another org*sm, or at least the idea of following Chuuya's directions, because after he finished fawning over the blanket he wiggled his aching hips invitingly.

(Dazai didn't have any comfort items. Anything he had that he might've genuinely liked was… it was from Mori- so he didn't use it. This blanket didn't smell like a storage container. It smelled like faux orange, a little bit of smoke, a sweet and woody aftershave… it was… familiar, and it was nice. He was a little weak for it, and normally he would've balked at the idea of being vulnerable but Chuuya hadn't let him down yet, so he rubbed his face into the terribly soft, non-irritating fabric and fell a little further while trying desperately to convince- remind himself that he could walk away at any moment and he wouldn't suffer without Chuuya.)

Chuuya thanked his past self for the foresight as he leaned in and licked over Dazai's hole. With the muffled sounds of Dazai's moans spurring him on, he settled his hands over each side of his ass and spread it apart, massaging into the skin and enjoying the desperate little rocking motion and whine that resulted from it.

Gods, Dazai’s sounds would never stop being intoxicating. Chuuya dragged his tongue in and out of his red, fluttering hole and groaned a little at just how f*cked full Dazai had been. He’d been f*cked into twice and fingered for a while on top of that, so he was probably so sore, but he still arched back into it with pretty, desperate cries. Everything he did, every single reaction he produced, was so exhilarating and addicting that he’d never really get enough.

Chuuya pulled away, relishing in Dazai’s upset little hiss of discontent. He nibbled and worked over Dazai’s ass, sucking hickeys into the skin. He kissed the scarred skin that he found there and moved down to his thighs. Dazai’s exhales pitched with something breathy and needy when he laved over the trembling skin just below his asscheeks. Another erotic zone, then, Chuuya noted as he kissed and sucked over the skin there too, laving his tongue down to Dazai’s perineum and smirking at the surprised, choked-out sound of pleasure that forced itself into Dazai’s blanket. He was fully hard again, so Chuuya felt comfortable working back up to licking over his hole. The slurping sound he unintentionally made when he licked up some of the cum drooling from his ass was hot.

Chuuya tongue f*cked him with more vigor now, but this time he lowered a hand to trace below his hole. This might’ve been a bit too much before, but Dazai was comfortable and familiar enough with positive stimulation that he was sure this would be firmly on the good side of being too much.

Just as he plunged his tongue back into Dazai’s hole and sucked, he rubbed his perineum with his finger.

“Chuuy- Chuuya! Hah,” Dazai panted, writhing and he would’ve nearly collapsed into the couch if Chuuya’s other arm didn’t reach around to keep him up, holding him against the overwhelming assault of pleasure. “Nngh- hah- ah- ah, I’m, I don’t-”

He shrieked a little louder when Chuuya pressed into his perineum a little more firmly and continued to thrust his tongue, working it in and sucking over the rim every other second. He flicked his tongue teasingly over his rim a few times and then dove back in with fervor. Dazai likely didn’t really understand why this was so addicting or intense, but Chuuya reveled in the thought that he really was the first person to make Dazai feel so completely good.

The build-up into an org*sm was faster than Chuuya expected, but Dazai's hoarse, throaty whines and unintelligible babbling indicated that he was tipping that edge quickly. Gods, three org*sms and he was still so easy to work up. He really was a perfect match for Chuuya, who liked to make his partners feel good as often and intensely as possible. It was sheer luck that Dazai was into that, the greedy bastard that he was. The pleasured pain, the tears- those were even more enticing to Chuuya, though he didn’t really like to think about what that implied about him.

“Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya,” Dazai chanted with a heavy rasp, high and throaty moans forcing themselves out of him with every intense suck to his rim that aligned with a firm touch over his perineum. He arched more, pushing his ass back unconsciously and whining higher, higher, higher-

And then the ball of pleasure snapped with a loud wail that reverberated in the plane. Yet again, Chuuya was thankful they were in a private plane with paid-off attendants that he knew wouldn’t enter no matter what they heard.

Dazai was panting, crying, jerking back and forth and going limp over Chuuya’s arm that he’d been using to keep the other on his knees. He kept tonguing him through it, but took his finger off of his perineum while he let his partner come down from a quick, intense org*sm. After a few minutes of Chuuya working him through it, he slowed down and pulled his mouth away to press gentle kisses over his body, working up his back and peppering them over the scars he found there.

As he did so, he came to the internal conclusion that he needed to get some kind of toy- maybe a vibrator- to get Dazai off in between rounds because his jaw hurt. It was partly why he didn’t like eating out his past sexual partners.

His hand that had been working over Dazai’s perineum pulled away to run over his sides in soothing, broad strokes while he shuddered through the last jolts of pleasure. Finally, Dazai slumped a little more into the hold with little residual trembles that shook his body.

While he came down fully, Chuuya became increasingly aware of his own erection. He leaned a little more to the side of Dazai’s body and gently tilted his jaw away from the blanket, admiring the f*cked-out haze in those distant, pleasure-dizzy eyes before kissing his lips. He must’ve been drooling a bit, because the corner of his mouth was wet.

He couldn’t deny the ounce of thrill he felt when he went to lick into his partner’s mouth and he just let it fall open for Chuuya perusal. When Chuuya went to pepper kisses down his throat, Dazai just lazily let his head roll back to give him the space to do as he liked.

Gods, Dazai was so f*cked out.

Chuuya would love to f*ck him again, especially since Dazai seemed willing to do whatever he wanted, but he knew that if he did, he might be tempted to eat his partner out again, and then be tempted into f*cking him, which would tumbleweed into marathon sex that wouldn’t stop until he or Dazai passed out from exhaustion.

He thumbed over the hole once more and pulled away. His eyes trailed down to his thighs and he knew, looking at the spasms and trembling, that the only reason Dazai was still holding himself up on his knees was because he wasn’t, instead leaning on Chuuya entirely to keep his ass in the air.

…

Dazai could handle a bit of chafing, couldn’t he?

“Hey,” Chuuya murmured into the skin between Dazai’s shoulder blades, briefly mouthing over the large, puckered scar there. He received a soft, satisfied hum in response.

“...mm, Chuuya’s gonna f*ck me?” He asked breezily, voice hoarse but his head definitely sky high from four org*sms.

He kissed his left shoulder blade and smiled a little. Dazai really was so much more tolerable when he was f*cked out. More org*sms always made him easier to manage. “No, not here,” he brushed his fingers around the gaping rim. He trained his hand further down to rub his shaking thighs. “Mind if I f*ck these instead?”

Dazai’s pliancy filtered away for a moment. He tossed his head over his shoulder with another confused little squint to those pretty, shining eyes. “...sure?”

Yeah, he definitely had no clue what thigh f*cking was or how good it could feel on both ends. That was fine, though. Chuuya would show him.

Chuuya reached for the discarded lube off to the side and drizzled it over his fingers generously and let it warm up a bit in his hand while he leaned down to kiss Dazai’s skin again, focusing on the base of his spine, which would definitely start to feel sore soon if it didn’t already. After a moment, he reached in between Dazai’s legs and lathered lube over the skin, prompting a little twitch of confusion from his partner.

“Keep your legs together,” Chuuya directed. Dazai shakily struggled to comply, inching his legs a little closer to each other. After a second of watching the pathetic sight, Chuuya rolled his eyes internally and nudged them further together with his own legs and shifted so that his knees were bracketing Dazai’s together.

Using the residual lube on his hand, Chuuya reached around and stroked over Dazai’s dick, prompting a little whine of discontent at the sensitive feeling. He was probably far too gone on the aftershocks and exhaustion of four org*sms to give another loud reaction, but that was fine. He pulled away and licked his lips anticipatorily.

Lining up his co*ck, Chuuya pushed in between those slick thighs, making sure to nudge Dazai’s legs together again when he instinctively parted them with a little, confused moan. With a little smirk, Chuuya pulled back after a single shallow thrust and aimed a little higher. On his next thrust inwards, his co*ck brushed against Dazai’s as it pushed through.

“Hngh,” Dazai shuddered, twitching and shifting but not pulling away.

Chuuya groaned low into his ear and picked up the pace, f*cking his thighs just as harshly as he’d done to his ass. Hopefully, with the amount of lube he used, the chafing wouldn’t be severe enough to hurt, but he didn’t count on it when Dazai was already squirming, increasing the friction. Gods, it felt good though.

Dazai’s body rocked forward pliantly with every thrust, like a limp, pretty doll. It was in a good way, an entirely euphoric submersion into pleasure. His moans were throaty and high and his dick only managed to twitch into half-hardness.

It was enough.

As he continued to f*ck into those slick thighs, Chuuya reached a hand around again and wrapped it around Dazai’s, stroking it in time to catch the head of his own dick on every inward thrust that increased his pleasure.

Dazai flinched away from it weakly, panting throatily at the feeling. “Chuu… don’t think I can… not again… ha…”

Chuuya’s eyes flicked down to the pretty, submissive line of relaxation in Dazai’s body. His pale skin, flushed with sex and littered with hickies. That fluffy hair in utter disarray. He’d really done so well, keeping up with Chuuya’s pace and demands the whole time.

“That’s fine,” he assured with another thrust that shocked a tiny, slightly more audible moan from Dazai’s sore throat and a heavy groan from his own. “Just focus on feeling good, mackerel. You’ve been so good for me.”

That earned him another little sigh that might have pitched on another pretty little whine, but he really couldn’t tell. It was more quiet than Dazai had been during sex in a while, but it was definitely good in a sore, relieved way.

Still, the pleasure was building up strongly in the base of his spine, a knot that was tightening with a slow, dragging build. Chuuya had already gotten two org*sms, so a third was bound to be a little rough on the build-up with only having his co*ck stimulated, but nothing like the fifth he was trying to drag from Dazai’s willing body with every pump of his hand.

He was almost a little jealous; he’d had good partners in the past, but none had f*cked him into five org*sms in a single session. Maybe he could convince Dazai to try in a few days, once he recovered from this. He didn’t like the idea of handing over control because there was always a risk that Dazai wouldn’t hand it back, but he could always put his partner back into his place. Maybe he could teach Dazai how to ride co*ck properly by example….

While he f*cked between Dazai’s thighs a little harder at the thought, Chuuya tossed his head back to get loose hair out of his face and leaned forward, draping over Dazai’s back with his chest. It was an intimate position, but nothing new for them. He littered his skin with more kisses and let Dazai hear the moans slipping from his lips. Chuuya wondered if that was enough encouragement when Dazai’s thighs only shifted a little more firmly together before spasming again. Well, he could always stroke his genius mackerel’s praise kink to see if that would get him to tip over into a fifth org*sm.

“Gods, you’re so pretty like this,” Chuuya purred into Dazai’s skin, smirking at the little shiver that ran up his spine and the guttural moan that slipped from him quietly on the next pump of his hand. “Bent under me, all f*cked out. Bet you feel good, huh?”

Dazai shook violently underneath him at the words, his legs well and truly trembling apart before struggling to tighten again. “Ngh, hah… mmhm,” he finally hummed in agreement, distant and dazed like he was having an out-of-body experience supplemented by the overwhelming pleasure.

“You probably wish you could be under me all the time,” Chuuya mused thoughtlessly. “Just like this, so f*cking spent and needy. I’d keep you feeling just like this all the time.”

It was a thought. A really, really interesting one that he knew stemmed from his utter possessiveness over his partner. He had Dazai under him, reduced to airy little moans and quiet groans because he’d screamed himself into all but losing his voice from org*sm after org*sm, submitting beautifully under Chuuya’s hands and whining for more whenever Chuuya decided he had more to give. It tasted like victory on his tongue. The beautiful, tantalizing level of submission he’d received from Dazai was absolutely decadent.

Dazai seemed to think so too, or maybe there was something else going on in that genius brain of his, because he was whining on his next breath with a quiet, urgent, “m’close.”

“Go ahead,” Chuuya groaned, his thrusts speeding up in response, feeling the knot tightening at the admission. “Cum whenever you’re ready.”

Chuuya moaned long and loud when he finally felt himself start to peak, his org*sm building into a beautiful crescendo that spilled over Dazai’s skin. His org*sm was absolutely euphoric, an amazing blend of sensations that had his eyes rolling back for a minute.

On the way down from his high, he realized that he hadn’t heard or noticed Dazai cumming. With a little, hurried motion, he lifted Dazai and flipped him over onto his back, revealing-

Oh.

Dazai’s eyes were nearly vacant, something high and pleasant floating in the gorgeous wine-brown. His mouth was a little slack, but it was lifted into something euphoric and gone, dizzy and relaxed. Dazai’s entire body was limp like he’d lost all strength and was just floating in his head, carried away on the sensations tingling around his body. His co*ck was spent, a bit of cum still drooling from the head.

Chuuya didn’t know… well, he didn’t know if the word was right, but- subspace? He’d briefly heard about it from a previous partner that wanted to hurt Chuuya during a… a bdsm(?) scene. He hadn’t gone through with it, and had even gotten up and left before they got past a bit of groping and making out, a little too freaked by the sight of the riding crop the guy had brought out.

He hadn’t hurt Dazai though, so…. huh. Chuuya nervously tapped Dazai’s thigh, and thankfully those warm eyes slid over to him, glazed with pleasure.

“You good?” Chuuya questioned lightly.

Dazai hummed, taking a minute to answer but nodded. “Mmmh… yeah.”

So… not a subspace? Chuuya really didn’t know much of anything about it aside from it apparently feeling pretty good, and that it was caused by endorphins(?), but this might just be Dazai relaxing. In any case, he needed to clean Dazai up before the mackerel decided to nap on the dirty leather couch. He got up and was about to walk off in search for wipes when he paused, eyes roving a little anxiously over the still pleasure-blown brown eyes and open expression of his partner.

He toed back over and slid a hand into brown curls, unable to help his fond smile at the way Dazai leaned right in with a happy little noise in his throat. “M’gonna grab something to clean up, okay?”

It took a long second, but Dazai nodded his understanding eventually. Chuuya quickly grabbed the wipes, tissues, and paper towels from a cupboard off the the right of the plane after a minute of searching. He returned back to Dazai, who looked a little more coherent but still mostly distant and hazy.

Chuuya lifted Dazai’s legs and dragged a tissue gently over his hole, then his perineum, then up his co*ck, kissing an apology into his hair at the tiny little whine and shift. He took care of the lube between his thighs next, the wiped over Dazai’s brow to mop up the last bit of sweat.

Then, with a little grossed out sigh, he turned his attention to the actual couch with a moment of contemplation before he decided to just leave it. There was another couch on the other side of the room next to Dazai’s folders and luggage that he could set Dazai up on.

He took one last look at his partner and reailzed he probably wasn’t mentally present enough to dress himself. Chuuya dug through his bag and pulled out the fish shirt and sloth pajama pants he’d packed, like the blanket, for his dumb partner, then looked through Dazai’s for a pair of boxers. He slipped the boxers on over his feet and carefully lifted his hips up, then did the same with the sloth pants. By the time he got around the getting the shirt on Dazai, he looked a little more present.

“Back with me?” Chuuya asked with a brow raised, scanning the fraction of awareness he caught in that gaze. When Dazai nodded, blinking but still nonverbal, Chuuya tossed the shirt to him. “Put that on.”

Chuuya then turned to go about dressing himself, grabbing the gods-awful dog sleep shorts Dazai had so graciously given to him and a pair of clean boxers. He decided to forgo a shirt in the meantime, turning back around to see Dazai with his head still stuck in the shirt. He rolled his eyes and leaned over to tug it down over his head.

“C’mon,” he said, feigning annoyance but not making Dazai walk the short distance, instead grabbing the throw blanket, tossing it over his shoulder and picking Dazai up to carry him to the other couch in an indulgent moment of weakness.

(Dazai was already feeling raw and vulnerable, and then Chuuya went and pulled out the pajamas. Chuuya should not be allowed to pull such obvious manipulation tactics during the only time when Dazai would so easily fall for them. Preying on Dazai's susceptible demeanor really was a new low for his dog.

He wanted to wear the shirt and the pants that weren't his. He wanted to be wrapped in soft fabrics that never itched his sensitive skin. He wanted to be held and curled around like he was safe. He didn’t want Chuuya to know that. It was stupid and disgusting and he felt too much like one big exposed nerve. He'd already cried too much in front of his idiotic partner for one lifetime.

Dazai was grateful Chuuya had too few brain cells to realize that Dazai taking a large amount of time to get the shirt over his face was his way of hiding just long enough to keep the tears from spilling while he was lost in the little euphoric space he’d found himself in.

Really, the slug should be grateful Dazai wasn't holding him responsible and choosing to keep them from view.

It had nothing to do with his insecurities or suspicion that if he was too much, too vulnerable, too teary and difficult like this then Chuuya wouldn't want to do this- sex, clothes, comfort- with him ever again. Absolutely not.)

Chuuya, feeling a little colder now that the high had worn off fully, grabbed Dazai’s discarded white button up from the floor and shrugged it on himself after Dazai was settled onto the couch. He caught Dazai’s interested gaze and rolled his eyes, buttoning half of it and letting the rest of the annoyingly long fabric hang open. Dazai wasn’t too much broader than he was, realistically; while he was taller and had slightly wider shoulders, the shirt didn’t hang off of Chuuya too much aside from having too long sleeves and far too much length to it. It was annoying, but the reminder that Dazai was a thin, underweight individual really did smack him in the face in that moment.

He shrugged off his thoughts and settled back in beside Dazai, tossing an arm over his shoulders and swinging his legs into his partner’s lap after lifting the blanket settled there. Dazai was a blanket hog, so Chuuya had long since accepted that he had to invade his space if he wanted the cover too.

“So where are we going anyways?” Chuuya huffed once he was settled in, curling his lips over a particularly distinctive scar on Dazai’s wrist.

His partner hummed but tellingly didn’t answer even though he seemed mostly back to normal awareness. Chuuya would have accepted the invitation for playful banter if he didn’t catch the quick movement Dazai made, pushing aside a folder under one of their bottles of wine.

He sat up a little bit and pulled his arm back.

“Are those the mission specs?” He asked, grabbing at the folder. Before his fingers could even brush it, Dazai leaned into his neck and pressed a kiss on it, weaving his arms around Chuuya while he tentatively worked his lips against it. It was so surprising, Dazai never having really tried to seriously put a mark on him outside of the heat of the moment before in return for the dozen that Chuuya placed himself, that Chuuya faltered a bit at the pleasurable sensation.

“Hmm,” he sighed a bit, leaning in for just a second.

Dazai must have gotten a little better at his technique, because it felt really nice. He looped his arms over the back of Dazai’s neck again just to enjoy the sensation more.

And then his eyes shifted and landed on the folder again.

“Hey!” Chuuya jolted away, catching the little pout on Dazai’s lips.

“Does it matter?” He whined, finally speaking, his hands shifting on Chuuya’s body again.

He batted the searching fingers away. “It does when you’re trying to hide something so obviously.”

Chuuya set the bottle of wine near the folder aside next to the whiskey and grabbed the manilla folder, sitting back to peruse it under Dazai’s- nervous?- gaze.

Huh.

In the folder, strangely enough, was a diploma for the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York of all places under Chuuya Nakahara, spelled neatly first in romaji and underneath in kanji (Dazai had forcefully taught him to read kanji years ago after he found out that Chuuya’s reading level could only help him muddle through kids books. Kouyo had been the one to tackle a bit of romaji and increase the skills Dazai shovelled down his throat).

Underneath it were more documents, labeling an undergrad, bachelors, and masters degree certifications all under him for various fashion-related courses along with a bachelors in social science and a masters in applied psychology and marketing. Then came the countless recommendations from professors who he’d never met copied and translated into English, French, Russian, and Japanese respectively. There were documents also listing his apparent participation in several prestigious work studies and claiming his legal ability to study in America, along with work visas from the Japanese, American, French, and Russian governments.

Chuuya blankly stared up at Dazai.

“Am I… going undercover as a fashion designer?”

Dazai fidgeted with his bare fingers under Chuuya’s gaze. “You can call it that.”

Well that wasn't suspicious, Chuuya thought sarcastically, eyes narrowing in thought, for the first time since he got on the plane taking a moment to fully examine the situation. An undercover mission, brought up just as Dazai appeared in front of him after being declared a traitor, for an unspecified length of time, in a plane Dazai wouldn’t tell him the destination of…

….

f*ck.

sh*t.

Gods dammit.

“Tell me you didn’t.”

Dazai very carefully did not make eye contact.

Chuuya scrambled for his bag, searching through and finding both of his work phones broken and his personal cell dismantled. Any Port Mafia identifying objects were either snapped or clearly nearly broken beyond repair.

He breathed in and out carefully.

“Dazai. Where are we going?”

“...Russia for now,” Dazai muttered, leaning away in discomfort but with a small, hopeful smile playing on his lips. “Wherever you want after.”

Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose, praying for patience. “How long?”

This time, Dazai’s body actually tensed like he was ready to move depending on Chuuya’s reaction. “As soon…” he swallowed. “As soon as the Port Mafia stops trying to kill us?”

He stayed still for a very long time, counting to ten in his head and trying to remember why he shouldn’t kill his idiot again. Dazai did a lot of stupid sh*t, but quite frankly this was edging the top of the list. He didn’t even ask (not that Chuuya would’ve accepted the invitation to leave even if he did. Chuuya was bad at leaving even when things looked bad. That, in hindsight, was probably why Dazai decided to be the biggest goddamn asshole in the world and take the decision out of his hands).

“Would an apology help?” Dazai asked tentatively, leaning near him again slowly when Chuuya didn’t automatically try to strangle him.

Chuuya breathed a forcefully calm sigh, trying to keep his ability from lashing out and driving them into the ocean for however long it took for Dazai to touch him. “Would it be sincere?”

“...no.”

Chuuya’s eye twitched aggressively.

“Then shut up for another hour and find the most expensive restaurant you can within a mile of wherever the f*ck this plane lands. You’re buying me whatever the hell I want to eat.”

“Of course.”

“And a fancy bottle of Russian wine.”

“...sure.”

“And a new sweater.”

“Chuuya we still have to find a hotel-”

He turned to face Dazai, eyes blazing and heart beginning to warm up a tiny bit. “Don’t lie to me. You’re filthy f*cking rich and I’m about to be even richer than before because apparently, I’m a fashion designer and traitor thanks to you.”

It was true. Dazai had been an executive long enough that money more than generously lined his pockets enough to live lavishly for several years, especially considering he wasn't one to buy frivolous things for himself. Chuuya's position, while not as high, had been far enough up on the work chain that he was paid very well. With the fake diplomas, he'd be able to enter a high designer position and fake it till he made it. Depending on where he was employed, he'd be paid generously, well exceeding six figures eventually, as long as he snagged a job as a product or design director.

(Maybe Chuuya wasn’t that upset at having the job of fashion designer pushed onto him.

Speaking of…)

He paused, narrowing his eyes at Dazai incredulously. “Why a fashion designer anyway?!”

Dazai’s eyelids fluttered with something edging on surprise at the question, but then they softened with something that made Chuuya’s heart leap into his throat even though he spoke his next words offhandedly, like he didn’t think they were important.

“Chuuya mentioned it a few years ago. Something about what you’d want to be doing if you weren’t in the mafia.”

He…

He didn’t remember telling Dazai that. It had to have been a long time ago, and more likely than not while he was drunk. Likely sometime during his first few sips of expensive alcohol that he’d never been able to afford on the streets. It was true, though, that he’d thought about it once or twice, some kind of pipe dream he never really entertained because dreaming was painful in places like the Port Mafia, so he didn’t doubt that he might’ve slipped it to Dazai at some point.

An offhand comment made years ago, about something Chuuya wanted to do and never thought he’d be able to…

Chuuya had been angry about Dazai’s whims dragging him along again like a hurricane. He didn’t hate being pulled along into this, not as much as he should, because at least he wasn’t being abandoned, but Dazai’s tendency to only think about himself would’ve inevitably grown to be an issue. He wasn’t looking forward to the conversation they’d need to have later about the gnawing despair and grief he could see trailing after his partner. Chuuya would need to drag Dazai kicking and screaming into healing from his friend’s death. That being said….

This… this small, thoughtful little detail, apparently important enough for Dazai to keep in his genius brain, tossed into the mess of their situation, somehow lessened the growing pressure of dread from the reality of what they were doing.

It was dumb. It wasn’t enough to make up for what Dazai had done, the decisions he made about their lives without Chuuya’s consent. But it was a start. Somehow, Chuuya was slowly collecting fragments of proof that Dazai was capable of giving back just as much care as he got.

Dazai’s tears, his happiness, his vulnerability, his ability to listen when it really counted , his tenderness… Chuuya was hoarding it all to himself as it came. He didn’t know what that meant about the knot of emotions in his chest; he didn’t even have a name for what he was feeling or what their physical and emotional intimacy and exclusivity implied, their willingness to irreversibly entangle their lives together, but-

He was grinning when he surged into his idiotic partner’s lips with a messy, light kiss, vowing to kick his ass later when he didn’t feel so- so warm. Chuuya couldn’t stop his bubbling laughter at the way the hollow of Dazai’s eyes suddenly didn’t seem as overwhelmingly empty as before.

They’d be just fine.

(And maybe, just maybe, his new occupation could serve as an excuse to get Dazai into a casual corset to compliment his figure. Or some kind of color. Red would probably look nice on him, maybe even a deep plum or a light blue tone. Or a new, nice sweater with actual jeans instead of work slacks… Chuuya swore his dumbass would wear a garbage bag if it hadn’t been for the mafia’s dress code, so he couldn’t waste his chance to exploit his new job to keep his partner at least somewhat well-dressed…)

Chapter 3: interminable adoration

Chapter Text

St. Petersburg, Russia

November 5th

3:07 p.m.

In a lot of ways, defecting with Dazai had been the best choice Chuuya had made in a long time. After leaving the mafia in late July, they'd arrived in Russia with a flourish of interviews and secretly-taken online classes so that Chuuya wasn't totally inept when he started work.

Mostly totally inept, he corrected, rubbing his thumbs through his gloves. Sewing was… not the easiest thing in the world.

He'd gotten the hang of it, though…. eventually.

(“It's the same f*cking thing?!” Chuuya screeched, throwing his sewing kit across the room. Dazai, who'd stepped out of the bedroom to get coffee from the kitchenette, stopped a foot in front of where it landed, crashing into the wall almost hard enough to put a dent in the plaster.

“Uh,” Dazai poked his toe at the kit curiously. “I take it that sewing is going well?”

“Urgh!”Chuuya groaned, flopping back on the couch and kicking his laptop away from where it was running his class lessons. “Why the f*ck are back stitches and running stitches literally the same thing?! Backstitching just takes longer, that's it!”

Dazai squinted at Chuuya. “So… why are you learning it?”

Chuuya narrowed his eyes at his partner. “Becausesomeonedecided to make me a godsdamnfashion designerand I start next week and still don't know how to sew and I'm supposed to have beginning designs but I don't know what thef*ckkind of stitches go into af*cking hatand my thumbhurtsbecause I keepstabbingit with thestupid f*cking needle!”

After a long moment, Dazai nodded along. “Okay…. do you want to watch a movie?”

Instead of getting even more mad and throwing things,he didn't say. Chuuya still kind of heard it.

“No, I wanna figure out how to sew,” he tugged on his own hair with a suffering groan. “Get me a few bandaids,” he added as an afterthought, realizing that both of his hands and part of his arms were covered in slightly bleeding, needle-poked scratches.

Dazai pursed his lips, picked up the sewing kit, and put it in the tallest shelf of the top cupboard, also grabbing the neon bandaids he insisted on getting because he was a deceptively tall child. “Okay, I'm picking the movie since Chuuya’s taste is awful.”

Chuuya balked at the move. Dazaiknewhe couldn't reach that shelf without a chair. “No, I'm not watching a movie with you. I'm busy, go watch it somewhere else.”

But Dazai had already grabbed the remote and his throw blanket off of the back of the couch. “Nope! Chibi’s watching a movie with me,” he chirped annoyingly, dragging Chuuya to sit in between his legs and sitting on the couch. He wrapped his legs around Chuuya's waist so he couldn't move (well he could, but this was…. surprisingly comfortable).

It was the weird mix of considerate and asshole-ish behavior that Chuuya associated with a non-mafioso Dazai that had been coming out more and more often. Still, even with his grumbles and pinching Dazai's arms, he reluctantly settled back into the encompassing hold and tuned halfway into the Disney movie running with a poor Russian voiceover on the television. While he relaxed back, Dazai grabbed his hands with a weird, awkwardly gentle-ish grip and started plastering on too many bandaids in varying obnoxiously bright colors. It was better than the stupid unicorn andHello Kittybandaids Dazai bought and used exclusively for himself, so Chuuya didn’t complain.

Before he knew it, he was drifting off for a well needed nap with his head cushioned back against Dazai’s soft green cartoon sweater. He'd never admit it, but he did feel more refreshed and calm when he went back to sewing a few hours later, both hands covered in a neon rainbow of bandaids)

It was strange, working a regular job since the only work experience he had with regular pay were the three- almost four- years he’d spent in the mafia (the Sheep might’ve counted as a job, but he didn’t like thinking about them too much). He'd quickly been promoted in the four months they spent in Russia and was officially the junior lead on the design of a hat collection for a brand he could barely pronounce. Russian was a hard language, so Dazai had to help him muddle through the documents that hadn't been translated for him in their stupidly nice hotel suite. Becauseof courseDazai knew Russian despite never going to the country or knowing anyone who spoke the language natively.

Chuuya found that there were some hats he couldn't stand.Especiallywhite ushankas. For whatever reason, he couldn't bring himself to like the fur hat design, even more when Dazai put one on his head in a boutique and turned to ask how he looked.Cutewas the obvious answer, with that pretty little smile and his eyes closed, but Chuuya couldn't look at him in the hat without getting the urge to break something.

But it was relaxing in a way the mafia could never hope to be. Dazai had been working through his grief little by little, but there was still an ounce of reservation over openly advertising his feelings about Oda's death to Chuuya, so he didn't know how well the grieving process was actually going. Dazai had been slowly sharing a little more with him, so they were getting better. In any case, Chuuya was surprised at how much he liked being a designer now that he'd gotten the hang of it.

Still, as most things went for them, there was still something irredeemably awful about their situation.

“f*ck this, f*ck Russia, f*ck Dazai,” Chuuya grumbled, shaking like a leaf as he trudged through the snowy streets a block away from their hotel.

Russia gotcold.

Chuuyahatedthe cold.

Even through four jackets, heavy boots, thick socks, and two scarves, Chuuya's teeth chattered loudly. The engine on his motorbike froze, because apparently that was athingin below zero temperatures, and the hotel's valet had apparently been right to look at him like he was stupid the night before when he said to park his bike in the outside parking garage.

So he was stuck walking to and from work without his ability because-

“We can't attract attention, Chuuya,”his voice shook as he mocked Dazai, kicking away a little piled up bit of snow.“Abilities are a dead giveaway to the mafia, Chuuya.”

Japan was cold, but in a manageable way where it didn't drop too far below 5° Celsius in the winter. Russia seemed to dip into the negatives every single night and Chuuya wasnotokay with it.

He waved, hand shaking, to the hotel staff as he walked in and headed for the elevator. They'd stopped giving him odd looks months ago, and now hardly batted an eye at him and Dazai.

Well, not exactly.

Dazai would always get looks no matter where they were. Not necessarily because he looked foreign, though he did, but because his dumb mackerel wasattractiveno matter what country he stepped into. He met more than a few facets of almost every culture’s beauty standards.

It ticked Chuuya off for some reason. Maybe because they looked stupid flirting with Dazai when they didn't know how sh*tty his personality was. Or because they came up to them in public when it was just him and Chuuya. They'd disrupted more than a few dinners and walks through the city than he could count-

Chuuya didn't care that the moments they disturbed were with Dazai, obviously. He just happened to attract attention and ruin Chuuya's time.

Yeah, that was probably it.

Still, Chuuya couldn't really muster the will to let his annoyance at his thoughts out on his partner at the moment. As much as Chuuya hated the cold, he was still a healthy, strong person with a well-adjusted immune system.

Dazai, on the other hand…

“f*ck,”he snapped when he opened the door to their room. It was almost as cold as it was outside. He scanned the living room portion of their top-floor suite and landed on a lump of blankets curled pitifully on the couch. “Did you leave the window open again?!”

Chuuya stomped to the far side of the room and flung aside the curtains, revealing that the window was indeed open and likely had been for a while. He slammed it closed and rushed back to the shifting pile of blankets, stripping off layers of coats and his gloves as he walked.

Just as he approached, Dazai's fluffy head of hair popped out of the blankets. After blinking a few times at the light with a dazed squint, a frustrating smile curved his lips. “Hi, Chuuya~ how was my favorite dog’s day?”

Even now, the fondly spoken ‘nickname’ was enough to set him off, but Chuuya couldn't focus on that because-

Dazai’s voice was raspy again.

sh*t.

Chuuya ignored the hand that escaped the blankets to reach for him and brushed back Dazai's hair to touch his forehead. It was burning up. f*ck. “Did you get sick again?”

In the past four months, Dazai had definitely been eating more regularly than he ever had in his life. It still wasn't enough to make him healthy enough to handle being in a foreign country, exposed to colder temperatures and unused to the different bacterial environment. Or so Chuuya had read on the internet when even he got a little two-day long cold when they first arrived. It was nothing like Dazai, who'd gottenpneumoniawithin a month of stepping in the country. The cold didn't help his condition in the slightest, so he’d been stuck inside except for when Chuuya dragged him out to walk around the city a few days before because he’d been healthy for a while-yeah, okay, this was his fault.

Dazai leaned into the cold hand on his forehead with a relieved little sigh. “This is why I had the window open,” he murmured petulantly. “It's hot in here.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes and pushed Dazai away by his forehead. The mackerel dramatically fell back with an exaggeratedumph.“No it's not, dumbass. You're just sick and apparently trying to make it worse.”

If they stuck it out until January, Dazai would be accustomed enough to not get sick every time he breathed outside of their hotel (an exaggeration, but that's what it felt like to Chuuya). However, Chuuya didn't want to go through an entire winter like this, trying to handle the below freezing temperatures and keep Dazai alive at the same time. He hoped his transfer request went through.

“I'm not the one shaking like a dog,” Dazai huffed, wrangling a leg out of the pile of blankets to kick at Chuuya's leg a bit.

“And I'm not the one who got sick for three weeks,” Chuuya snapped back, pulling out his phone to order soup from a nearby restaurant. “I'm getting food from Pahl-Hikali.”

“Pkhali-Khinkali,” Dazai corrected from behind him. “And I'm not hungry.”

“Don't care,” Chuuya tossed back just as a restaurant employee picked up.

Pneumonia hit Dazai hard. Chuuya had gotten antibiotics within a week of him getting sick, but it still took a full two weeks for it to make a difference. He'd been warned by the doctor he'd paid off that Dazai's immune system would be more susceptible to other illnesses in the following months. Chuuya would never admit how worried he was when he stayed up through the night with his partner coughing with his raw throat, shivering and shaking and begging to be held with his clingy body language. He'd carried his mackerel to the bathroom every time he hinted at being nauseous enough to throw up and held his overgrown curls back while he did.

After he finished ordering food, Chuuya headed to a cabinet and grabbed out the fever reducer above the sink. He poured the medicine into the little cup and took a second to pray for patience.

“Hey, mackerel,” Chuuya murmured, trying for a soft and disarming tone as he settled into the cushion above Dazai's head and started running his fingers through curly brown locks, hiding the cup of medicine behind him.

Pretty wine-brown eyes and sick-flushed cheeks stared up at him. Even while sick and feverish, it didn't even take him a second to realize what Chuuya was trying to do. “M’not taking it.”

Chuuya's eye twitched, betraying the soft openness he'd been trying for. “Yes, you are.”

“I don't want to,” Dazai rasped, partially just to be difficult. That actually relieved Chuuya a little bit. If Dazai was feeling well enough to be difficult, he probably wasn't sick enough that they needed a doctor just yet. This was manageable.

“I don't care if you don't want to,” Chuuya said firmly. “You're going to.”

Dazai tried to sit up, revealing the long sleeved blue sweater he was wearing with a cartoon cat on it, but he was slowed down enough by his little cough from the movement that Chuuya easily wrapped an arm around his upper body and pulled him to sit up against his chest.“No,”Dazai whined, shifting and squirming and acting like a child.

“Open up,” Chuuya tapped his jaw, bringing the cup a little closer.

“This is abuse! Someone help-!” Dazai tried to scream, aiming to alert hotel staff and cause a scene, but Chuuya slapped a hand over his mouth.

“Shut the f*ck up and just take it!” He tried prying Dazai's mouth open.

Dazai bit down on his hand- not as hard as he could, but enough to kind of hurt. Chuuya snatched his hand away with a yelp.

“Dazai what the f*ck?!”

“I don't want it!”

Chuuya manhandled Dazai back around to face him when he tried escaping. With a quick, frustrated groan, Chuuya tipped the frankly disgusting medicine into his own mouth and pressed his lips against Dazai’s, snarling a little when he bit his lip. Chuuya slipped his tongue into Dazai's mouth and forced the medicine in, then reached up with his other hand to pinch Dazai's nose closed.

Dazai tried pulling away, but Chuuya's hands clamped him there for a long moment until he gave in and swallowed.

He pulled away and rolled his eyes at Dazai's childishly disgusted expression. He even mimed gagging at the taste and clutched his throat pitifully. The most reaction Chuuya gave was a scrunch of his nose at the artificial cherry and weird thickness.

“Gods, you're such a baby,” Chuuya griped, rubbing the bite marks on his hand.

“Chuuya,”Dazai glared lightly. “You'll never understand how awful that was.”

Chuuya gaped. “I had to put it in my mouth too!”

“That doesn't mean anything youdog!”

“Oh my gods-”

It was lucky that the next morning, when Chuuya woke up with his arms around a sleeping Dazai (his insomnia had gotten a lot better since they left Japan), his breathing didn't sound as congested. A quick cursory brush against his forehead confirmed he wasn't as warm as the day before.

For all of the dramatics his mackerel put up over taking the medicine, Chuuya had to admit it was worth getting bitten just to shove it down Dazai's throat.

His partner was really so high maintenance. It was a wonder Chuuya put up with him.

Dazai let out a little yawn and turned in Chuuya's arms to nuzzle his face contentedly against his chest. His arms tightened a little further as he perched his head on top of curly brown hair with a small smile.

Yeah, a wonder.

“What are you doing?”

Chuuya looked up from his project to see Dazai’s faintly off-put expression.Rude.

The hat was a deep red with a dark, glimmering spiderweb pattern in a traditional men’s style. It had more embellishment than was traditional, decorated with an overwhelmingly big faux black feather and a large, glimmering amber gem fastened to the satin black ribbon. It was the kind of hat that needed a level of confidence and sharp attire to pull it off.

“I thought fashion designers had to have good taste,” Dazai stuck out his tongue out in distaste, poking at the hat from where Chuuya was fixing the ribbon into place

“And I thought mackerels were supposed to be in a river somewhere,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, hissing when the needle poked his finger.

“Iwould,”Dazai groaned sufferingly, “but frostbite is such a painful experience if I don’t die from it. Not interested!”

Chuuya sighed sufferingly and fixed the last stitch into place. “Well if you’re staying, then put this on and tell me if it fits, you freak.”

“Chuuyalikeswhen I’m a freak,” Dazai sniffed, but complied and put the hat on his head. Chuuya blushed at the (frankly accurate) statement.

“Well?”

“Hm, not really my style…” He trailed off, looking unfairly good with the amber piece offsetting his pretty eyes, both glimmering like gems. It rankled Chuuya that even like this Dazai was attractive, dressed down in bandages and a pink sweater featuring some kids cartoon- something to do with animated english-speaking ponies that he couldn’t understand without subtitles- he’d been watching that he’d never managed to see when he was younger.Chuuyabought the sweater for him, actually, intending to make fun of him with it but it didn’tworkbecause Dazaireally liked itapparently, so he couldn’t even be properly mad at how it clashed with the dolphin sleep pants he took from Chuuya’s wardrobe.

“Oh shut up,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, “you’re not the one paying for it.”

“Someone’s actuallybuyingthis?” Dazai widened his eyes in a mockery of shock. “Did you have to beg them like a dog?”

Chuuya kicked at him and turned in his chair to check his emails on his work laptop that he had set up in the hotel room. He didn’t usually work away from his desk, but the actual office was closed for the day and he was on a deadline, so he ended up bringing the project back to the hotel with him. “f*ck off with that, will you? The project supervisor likes the design. I don’t want to hear anything about it from someone who called a shade of graylight black.”

Dazai tossed a piece of cloth on the desk at him. “Just because chibi doesn’t know his colors doesn’t mean I don’t.”

“You’re basically colorblind, dumbass, and gray and black areshades,not colors.” He turned around and reached up to fiddle with the rim, turning it this way and that on Dazai’s head. “Is it tight? Loose? Lumpy?”

“It’s fine, I guess,” Dazai squinted. Chuuya pinched with his neon orange bandaid-covered thumb at a loose thread he noticed and examined the feather placement. He was so caught up in it that he didn’t notice Dazai watching him with an odd, contemplative expression until there were lips on his. He leaned back, startled by the kiss, but Dazai just pressed a little more, steadying Chuuya with a hand on his back. He lowered both of them in a tiny dip that curved Chuuya’s spine. The kiss only lasted for a few seconds before Dazai pulled away and grinned. “I’m hungry. Let’s get dinner.”

Chuuya blinked, a little dazed by the random kiss and the weird flutter ofsomethingin his chest, but shrugged, poaching the hat from where it sat on brown curls and putting it on the desk. “Sure, I was almost done anyway. Go change.” It was nearly eight actually, which was later than he’d usually wait to bug Dazai into eating.

“I can go out like this,” Dazai asserted blandly, not really wanting to go out wearing a- ah,My Little Pony?Chuuya was sure that was the name of the show- pink sweater and dolphin pajama pants, but fishing for Chuuya’s reaction.

And, stupidly, Chuuya gave him a reaction to hook into, making a face at the horribly clashing casual outfit. “No, go put on actual clothes.”

With a glint in his eyes, Dazai pouted. “These are actual clothes?” He feigned a gasp. “Is Chuuya…embarrassedof me?”

With a deadpan stare, Chuuya gave him one last once-over and blankly looked into Dazai’s eyes with no intonation to his voice. “You’re right. That’s an amazing outfit, mackerel.”

Dazai huffed, ignoring the clear sarcasm with a mischievous little twinkle in his eyes.“Thank you.Let’s go!”

“I still have to change,” Chuuya shook his head, looking down at his own oldMario-karthoodie and sweatpants and the hideous number of bandaids on his hands (he was better at sewing, but he still poked himself often. He could just use a thimble, but Dazai had been the one to bring the idea up so out of principle he couldn’t ever use one).

“Just go like that,” Dazai whined. “I’m hungry!”

.

Well, if both of them were doing it-

“Fine,” Chuuya gave in, walking over to the door and tugging on his boots while tossing Dazai’s heavy coat from the rack over to him. “Put this on over that so you don’t freeze or get sick again.”

After Chuuya swung a scarf around Dazai’s neck and wrangled a hat over his overgrown curls and gloves on his hands, ignoring Dazai's complaints, he did the same for himself along with his leather jacket. He left his keys on the counter after a moment of thought and put on his hat.

“Let’s just go to the place down the street,” he explained to Dazai when he looked at the keys questioningly. “Who knows what you'll catch this time if we're out longer than that.”

Dazai scrunched his nose but shrugged his shoulders all the same. “Whatever.”

They walked out of the five-star luxury hotel like that, wearing childish sweaters and elbowing each other the entire way. When they stepped out onto the street, Dazai reached down to entangle his hand with Chuuya’s and didn’t look at him even when his eyes searched for answers.

…Dazai’s hand wasn’t warm, especially not through their gloves, but for some reason Chuuya felt like his whole body radiated heat from that simple point of contact. Dazai rubbed over a scar in the divot between Chuuya’s thumb and pointer finger and it made his heart do a weird flip-skip in his chest.

Weird. He was too young and healthy for heart palpitations.

It was busy out. Eight in the evening on a Sunday tended to be pretty loud in St. Petersburg, which apparently was known as the ‘Venice of the North’. Nightlife, clubbing, bars- considering they were staying in a pretty high-profile area, it wasn’t too surprising that people were still out.

Chuuya felt thankful then that he had a hold on Dazai’s hand as they made their way through the sidewalk traffic, since Dazai was easily distracted when he wasn’t on a mission. It was surprising to discover the first time they took a walk through the city together. Chuuya got just as sidetracked when he saw a dog, so holding hands made it easier to keep each other on track, even as he heard people whispering around them.

It wasn’t common for two men to be holding hands through Russian streets, because while same-sex relationships were legal, marriage between them was not and heavily disapproved of, so they received a handful of nasty and reproachful looks (even though they shouldn’t be judged because they weren’t even in a relationship at all, they just sometimes regularly f*cked and slept in the same bed every night and kissed and went out to eat together and didn’t do those things with anyone but each other). A fierce glare from Chuuya had them backing off. Dazai didn’t seem to notice, just tugging him along (Chuuya wasn’t naive enough to think Dazai wasn’t intimately aware of every person walking around them, but he pretended well enough).

As they walked, Chuuya breathed in the cold Russia air and looked up at the sky. With the city lights, the stars weren’t very visible, but he could make out a few. He wondered if Dazai had ever seen a clear sky of stars before or ever bothered to go stargazing. Probably not, considering he spent most of his nights in Yokohama’s center, ducking in and out of alleyways for missions. Chuuya had often gone out into the less populated areas of the city, particularly on the edge of the harbor on quieter nights, when he was still living on the streets just to lay down and watch the sky.

Even if Dazai did have a reason to stand out by the harbor at night by himself, Chuuya knew he only ever looked down at the water, thinking of ways to keep himself under long enough to drown.

Maybe, if or when they went back to Yokohama, Chuuya could convince him to try looking up for a change.

“Your hair’s getting long,” Chuuya noted quietly, not noticing when his gaze had shifted but finding that it had landed on Dazai.

Dazai hummed, reaching up with his other hand to tug at a strand. “Should I cut it?”

Chuuya shook his head. “You don’t need to. Just noticed it, that’s all.”

It was probably long enough to mess with now that it was brushing close to the bottom of his neck. The curls made it difficult to notice how long it actually was now that Dazai was properly and regularly taking care of them with their shared curl shampoo and conditioner. Chuuya smirked a little at the thought of yanking on the end of it the way Dazai did to his longer hair.

“What’s with that ugly expression?” Dazai peered down at him.

Chuuya scowled. “What do meanugly expression?!”

“Does chibi need a mirror? I can pull up my phone camera,” he teased with faux innocence. “You were staring at me so weirdly I thought you might bite me!”

“Maybe I should!” He shouted a little too loudly, reeling back with disgust when Dazai just raised a suggestive eyebrow. “Gods, you’re insufferable,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, but kept their hands intertwined as he elbowed open the door of the restaurant.

“Welcome in-!” The waiter’s eyes flickered down to their joined hands for a short moment, but to his credit he recovered quickly. “Ah, just the two of you?”

Dazai nodded for both of them. He’d be ordering for both of them, too, when they were seated. Chuuya’s spoken Russian waspassiblenow, but he was more familiar with legal jargon than food by proxy of only having the patience to learn enough to be good at his job. They were seated in the back despite the restaurant being relatively empty, which Chuuya didn’t take offense to whether it was because that was the waiter’s section or because two men dressed the way they were and holding hands could ward off other patrons.

They untangled their hands, but Chuuya was quick to put his foot against Dazai’s in a little kick that he didn’t bother pulling away from. Dazai nudged back, but let him be. After a brief discussion, they ordered a few too many pirozhki from the takeout menu and wine, because going out to eat was less about getting food they couldn’t order in and more about not being in the hotel for a while. At least for Dazai, who was tossing the hat on his head onto the seat with a little scrunch of annoyance. Hereallydidn’t like wearing beanies- it almost made Chuuya want to design an especially annoying one just to make him wear it. Speaking of designing-

“Mmh, that’s right,” Chuuya perked up, pulling out his phone. “I almost forgot to tell you…” he fiddled through his emails.

Dazai raised a brow and pushed his food around his plate some more before taking another small bite, probably knowing Chuuya would bully him into taking a few more bites if he didn’t. “Did my dog come up with another design? I’m surprised people pay so much for weird hats, but they’ve probably got about as many brain cells as you. Maybe it’s because they put a hat on once and it leeched-”

“Shut up, don’t call me that,” Chuuya snipped back, interrupting his tirade, but it was spoken offhandedly, focused on working through the Russian alphabet in his head as he scrolled through with excited energy burning through him. “And no, that’s not it.” Then he frowned, pausing in his perusal. “And my designs aren’t weird, jackass.”

“Whatever makes you feel better,” Dazai took another little bite of the pirozhki. Chuuya distantly noted that beef pirozhki were good enough to get Dazai to willingly take bites of his own accord while he thumbed through his email list-

“Запросisリクエスト (request),right?” Chuuya frowned, scrunching his brow. “Or is itようきゅう する (demand)?”

“リクエスト (request),”Dazai hummed around the food. Chuuya nodded, working through the list until-

“Aha!” He tossed the phone at Dazai, grinning triumphantly.

Dazai caught the phone reflexively and flipped it around. Chuuya watched attentively with a little grin playing on his lips as he watched a number of expressions fly across his partner’s pretty face - confusion, surprise, interest - until it settled on-

“You didn’t tell me you were requesting a transfer,” Dazai’s face was blank and distant.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow at him, his smile faltering a bit. “Yeah, it was supposed to be a surprise. I thought you didn’t like being half frozen and sick all the time.”

Was this not what he wanted? Chuuya was sure Dazai didn’t like Russia that much, or being inside all of the time. He’d go crazy himself if he had to sit in a hotel room all day- not that Dazai had to, but getting sick wasn’t worth going around unless they did it together.

No, Chuuya was sure he’d read the situation right….

Dazai swallowed visibly. “And… you want me to go with you?”

“I-” Chuuya frowned, a little pocket of ice forming in his chest. Did Dazai not want to….? “Yeah, I mean- yeah. You-you dragged me to Russia with you,obviously I’m not- like- ditching.” A deep, broiling anger was bubbling up the back of his throat. “You- I- Ican’tgo back to Japan right now because of you, andyou’dthrow yourself off abridgein a heartbeat, so what the hell did you think I’d do?!”

For once, Dazai’s expression was completely open even in the public restaurant, something nervous and confused and relieved bubbling there in the widened wine brown of his eyes. That gaze, purely calculative and searching, scanned him with hunger that set off alarm bells just as much as it enticed him closer, urging him to burn his hand on Dazai’s open flame. A sharp edge of anxiety curved in his beautiful irises, perfectly readable to Chuuya even as it shuttered away a moment later.

What did Dazai have to feel anxious about….?

Huh.

“You…” Chuuya’s brow scrunched together. “You know I’m not going without you, right?”

If anything, he’d thinkDazaiwould be the one to leave withoutChuuya.It was, well- it wasn’t exactlyout of characterto assume he’d leave without a word,again.He came back last time, but would he keep coming back?

How permanent was this, really?

Dazai’s expression fluttered into a small, trembling smile. “Slug, I don’t… I don’t have a visa for France. I didn’t-” He visibly bit back whatever he was going to say, and just like that a thin layer of a mask slid back into place like it always did when they were in public, a frustrating sarcastic and uncaring facade that Chuuya despised. The window of vulnerability wouldn’t return until Chuuya worked it back down in the privacy of their hotel room. “I didn’t think my dog would want to keep his master around after spending so much time together. I’mtouched,really.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes, choosing not to unpack part of that in a public place now that he realized what the technical problem was. “Just get a visa, then,” he picked up his fork to take another bite.

“It’ll take a few weeks to apply and get one even if I break a few rules,” Dazai explained, something sullen in his tone. “And chibi has to leave soon to take the job.” He held up the phone with the email still on the screen for emphasis.

Oh. That- that was true.

If they were anyone else, it wouldn’t be a problem. Dazai could come and meet up with him as soon as he was able. But they were still on the run from the mafia. Chuuya was good after his time on the streets, but he wasn’t Dazai, who’d kept their trail perfectly clean for literal months. He’d miss something on his end even if Dazai did everything in his power to run surveillance in Russia. It wasn’t about hiding; Chuuya could keep himself under the radar for a long time, but with his job and both of them working to build credibility under their names away from their time in the mafia, it wasn’t that simple. It would be hard to keep everything in line on his own while still working a nine to five job and he would inevitably miss something.

And more than that, Chuuya… well, Dazai wasn’t exactlystable.If Chuuya left on his own, would Dazai really be fine? There wouldn’t be anyone to stop him from getting sick, or to make him take medicine if he did, or to go get him when he jumped off a bridge or thought about drinking bleach. A few weeks was more than enough time for Dazai to spiral.

“The mafia would notice if I tried to cheat another visa in less than that time,” Dazai explained, disrupting Chuuya's thoughts in a low tone. “We’d be advertising where we are and what we’re doing.”

“I'll ask for another transfer later,” Chuuya decided, but there was an ounce of disappointment in his voice that he couldn't hide. He'd been getting himself excited over finally leaving the frigid country. It was beautiful in summer, but it couldn't make up for how miserable the cold was and how easily it got Dazai sick. “We’ll just have to stay in Russia for another month or two.”

“Chuuya wanted to go now though,” Dazai pouted a little. “The only visa we could get within the week is-”

“So there is one?” Chuuya demanded, definitely sounding a little too eager, but his thoughts had him a little on edge. “Just do what you need to for it, I don’t care.”

Dazai blinked, and Chuuya might’ve been seeing things but the tips of his ears looked a little pink. “It’s amarriagevisa, idiot. We’d have to be legally married, and then I could come with you,” he rolled his eyes at Chuuya.

.

Huh.

Chuuya flushed.

His first impulse washell no.

Marriage.

With Dazai.

And then, ramming into him like a train, his second thought was-

Marriage.

WithDazai.

A little less repulsive and a little too enticing. It was legal, not romantic, and heknewthat. And- and it wasn’t like Dazai couldn’t figure out how to get them divorced with a snap of his fingers. It wouldn’t necessarily need to be permanent.

Permanent.

Chuuyahadjust been thinking about the permanence of their situation. If nothing else, marriage was a legally binding contract that would tie them together. He had tied Dazai to him emotionally and physically to separate degrees, but this would add another layer of security. Chuuya felt a little too willing, a little too eager, but that didn’t matter. It was impulsive, and reckless, and they were edging something a little too close to a reality of what their relationship was, but that didn’t matter either.

“That would make it easier to keep the mafia off us too, right?” Chuuya questioned quietly.

Dazai froze visibly and blinked widely at him.

(It would,Dazai noted distantly.Testimonial, communications, and medical marital privileges would make it easier to allocate different favors he was calling in towards more important matters.

If one of them were for whatever reason admitted into a hospital, they would be allowed access to that room and given constant updates without any extra hoops to jump in if they were spouses. There were also taxation benefits; not that that really mattered to Dazai or Chuuya, but it was worth noting. The spousal visa was just one of the things they could do with a marriage license.

On the other hand, it would also give them something over each other if they had to get divorced for whatever reason. Dazai didn’t really expect that Chuuya would want to be around him for long, and when that happened the slug would get married to someone who wasn’t broken like him and then-

Well. Dazai had already screwed over enough of Chuuya’s life. If he decided he wanted to marry Dazai and divorce him, that was his choice. It just… wasn’t one he thought Chuuya would make.)

“Yeah, but you don't want to marry me.” He said it like he didn’t expect Chuuya to contradict him. There was an odd tone of finality there that Chuuya didn’t really like, so he raised his eyebrow questioningly.

“If it's just to keep the mafia off of us-”

Soukoku had always been a catastrophic pairing that threatened lives and civilizations. It was never meant to be conceived ofgoodideas. What was marriage if not another way to keep Dazai by his side in every way possible? In any case, it really was a poetic inevitability that Soukoku would mesh in all ways, intertwining until it was indecipherable where one of them ended and the other began.

His grin tasted like a phantom spike of blood, a dare and a commitment all at once, when he stared into hollow wine brown eyes reflecting shades of bottomless ocean blue.

“-then let’s get married.”

Chapter 4: flawless misperceptions

Chapter Text

Paris, France

November 12th

Getting married out of impulse and convenience might not have been the smartest idea ever crafted by the two of them. They didn’t have time to make a spectacle out of it like Chuuya knew Dazai would’ve done (not that hewantedthat, obviously), so it was in their pajamas at ten thirty in the evening that they slammed down the nearest traveling official’s door and threatened her to marry them together while shoving a load of cash in her face.

The woman was from France, actually, having been on vacation for her brother’s wedding, which is why they’d tracked her down nearly an hour away from their hotel via Chuuya’s ability that Dazai apparently didn’t mind him using when it was the middle of the night. They had to forge a French certificate, but once she signed it was only a matter of favors and money to get it approved by the next morning.

A week had gone by since then. Chuuya's transfer approval only took a few days to process, so it wasn't long before they were leaving for France, arriving in their even more luxurious Paris penthouse that the company he worked for had paid for under ‘business expenses'. Chuuya didn't understand how an entire penthouse could be excused just like that, but it apparently had something to do with his designs and a rich client who’d liked them enough to want Chuuya in the same city. Regardless, he was set to start a week after their arrival, so all that was left was to enjoy the downtime as soon as they were settled in.

The four hour flight had them leaving St. Petersburg at six in the morning and arriving at ten- or nine, with the time zone difference, so he spent the better part of an hour just putting the essentials away. They didn’t have any furniture and the penthouse was already fully furnished so it was easy enough.

Chuuya had to put their stuff away himself, because having Dazai do mindless chores would either result in him purposely screwing it up as a ‘prank’ or genuinely messing it up because his genius brain decided it needed to be done differently. Even though the way he’d do it would end up with everything in a weird order and nothing would be locatable by the end of it. Or he’d just get bored halfway through, stuff it all in one big lump and leave it for Chuuya to deal with anyway.

Honestly, Chuuya was fine with doing it himself. Besides, Dazai was the kind of person who liked everything neat and orderly. He didn’t like making it that way, but he wasn’t a slob. He put things away as he finished with them unless he was trying to get on Chuuya’s nerves, but the actual set up was hard for him. It made sense, then, that he had very few personal items that Chuuya hadn’t bought for him in the past few months. An amount of personal items that would increase, because even if it was fake, they weremarriedand Chuuya was not going to let his legal spouse live the way he'd been doing now that he had a legitimate excuse to force material items on him.

He also liked the opportunity to really look around. The elegant black couch was, luckily, comfy enough that Dazai wouldn’t complain about it when he went to watch his cartoons (he was watchingGravity Fallsnow, Chuuya remembered vaguely). It faced a large TV and was seated adjacent to the ridiculously nice window that opened to their balcony. The coffee tables, kitchen bar, and beautiful black and white granite counters were a dream. Chuuya liked cooking, and while he didn’t hate his old mafia apartment’s kitchen, it was nothing compared to the extravagance of their penthouse kitchen.

The entire place was modern but not as cozy as Chuuya preferred- that would change once he set out the throw blankets and got a carpet Dazai wouldn’t complain about the feel of and they got some movies and books to fill up the shelves. For now, they hadn’t even gotten a chance to go grocery shopping (which Chuuya was not looking forward to; depending on the week Dazai would either only eat canned crab, not eat at all, or eat limited edition cereal boxes featuring whatever weird cartoon he was hooked on that week. He liked Chuuya’s cooking and even before they left the mafia would crash his apartment sometimes just to weedle a meal or two out of him, but it wasn’t possible in the Russian hotel so he’d developed even weirder eating habits) or take a look around Paris, so there wasn’t any real rush.

After he finished unpacking, Chuuya made their bed, stripping off the streets and replacing them with their Egyptian cotton set. He tossed the old sheets and blankets into the spare bedroom. Afterward, he crashed on their bed next to Dazai, who'd fallen asleep on the bed as soon as the sheets were exchanged, and took a long, indulgent seven-hour nap.

Chuuya woke up around five in the afternoon, spooning his sleepy, freshly healthy and easily jet-lagged mackerel, with his hard co*ck digging into his ass, unconsciously rocking his hips into it.

Yeah.

So the thing was, they hadn't actually had sexoftenin the past four months. With Chuuya's job, Dazai getting pneumonia, and him getting sick again and then the both of them prepping for the transfer, the most they'd managed were a handful of blowj*bs and handjobs here and there even though they'd ended up kissing a lot outside of sex, which was weird. Because they weren’ttogether.

No matter how much Dazai tried to goad him into it, Chuuya refused to have sex him while he was sick, so their unintentional celibacy had continued the week leading up to them leaving for France, and even through their ‘marriage’ (it felt weird and bad to think of it as fake but Chuuya couldn’t handle actually legitimately thinking about why he felt that way).

Chuuya was sick of it.

The twist of lust in his gut as he watched Dazai sleep, comfortable as can be, in their penthouse bedroom wrapped up in his arms was more than just f*cking Dazai could satisfy. It had beenwaytoo long since Chuuya got f*cked, even after he promised himself to show Dazai how to properly ride dick by example.

He'd gotten a few toys with the intention of satisfying Dazai in between rounds, but they hadn't gotten a chance to use them, which was honestly a shame. Seeing Dazai writhe under vibrations he couldn’t escape, cumming over and over again until he was limp and drooling... Chuuya decided then and there that if nothing else he was putting a prostate toy up his ass while he f*cked Dazai.

Or… or he could put one in Dazai while Chuuya rode him. He got a co*ck ring too, so he could always just ride him until he cried without tipping over himself, making it an amazing org*sm after going a while without. It would satisfy his need for control and his interest in getting f*cked.

Unfortunately for Chuuya, Dazai's insomnia was beaten by jet-lag and a week of having a persistent cold once his fever had broken. It made perfect sense that he would be tired, so Chuuya didn'twantto disrupt his sleep; Dazai had been doing much better when it came to getting at least five hours of sleep a night and occasionally was even still sleeping when Chuuya woke up. Sometimes Chuuya was a little suspicious of whether or not he was actually sleeping, since Dazai was an unreal motherf*cker and could control his heartbeat (he only found that out after areallyweird mission). It was a quick improvement, though, and he wondered if it really had everything to do with being out of Japan. Chuuya couldn’t imagine the living nightmare his everyday life had been. The insomnia made more sense the more little scraps he managed to weedle out of Dazai.

(Because Dazai seemed better, but in the past few months the only things he’d shared with Chuuya were his interest in children’s shows and soft sweaters. He knew about the abuse, had seen the scars they left behind physically and some mentally, but Dazai didn’t talk about it.

He didn’t reallyknowa lot about Dazai even after three and a half years together when he really sat down to think about it.)

In any case, Dazai had been working on covering their tracks and keeping the mafia off of them while staying in the hotel away from the biting Russia cold, so it wasn’t like he didn’t have a legitimate reason to be tired.

As rare as it was, he sometimes managed to already be (possibly) sleeping when Chuuya got back from work though it only happened twice since they left Japan. It was during the second time when Chuuya had immediately pounced on him for a quick round of sex when he woke up that Dazai had jokingly given him permission to f*ck him while he was asleep.

Jokingly.

At least- Chuuya thought it was a joke, so he should just go back to sleep. But there was a chance that Dazai wasseriousand waking up to getting prepped for an anal toy would be welcome and Chuuya could satisfy the ache between his legs now.

Gods, they needed a better way to communicate sh*t like that.

Since he wasn't sure, it was with a mournful and purposeful motion that he angled his hips away and settled back into the bedsheets. Consent was important even when the lust was setting fire to his veins, especially when Dazai (hishusband-f*ck, he kept thinking about it) very sweetly rubbed his face on the Egyptian cotton pillow case he'd bought just for him and shifted contentedly under Chuuya's arm and sank back into the hold.

Coincidentally rubbing his ass against Chuuya's co*ck. Again.

He prayed for patience and tried to move away, but a sleeping Dazai was a leech for warmth and leaned back into him. Chuuya couldn't stop the little jolting of his hips back into his ass, but stamped down the urge to keep going.

Dazai’s sex drive had really been something even when he was sick. It'd been painfully hard to ignore but he managed to keep from doing anything for weeks. He wouldn’t let something like this break him. Dazai’s trauma was still an unpredictable beast, and even if he’d been serious about it, there was no telling how he would react when it actually came down to it. Especially since he was acting a little weird after their miniature ceremony, which had really only been a twenty minute rushed signing of papers and faux witnesses from the well-bribed officiate.

(Not exactly the wedding Chuuya had always secretly envisioned he'd have like the ones on the mall televisions.)

Chuuya had decided sometime after their ceremony that if Dazai wanted to talk about it, he would have to be the one to bring it up. Quite frankly, Chuuya was a bit- not nervous, but something similar- about saying the wrong thing again and overstepping a line of trauma. Talking about heavy, serious things could be like treading across a minefield when it came to Dazai, and he wasn’t in the mood for ruining a nice evening in their flat, so he would leave the ball in Dazai’s court.

“Mn,” Dazai hummed, stirring a little in his sleep with the beginnings of wakefulness. Chuuya froze. He must’ve woken him up from moving away so much. “Nnh, Chuuya?” He slurred, voice thick from sleep, rustling back into his chest and wiggling his hips in a tiny stretch.

f*ck, he looked beautiful. His eyes opened lazily, looking more likerubiesthan wine-brown, something unearthly and ethereal, his face illuminated by the large window above their bed, casting him in gorgeous gold relief from the setting sun. He looked rested, not healthy buthealthier,and so pretty when he wiggled his hips again.

(Just a few months ago Dazai would’ve stiffened up and gotten cagey when he woke up in Chuuya’s arms. They’d really come a long way and it made something weird and tingly fill his stomach, right next to the even weirder bubble of feelings about theirmarriage.)

Chuuya bit back a groan that threatened to escape his throat when Dazai’s ass unintentionally (or maybe intentionally; who could really say with Dazai?) grinded back into him. “Morning, sleeping beauty,” he drawled sarcastically. “Or sleeping ugly,” Chuuya amended, eyeing the drool on his partner’s face with a small amount of disgust and choking back the more praise-based words that he wanted to say.

(Oh,Dazai thought, swallowing a bit when he registered the words and read in between the lines.So we’re not talking about it.

Dazai didn’t know when he started to let himself relax enough to believe Chuuya would fulfill any kind of expectations he had, or when he’d started to let himself expect anything, but he needed to stamp it all down. He’d thought, for whatever reason, that maybe the reason he and Chuuya hadn’t talked about their marriage was because they were busy, but that clearly wasn’t the case.

That was fine, obviously. They were just married. Nothing more, nothing less; just two signatures on a paper for Chuuya’s work. He didn’t want it to be more than that, but ithurtthinking that it was nothing more than that. It was a little, persistent ache that was building in the hollow of his heart.

He shouldn’t care. They didn’t even have rings.)

(Dazai kind of wanted a ring.)

Dazai dug his elbow back into Chuuya. “Not uglier than you.”

(He was lying. In the light, Chuuya’s hair looked like it was on fire, casting a sharp glow around his face from the natural light filtering in through the window. He looked like a god Dazai didn’t believe in with shimmering ocean eyes.)

“Oh shut up,” Chuuya rolled his eyes. He tightened his arm against Dazai, not really feeling bad anymore about disrupting his relaxation with that comment. Chuuya dragged Dazai closer and rolled his hips against his ass. “Yeah?”

“Mmh,” Dazai moaned with a little more awareness, shifting back against him again, “f*ck yes. I told you that you could start without me, y’know.”

Oh. So he had been serious. Good to know.

“You said thatonceand never brought it up again,” Chuuya pinched his stomach.

Dazai swatted at his hand. “Yeah, I said it once andyounever did it.”

“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes again and pulled his arm away to reach for their nightstand, fumbling with the drawers to grab their lube.

Theirnightstand.Theirroom.Theirbed.Theirlube.Theirpenthouse.

Huh.

Something wasn't clicking in Chuuya's head about the situation and he felt like it definitely should be.

Snagging the lube and the prostate vibe, he pulled back and, after taking a moment to feel a proper amount of awe at his post-nap mackerel, smirked down at Dazai, who had already rolled over onto his back, tossed off hisScooby Doopajamas (they both liked the show, surprisingly) and boxers and spread his legs. Chuuya definitely wasn't the only one feeling impatient from the lack of sex, and the sight was a gorgeous invitation. He tossed the vibe onto the bed behind him and settled in between long, scarred legs.

“Hey,” Chuuya tapped his thigh. “On or off?” He fingered the bandage there.

Dazai bit his lip, and with an uncomfortable cursory glance around the bedroom he shook his head. “On.”

“Okay,” Chuuya shrugged, leaning in to kiss his partner.

It depended a lot on the situation, but Dazai was usually less receptive to being unraveled in new places than he was in places like Chuuya's old apartment or sometimes the hotel suite they'd stayed at for months. Sometimes he was fine with it, like on the plane with paid-off attendants, no cameras, and only Chuuya around to see him.

Chuuya didn't claim to know what went on in Dazai's head ever to make a plane fine but a hotel room or their penthousenot,but it was probably like the chores for Dazai; sometimes things that looked like a mess to Chuuya just made sense to him and his dumb, genius brain.

In any case, Chuuya liked marking up Dazai's skin, but this was perfectly fine too. He still made a point to keep his eyes connected with Dazai's as he lifted a bandaged wrist and kissed the tender inside over the jagged, violent scar he knew was there. Dazai's flushed reaction was just as pretty as it was when he did the same thing on bare skin.

Still, he was feeling a little too impatient this time to really slow down and appreciate every inch of Dazai's body through swathes of bandages. Reaching down, he stroked lightly over his half hard co*ck and leaned forward to swallow the groan with his lips.

Kissing Dazai was something Chuuya would never deny himself the pleasure of indulging in. Dazai wasn’t great at kissing, and honestly Chuuya knew he wasn’t the best kisser in the world himself, but there was something so sweet about the way they justclickedwhen they met in the middle.

Slowly, he tightened his grip until he was slowly jacking him off with firm strokes and Dazai's spine was bowing for it. “Ngh,” he groaned a little into their kiss. Chuuya surged forward a little more, dominating the kiss fully now just to swallow the sounds escaping him and tasting the growing lust on his tongue..

With a little smirk, he reached his other hand up and thumbed over his left nipple, covered by the bandages but still just as sensitive as always. Dazai squeaked out a pretty little sound and arched his chest into the touch, always so responsive under Chuuya’s fingers. He kept going until Dazai was fully hard in his hand and then let go.

Dazai scowled at Chuuya. “Chuuya’s so mean.”

“Uh-huh,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, grabbing the lube from beside him and leaning in for another quick kiss that Dazai smiled a little bit into. “I can always be meaner,” he drawled teasingly, looking up at Dazai. “Or nicer, if you deserve it.”

Dazai flushed a little bit but tellingly didn’t say a word.

Chuuya popped open the ridiculously expensive strawberry lube cap and drizzled some over his fingers. Dazai had complained about the lube he'd used before, and while he'd done it in a whiny, annoying way, Chuuya had deciphered a note of genuine discomfort in his words. After some searching, he'd found a non-irritating water-based flavored formula that cost 2200 yen. It was such an unreasonable price to spend on lube, so of course he bought five bottles of it.

“Good?” Chuuya asked, dragging his fingers down Dazai’s perineum and circling the tight ring of muscles to hear the little moan that slipped out.

“Mmh, yes, gods,” Dazai rocked his hips down into the fingers.

Chuuya had fingered him often enough that even with the month-long hiatus from sex he didn’t take a while to insert his finger all the way, working it inside in a quick motion. Dazai didn’t complain at the faster pace, relaxing into the familiar sensation. Chuuya couldn’t help himself from kissing the bandages over his knee. Gods, he’d been so good for Chuuya even during their first time, but the evidence of months of healing and leaving the mafia really did make a difference that was easy to see now (along with countless other non-sexual improvements, but those were a little too emotional to think about when he was planning to rail himself on his partner’s co*ck). They hadn’t gotten around to working Dazai into more lewd acts and he still hadn’t attempted oral again, but he definitely knew how to take co*ck.

He inserted another finger on the next thrust inwards and grinned a little when Dazai tipped his head back, moaning and enjoying the sensation. Chuuya hadn’t aimed for his prostate yet, but over the past few months he’d semi-conditioned Dazai to enjoy the way fingering felt. Or maybe it was just the anticipation of knowing that Chuuya had more planned that got him worked up.

(Or maybe Dazai just liked being stretched and would have the same reactions if anyone else did this.

.

The thought made his eye twitch with annoyance, and this time he knew exactly why. After going through all of that work to break down Dazai’s walls and working on his insecurities and keeping him healthy, the thought that someone else would even try to steal away his mackerel had him more than a little pissed off.

Dazai might be trying to fulfill a dead man’s wish to be better, but Chuuya had made no such promises. He’d kill anyone who tried.)

Three fingers would make Dazai a little too prepped to feel a decent stretch once he put the toy in, so he backed away after another few thrusts and twists of his fingers where he teasingly crooked them against his prostate.

“Ngh, Chuuya,not this again,”Dazai whined long and childishly. Still, Chuuya could see a genuine edge of apprehension in his eyes through the overdone act. He leaned in to kiss it away.

“M’not denying you, mackerel,” Chuuya assured him, grabbing the anal vibrator from behind him and holding it up for Dazai's wide-eyed inspection. “Just prepping you for this, yeah?”

It was a curved vibrator in dark red with a horizontal base. Chuuya had only ever played with a toy like it once and had nearly thrown it across the room after he org*smed, so oversensitive that it was nearly painful. Which meant that it would beperfectfor Dazai, who was- in the best, mostbeautifulway- awhor*for overstimulation. The one he’d used only had three intensity levels, but this one had ten, so he couldn’t wait to see how wired up Dazai would be by the end of it.

Dazai looked a little nervous, but he didn’t refuse, just wiggled his hips and nodded a little bit. Chuuya laced their hands together, squeezing once to get Dazai’s eyes on him, and dribbled lube over the vibe before pressing against his entrance and noting the resistance was a little more than he’d intended. He probably could’ve prepped Dazai a little more….

But even as he pushed it in, Dazai’s whimpers weren’t anoand his eyes stayed locked on Chuuya’s the entire time, a reassurance for Dazai and a grounding pressure for Chuuya.

“S’cold,” Dazai slurred a little, clearly feeling the stretch.

“It’ll get better,” Chuuya kissed him again, slow and soft, then rocked the toy out just a little bit.

“Ngh,” Dazai quickly tightened his grip on their locked fingers. “Didn’t say stop-”

He groaned when Chuuya, not missing a beat, just pushed it back in, rocking the toy in and out. Its curve made it hit Dazai’s prostate effortlessly with every jostling movement, a delicious pressure that had Dazai rocking into it more and more as he desperately leaned in to kiss Chuuya again. Chuuya bit at his lip softly, then pulled away to nip and kiss at his jaw. He maneuvered downwards to suck a dark hickey into the space just above his bandages. Dazai’s eyelashes fluttered pleasurably at the next rock inwards where Chuuya put a purposeful pressure into tilting the toy just a little more into his prostate.

Chuuya could definitely make Dazai cum just like this. He was so pent up after going so long without sex that he was already starting to moan a little louder, rocking down a little more suredly. Gods, it would be so easy to make him tip over.

So he backed off when he inserted the toy entirely again, letting his hands drift away to the backdrop of the confused little grinding of Dazai’s hips.

“Chuuya said no denial,” Dazai whined, still grinding down on the still toy and clenching around the tapered base. The plug-style of it made it so that Chuuya could just leave it there, jostling a little with every clench of his ass.

“It's not,” Chuuya grabbed the lube and, taking a second to tilt Dazai's chin towards him, he reached back to circle his own rim with a slick finger. “Gonna make you cum over and over. Gonna show you how to do itrightthis time, dumbass.”

Dazai's mouth was a little bit open, hanging slack for a moment as he realized what was happening. “Oh…”

f*ck,he should’ve done this sooner. The pressure of his finger at his own entrance was so good already. Chuuya really did like getting f*cked, though he definitely prefered being on top with Dazai.

Well, he’d still beon topin a sense.

Chuuya inserted his finger in all at once, not nearly as apprehensive about rushing with himself as he was with Dazai. He wasn’t an idiot and would prep himself well, but hereallywanted to sit on a co*ck after going literal months without.Six months,actually, Chuuya realized with a relieved moan when he finally hit his prostate. Waiting so long was almost criminal.

He could feel Dazai’s interested, awed eyes on him, but true to habit the mackerel’s hands didn’t reach out to grab him. Not necessary or appreciated, exactly, but Chuuya didn’t mind him keeping his hands to himself. He was quiet too, no words of appreciation or encouragement coming Chuuya’s way, which he felt was a bit rude, actually. He knew exactly how good he looked fingering himself, he thought petulantly as he slipped another finger in and scissored them, leaning forward at the sensation with a desperate moan of his own.

Gods,it really did feel good. Dazai was honestly so spoiled, getting railed with fingers and co*ck and now toys all the time. He got pushed over into org*sm after org*sm, the kind of treatment that Chuuya knew felt incredible when done right. He was good enough at sex that he could say with confidence that he had done it more than right.

“Got, hah, anything to say, mackerel?” Chuuya panted while squeezing a third finger in impatiently and wincing a tiny bit. It didn’thurt,exactly, but there was a bit of an ache that he quickly went about stretching out.

“I-” Dazai licked his lips, his mouth falling open and closed in tiny motions, working around words that Chuuya couldn’t quite make out- ohf*ck,that was a good angle- but he didn’t take too much offense to it this time. Having his partner speechless wasn’t a bad thing.

“You look… good.” And then he didn’t say anything else, letting those three words hang in the air between them.

Really?

Chuuya, three fingers up his ass, couldn’t stop himself from snorting a bit. That had to be the mostawkwardthing he’d ever heard Dazai say. “Yeah?” He giggled a bit.

Dazai huffed and tilted his head away with a little flush. Chuuya laughed around another moan when he stretched his hole around his spread fingers a few more times before pulling them out, leaning over to their bedside table to grab out the co*ck ring, setting it on the sheets beside them. “I’ll look even better on this,” he grabbed Dazai’s co*ck, then stroked it a bit while straddling his hips easily, hovering just above it.

Those pretty brown eyes were wide and lust-blown again, moaning into the touch on his co*ck, staring up at him with a degree of surprise and a quickly spreading blush across the bridge of his nose. Chuuya was sure he didn’t look much more composed, but he fought to hide it. Dazai really did look so pretty under him no matter what they were doing.

His hands were still clenched in the sheets instead of being on Chuuya’s hips where they belonged when he was about to make his dumbass partner see the gods. Well, whatever, that would change in a bit.

With a mischievous smirk, he leaned in, speaking against Dazai’s lips in a faint kiss. “Don’t worry about cumming too quick.” He’d already gotten Dazai worked up with the vibrator beforehand, so it wouldn’t be surprising if he didn’t even last a minute. That was fine, though.

Just as Dazai scowled with a rebuttal forming on his lips, Chuuya dropped down onto his co*ck all at once while ticking the prostate vibrator on.

“Hah- ungh,” Chuuya groaned, tipping his head back and rolling his hips down a few times. Dazai’s co*ck wasn’t as thick as his own, but it was enough to feel a little ache of a stretch. It was longer than any other co*ck he’d taken, so it brushed a little deeper inside of him than he was used to and it felt absolutelydelicious.

Dazai was writhing, bucking up into him a little too weirdly, but it still felt good. “Chuuya, Chuuya, hah, ah,ah-”

Chuuya had it in his mind to tick the vibrator up to a three and moaned long and loud when Dazai, freezing up with wide, unseeing eyes at the vibration, shrieked and spilled into him, bucking more furiously and begging for more, less, more,less-

Chuuya clenched down on him rhythmically while he came. He liked the way it felt when his partners cummed in him, but after his first time with someone who (thankfully) had explained they were clean beforehand to Chuuya, who until then had been ready to have sex regardless, he hadn’t brought it up with anyone else. After a few more cursory questions and later research on incognito mode, he was a lot more careful having sex afterwards. So it’d been a long time since he’d felt this, and gods it was good.

It’d be better when he made Dazai do it again, andagain.

Dazai was well and truly begging now, shifting away but unable to go anywhere with Chuuya seated on his hips like there were his throne, clenching down a few more times even as Dazai was coming down from his org*sm because it wasn’t like he wasdone.

And Dazai seemed to realize that, too, because Chuuya didn’t bother turning the vibrator off. He was still scrambling for something to ground him, clutching desperately at the bedsheets instead of latching onto Chuuya, so he grabbed his hands and guided them to his thighs. Immediately Dazai latched on, desperately holding onto Chuuya as the aftershocks kept coming and the pleasure wouldn’t stop.

“Hah- Chuuya,please,I- hngh, hah, mmph-”

Chuuya just moaned right back, rocking down onto his co*ck a few more times and enjoying the terribly wet slide of friction. Gods, it was good enough to almost cum on if he worked at it for a few minutes, but…. that wasn’t the plan. It was with a little sigh that he reached over and grabbed the co*ck ring, stilling his hips to give Dazai a second to breathe. He slid it on with a hiss. He was sure there was some lingering embarrassment from Dazai over cumming so quickly, but Chuuya didn’t care to poke fun at it when he felt so wet and full.

Dazai’s eyes were fluttering between him and his co*ck, still holding his thighs albeit with a lighter grip. He seemed to realize Chuuya liked it, so he tentatively started rubbing his thumbs into the skin there. Chuuya hummed appreciatively at the motion, sinking into it to encourage his dumb partner and hoping that this would help Dazai ease a bit more into touching him. Maybe, if he played his cards right, he could get Dazai to scratch up his back a bit while he f*cked him from here on out, or at least convince him to leave a few more hickies. Chuuya liked receiving week-long lasting marks just as much as he liked giving them. Hickies, scratches, light bruising; the reminder of how good the sex had been was golden jack-*ff material.

Those pretty, sun-lightened eyes finally settled questioningly on Chuuya’s co*ck ring. He huffed a little laugh and leaned forward, rolling his hips in a practiced motion he knew felt good for himself and his partner. Dazai choked a little bit.

“I can- ah,hah, mnh-keep fu- ucking myself on you longer like this,” Chuuya explained through breathy moans. They weren’t satisfying, though; the co*ck ring would keep him from tipping over and the mental reminder tempered the sensation a bit for him. Still, Dazai’s desperate little shakes and the feeling of his long co*ck hardening inside of him again was good.

Dazai's fingers dug into his thighs and he bucked up, then winced back as the overstimulation clearly affected him. Chuuya used it as his invitation to roll his hips, moaning loudly at the feeling of Dazai's co*ck brushing past his prostate.

“Gods, it's good,” Chuuya groaned out, already feeling annoyed at the ring on his co*ck but knowing the pay off was more than worth it to watch Dazai's desperation beneath him. He clenched down to force a whimper out of his throat.

“That reminds me,” he choked around a moan, “you- ah- don't know how to ride co*ck.”

Dazai stared up at him with disbelieving eyes, like he couldn't believe Chuuya was seriously trying to do this right now. Honestly, trying to have a conversation during sex wasn't one of Chuuya's brighter moments, since he was trying to bite back moans with every other word and grind of his hips. “I- ngh- I did though.”

This time, Chuuya just slowed his pace for a second and laughed.“Sweetheart,”he said mockingly, drawing the word out with faux sweetness. “Youtriedto. Watch me.”

When Dazai's response was cut off with another moan slipping past his lips, he bucked his hips up in an attempt to get Chuuya to stop talking, still twitching and trying to get hard again. He knew that was what Dazai was doing because Chuuya had done it to him more than a few times, but Dazai was less than prepared for Chuuya to clench down and drag himself back up before slamming down again. Dazai groaned and shivered in response.

It was kind of cute when Dazai thought he had the upper hand and actually didn't. It wasn't a common occurrence, so Chuuya clenched down again made extra sure to savor the way he closed his eyes tightly and whined.

Chuuya picked up a regular pace like that, rolling his hips and leaning over Dazai's torso. It was a million times more skilled than the clumsy up and down Dazai had been doing all those months ago. Dazai seemed to think so too, because he was starting to amp up the noise with every sinful roll of his hips on his co*ck.

“Hah, ah, Chuuya,” Dazai moaned, digging his fingers more surely into Chuuya's thighs. The slight ache from the tight grip had Chuuya groaning and working his hips faster over his quickly hardening co*ck.

“Yeah?” He panted, “gonna cum again-ngh-for me?” Dazai shuddered out a little overstimulated sob of a moan.

The lack of an org*sm instilled a moment of clarity in Chuuya and he remembered the prostate toy still buzzing away inside of his partner. Dazai was already starting to get close again, panting and squirming between Chuuya's thighs, but he wasn't there yet. He grinned meanly, then adjusted his hold on the vibe and ticked it up to a six, bypassing three levels just to see Dazai's spine lift from the bed as he cried out, chanting a messy babble of Chuuya's name.

“Ah, hah, Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya,” Dazai whined, his voice already bordering on something hoarse. He grinded down onto the vibe and bucked up, alternating in a desperate back-and-forth search for pleasure. It was already too much, Chuuya could see it in the tenseness of his torso and the quiver of his lip, but he didn’t feel much sympathy as he clenched down one, two, three more times.

He screamed when he came, a sudden, uncontrollable, overwhelming moment of pleasure that looked just as intense as it probably felt. Chuuya was almost jealous.

Almost.

“f*ck,”he drawled, long and low when Dazai spilled into him again, adding another shot of cum to his already filled hole.Gods,it was so wet. Chuuya had never had someone cum into him more than once, and the feeling was stimulated further by Dazai's jumping hips, trying to escape the buzzing at his prostate and only managing to buck into Chuuya more and creating an audible, wet squelching noise that went straight to his co*ck. It was a beautiful line of overstimulation that Dazai couldn't escape.

Chuuyareallywanted to cum.

Already his co*ck was aching, a tense and harder-than-usual bobbing between his legs. The head of his co*ck was getting a little purple and he knew that it was only made worse because it actually had been a while since he even jerked himself off. Work, moving,a lack of interest in cumming when it wasn't in Dazai-whatever it was, this org*sm was going to be insane and he almost couldn't wait. He'd touch himself but it would only make the pressure worse with the co*ck ring on him.

Dazai was insatiable and always impatient for more, more,more,but Chuuya liked denial. The intense build up into one sobbing-good org*sm was better than three average ones. Dazai really made it look tempting though, trying to escape from a dual-sided pleasure that wouldn't let up. Chuuya decided to be nice and lowered the vibe back to a five.

One more, he promised himself, swallowing dryly and twitching his fingers away from his co*ck. Chuuya tried to start the rolling motion again, but with a half-choked wail, Dazai traveled his desperate grip up to Chuuya's hips and slammed him down to keep him there.

“Ah-!” Chuuya panted. That felt good.

Dazai noticed with an edge of curiosity burning in his wine-brown eyes. Chuuya put his hands over where Dazai's had settled and pried them away a little bit. When Dazai tried to yank his hands away entirely with a spike of anxiety tensing his torso (probably thinking Chuuya was uncomfortable with the touch), Chuuya held them there and intertwined their fingers, settling their hands back on his hips.

“S’okay, mackerel, I like it,” Chuuya murmured, leaning down for a kiss. “One more, yeah?”

(Weird.Dazai didn't think the chibi’s dumb nickname for him had ever made him feel so- so… safe? He wasn't sure if that was the word to describe the warmth in his chest, but it was good enough.)

“Yeah,” Dazai breathed into the kiss, rubbing his thumbs into the small divots of Chuuya's hips. “Kay, c’mon,more.”

Dazai had been panting and whining from two consecutive org*sms not even a second ago, nearly begging to stop, and now he was already ready and asking for more even though he wasn’t even fully soft from his last org*sm just yet.

It was kind of f*cking insane. Chuuya had never been with anyone with such a short refractory period or interest in the sharp edge of overstimulation and multiple org*sms. He’d definitely never been with anyone so willing to submit even when he wasn’t the one getting f*cked (helookedlike he’d been f*cked, though; drooling, flushed, panting and crying for it).

Chuuya had really hit the jackpot with this insane man.

When he lifted his hips up, he was surprised when Dazai tugged him back down, f*cking Chuuya back onto his co*ck.

“Hngh!”He groaned, falling forward and blinking dazedly, more than a little surprised.ApparentlyDazai was feeling a little braver now, less apprehensive about working Chuuya over his co*ck. He looked into those eyes and found a calculative glint behind the hazy wall of lust and shivers of overstimulation.

Oh sh*t.

Chuuya felt like he was melting. Dazai wasn't strong enough to put a lot of strength behind it when he forced Chuuya back down, not like Chuuya could do with him, but it was enough to feelintense.He kept doing it, rocking Chuuya down and thrusting up, gradually getting more coordinated.

“Hah, ha, ungh,” Chuuya moaned openly and loudly, easily bouncing on Dazai's co*ck and not pausing whenever he tugged him down particularly hard. There was an aching strain building in his thighs, but it was thegoodkind of ache that made the pleasure almost better.

It was good, it was so f*cking good. He let out a wail of his own when a thrust rammed directly into his prostate, the first accurate hit Dazai had managed without Chuuya angling himself. Dazai saw his reaction and kept going like that, not always hitting it, but managing it enough to make Chuuya scream. Dazai groaned loudly, still shaking under him but hard again and panting for it.

He wondered if he could make Dazai f*ck him harder. And then Chuuya realized he was still holding the remote and ticked it all the way up to ten and let another wave of lust wash over him while he listened to Dazai’s shriek of pleasure. He stopped dragging him down, which Chuuya mourned because Dazai had really been getting good at that, but Chuuya didn’t mind too much, continuing to bounce on his co*ck. Dazai’s face when he tipped his head back and wailed more than made up for the weak hold on his hips.

“Ha-hah-ngh-Chuuya,too much, I- hngh, oh,oh, oh f*ck~”

Dazai really was so easy to work over. Intense and quick falls of consecutive org*sms were easier to work up when Chuuya didn't let him come down properly after cumming. He wondered what it felt like for Dazai; when Chuuya tried to go a few rounds in a row without pausing the highs got less intense and more like a sharp, friction burned edge that built and fell in choppy little bursts. Dazai never seemed to think it was any less good, though.

He whimpered loudly when Chuuya clenched down again. “I'm- I-”

Chuuya, bucking down furiously now and feeling the ache of his denied org*sm well and truly tip into pain, reached down and, just as Dazai's moans reached a feverish pitch, pulled the co*ck ring off and jacked himself once, twi-

Holy sh*t.

“Da-Dazai,ngh-, hah, f*ck, f*ck,f*ck-”Chuuya wailed a little, falling over and screaming as he painted Dazai's bandaged chest with his cum. He whimpered when Dazai spilled into him with a cry of his own.

It just kept going, wave after wave after wave of org*smic pleasure rising and falling and making his eyes nearly roll back. He collapsed into Dazai’s chest, still seated on his co*ck and listening to the sensitive whimpers from the no-doubt intense clenching and unclenching of his ass. Chuuya didn’t care much, though; it wasn’t like Dazai disliked overstimulation. He rocked back a few times just to ride out the last lingering waves of his org*sm and shut off the vibrator still buzzing in Dazai’s ass with a quick flick of his finger. It was almost worth the long period of celibacy between them just to have this.

Dazai’s bandages were filthy with sweat and cum now. Chuuya tried not to let it bother him when, still dazed and warm from the onslaught of pleasure, he arched in for a lazy kiss. There was a steady ache already building in the base of his spine, a little stronger than usual since he hadn’t done this in several months. Still, he didn’t mind it that much when Dazai pulled back to tentatively pepper his face with awkwardly tender kisses. It was usually Chuuya who went about the soft aftercare and initiated kissing, so this wasnicein a way he didn’t expect from Dazai. He sighed into it with a satisfied smile.

He rubbed his hands down Dazai’s sides in return, then reached up to tangle one in his hair and card his fingers through it, untangling brown curls with gentle strokes. Dazai pulled back and for a soft moment they just stared at each other before he leaned in again for a softer, slower kiss.

Finally, with a little wince, Chuuya pulled off of Dazai’s co*ck and collapsed a little more to the side, still resting his upper body on his partner’s bandaged chest. With his right hand, he trailed his fingers down to circle Dazai’s thighs. Dazai got the hint and spread his legs after a second and Chuuya tugged the vibrator out of his hole.

And then he registered the sopping wet feeling between his own thighs. “f*ck,” he whined a little into Dazai’s lips. His mackerel hummed a little questioning noise, shifting to put his arm around Chuuya for a more comfortable position.

Rather than saying anything, Chuuya kept kissing him and instead reached around to drag Dazai’s hand down towards his thighs. It washotto Chuuya, making his co*ck twitch the tiniest bit and contradicting the embarrassment Dazai usually felt and seemed to feel now, because, opening his eyes a sliver, he could see the red flush on his face.

His hole had to be dripping an obscene mix of three loads of cum and strawberry lube in a horribly wet slide. He wished he could see it for himself. Chuuya loved the sensation but didn’t particularly want to get the sheetstoomessy, a sentiment Dazai apparently shared because he slipped two fingers into Chuuya’s hole without a second thought.

Chuuya moaned a little and leaned back from the kiss with surprise clear on his face. Dazai seemed to also not know what he’d been doing, because he was pulling his fingers out the moment they made eye contact. Before he could slip them all the way out, Chuuya rocked back into them.

Then, a thought coming to mind, he smirked. “Wanna try oral?”

Not agoodthought, apparently, because Dazai’s face froze up immediately.

Why…?

Oh.

Right,yeah, the last time Dazai tried oral on Chuuya, it didn’t exactly go well. He didn’t blame him for being a little apprehensive. Keeping the small ounce of disappointment from showing on his face, Chuuya shrugged and rocked back into the fingers in his ass, enjoying the slight fullness. “S’fine if you don’t wanna, I’m good like this.”

It was true. Chuuya could cum from fingering, and while he liked getting eaten out, he respected Dazai not wanting to. If he had choked on a dick and hurt his throat the first time he went down on someone, he probably wouldn’t be super into it either.

Dazai blinked, swallowing dryly with a complicated expression flitting across his face and furrowing his brow. “I.. if Chuuya wants me to-”

Chuuya rolled his eyes and pressed a quick kiss into his lips to keep him from moving. “I want you to becomfortable,dumbass. C’mon, I’ll teach you how to finger me and you can try it on yourself later.”

Dazai relaxed a little more at that and nodded. Chuuya grinned. “Mmh, okay,” he rocked back a bit. “Try crooking your fingers a little.” He paused, waiting for Dazai, then winced a little. “Ngh, other way, towards my stomach. And… okay, yeah,” he shuffled down at the nice little stretch. “Move them in and out for a bit. You’ll feel- like- a bump. That’s my prostate.”

They stayed like that for a minute. “I don’t feel it,” Dazai furrowed his brow, crooking his fingers a little more and digging just a little too much. It was starting to border on an aimless jabbing motion that didn’t exactly feel great.

Chuuya grimaced and reached back to hold his wrist. “S’fine, just relax and do it gently. I’ll let you know when you hit it.”

Dazai recoiled a little, but when Chuuya leaned up to kiss the underside of his jaw in reassurance, he slowly began to move his fingers again. It was a nice sensation even if it wasn’t explicitly pleasurable enough to cum on. He liked getting fingered, so he let himself relax into it, rocking his hips down in tandem with every tentative thrust that got more confident as they continued. And then a spark shivered up his spine.

“Hah, f*ck,” he moaned at the little brush over his prostate. He hadn’t expected it, but Dazai just crooked his fingers and moved and managed to hit it just barely.

“Was that-?” Dazai watched him with wide, interested eyes, a calculative, intelligent glint to them that told Chuuya he was analyzing and cataloging every reaction. It was so hot to have that kind of attention and Chuuya thrived under it.

“Mmh, yeah,” Chuuya sighed. “Try to- oh, yeah, okay,f*ck-Keep moving over it- no, like a circle-yes-hah, ngh.” He rocked his hips down and reached to stroke his half hard co*ck. It was already sensitive from the intense post-denial org*sm, so he jolted with a little cry when the sensation paired with the prostate massage. It was way too much, but he still leaned into it with a needy whine. Chuuya wasn’t nearly as into overstimulation as Dazai, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t feel like a strong, decadent drag. “Gods, f*ck, yeah keep going ju-uh-st like that.”

Dazai obeyed him easily, massaging his fingers into his prostate and kissing at the spot just under Chuuya’s ear when he tossed his head back. Chuuya moaned at the sensation to encourage him to do it again.

“Ne- next time,” Chuuya panted, stroking himself faster now, feeling a build-up quicker than he expected, “I- ah- want you to try-f*ck-fingering yourself for me. Get- hn- getting yourself worked openf-f-forme to f*ck you.”

His mackerel blushed darkly at his words, but he was moving his fingers with a little more pressure, massaging him faster, working over his prostate with enough speed and firmness to get Chuuya just barely on that edge too soon. He’d never- not on prostate stimulation, at least- gotten to edge so fast after a big org*sm. Dazai was a quick learner, drinking in all of his reactions until he managed to play him- or his prostate, at least- like he’d done it a hundred times.

“Oh f*ck, oh f*ck, oh f*ck,”Chuuya whined over and over. “Hngh, hah,” he jerked himself faster, stroking over the head of his co*ck once, twice, three times- and then cummed over his hand with a loud cry. Dazai kept working him through it, drawing a desperate, long moan, but even as he came down, he didn’t stop rubbing his fingers into his sensitive prostate, sending uncontrollable shockwaves through his body.

“H-hey, hn, no more!” Chuuya kicked at him.

Dazai frowned and stopped his hand. “You don’t stop for me.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes, panting and shifting with the residual shocks of a good org*sm. “Because youlikeoverstimulation. That’s ayouthing.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he huffed, settling back into Dazai’s chest as he pulled his fingers out. He squirmed a little from the residual wetness he could feel dripping a little from his f*cked-loose hole.

They laid there just like that, eventually with Dazai bringing his clean hand up to run his fingers through Chuuya’s sweaty hair, tugging out the hair tie he had in. He didn’t want to do this all the time, but riding Dazai- and eventually maybe just going ass up on the bed and letting Dazai rail him- was fun. Dazai needed a little more guidance before Chuuya would be willing to let him do anything of his own accord, though. He wasn’t sure if Dazai would even be interested in that with how happy he was letting Chuuya order him around. He curled in just a little more, sighing with satisfaction at Dazai’s slightly cooler skin. He didn’t run as warm as Chuuya, so it was nice to lay close to him when he was still hot from sex.

It was getting late enough that they should shower and grab food in a bit, Chuuya sighed, rubbing his face into the cleanest spot of bandages just above the drying cum splatter from where he’d spilled over Dazai.

…okay, maybe sooner than just ‘in a bit.’

But, as always, Dazai couldn’t help derailing Chuuya’s plans.

“Chuuya should f*ck me,” Dazai murmured, breaking the soft, comfortable mood.

Oh gods.

Chuuya’s eye twitched. “I just rode you for like over half an hour and you fingered me two minutes ago. No.” He took a cursory glance over Dazai’s body and snorted. “You’re not even hard, dumbass.”

“I will be if you f*ck me,” he pouted, the post-coital haze fully fading, but Chuuya definitely wasn’t getting hard enough to try f*cking him anytime soon after those two org*sms. In an hour, maybe, but Chuuya wanted food, not more sex (maybe more sex, he amended. Later though, when his stomach wasn’t begging him for food).

“No.”

“Chuuya~”Dazai drawled out, his doe eyes wide and begging. It was always such a pretty look on his partner, and Chuuya knew it was his own fault that Dazai used it so often. He’d given in to Dazai’s whims one too many times after being on the receiving end of that expression and now his mackerel latched onto it like an attention-seeking leech.

I gave him an inch,Chuuya realized with a little bit of resigned horror as he remembered his thoughts from all those months ago during their first time,and now he's taking the mile.

“Oh my gods, fine,” Chuuya groaned, reaching over to grab the prostate toy and wincing at the ache in his back, shoving Dazai’s leg up and slipping it back into his wet hole. Dazai jolted at the sensation. “If you wanna cum so bad, do it on that. I’m tired.”

“Hah, but Chuuya~ mmh!”

Before Dazai could try to tempt him any more, Chuuya grabbed the remote and turned it on, buzzing it up to a five right away.

Dazai’s back bowed ridiculously high, jarring Chuuya almost off of his spot on his body. Chuuya pushed back back down when his hands twitched towards his spread legs with some level of amusem*nt.

“Ah!Ngh, Chuuya,” Dazai squirmed, pawing at him. “Toohigh.”

“Too bad,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, settling back down onto Dazai’s chest and stretching out to wiggle his sore hips with a satisfied sigh. He reached over to trail his fingers over the covered skin of his chest with just enough pressure that Dazai could feel the sensation. “You wanted to cum again.”

“N-not- hah- like this!” Dazai shrieked a little, still shifting into and away from the vibration like he was electrified. Just to be mean to his insatiable mackerel, he ticked the vibe up to a six. “Hah, ah, Chu- mm,” he rocked down onto the toy fully now, having gotten worked up enough to fully enjoy it. The movements were jostling Chuuya a bit, but he didn’t really care about not being able to relax properly. It was kind of fun to watch Dazai get off when he didn’t have to do the work after riding him for so long.“Touch me,”he begged.

Chuuya huffed out a little laugh against Dazai’s bandaged skin. “Touchyourself.”

…

Actually, that wasn’t a bad thought. Maybe next time, he could go through with his plan to make Dazai finger himself open for Chuuya now that the dumbass knew the theory behind it. Maybe he could get him a dild* to f*ck himself on while he watched; make Dazai get himself to org*sm a few times. Maybe Chuuya could put a bigger vibe up his ass and make him cum a few times in a row without stopping and then f*ck him when he was still twitching from the aftershocks and vibration.

Next time,he winced again when another jostle made his lower back twinge.

For now, Chuuya was happy enough to see Dazai stroke himself messily. He’d had his suspicions before, but Dazai really didn’t masturbat* often. During their unintentional celibacy, he’d never once come back to the hotel to find Dazai trying to get himself off. Of course, he could’ve done it at different times, but the pent up energy and over-the-top sex drive might have something to do with his supposed lack of interest in doing it himself. Maybe another guided lesson in how to masturbat* would be helpful for both of them.

Not that he didn’t enjoy how f*cking insane Dazai was in bed, begging for more all the time, but Chuuya got tired after three consecutive org*sms and more than a few rounds of oral just to try tiring out his partner to quiet his mind long enough to get him to sleep. He half expected that Dazai would want another round after they got back even if Chuuya made him cum a few more times now. It wasn’t to the point where Dazai got upset if Chuuya wasn’t in the mood; he knew that if he said he wasn’t interested in another round, Dazai would’ve respected it completely. Dazai didn’t even initiate sex often, so Chuuya would be lying if he said the consecutive org*sms weren’t pretty to watch. It was more that Chuuya wanted to make Dazai as boneless and relaxed as possible, and sex was a good way to do that.

With that thought, Chuuya turned the vibe up to a seven to hear the pretty little choked-off moan that escaped him.

“Chuuya!Chuuya,please, ngh, hah,f*ck me!”Dazai kept shifting his hips down, grinding on the toy.

“You’re already getting f*cked,beautiful,”he drawled out just to hear Dazai’s little whine at the compliment. Chuuya kind of wanted to f*ck him with the vibrator, rock the toy in and out to hear him cry a little, but he stayed true to his word and continued trailing his hands up and down the covered torso.

He traced a little over the spot he knew a bullet wound had scarred over even though he couldn’t see the skin as he leaned up to kiss Dazai’s jaw. He keened in response, tilting his head for a proper kiss that Chuuya would almost never deny him of.

Dazai’s whines were starting to edge that high keening sound tell-tale of an org*sm, so Chuuya ticked the vibe up to a ten.

“Hah,ah, ah, ah,Chuuya,Chuuya, mmh,”Dazai begged, whining and crying out. His grip on his own co*ck was faltering, but Chuuya knew he probably could’ve gotten off on just the anal stimulation in the first place, though it would’ve taken a little longer. He cummed, just like that, with an odd, unsatisfying pace on his co*ck and a toy up his ass.

Chuuya turned the vibe back down to a five but didn’t turn it off as he shifted around the still slick feeling from his ass. He wanted to go out to dinner in a bit, so he had to make sure Dazai wasn’t going to want another org*sm before they headed out, otherwise it would get late enough that they’d have to get takeout. It wasn’t a bad thing to get takeout every once in a while, but he wanted to go toLa Bourse ou La Vieto eat steak-frites and that wouldn’t happen if Dazai kept them in all night. Not that he didn’t like when they were in all night, of course, but Chuuya was hungry.

Dazai shrieked when he came down from his org*sm but the vibrations didn’t stop.“Chuuya!Chuuya- I already-ngh,ah, I came, so- hah-”

“Then do it again,” Chuuya hummed, pressing a kiss into a little exposed strip of skin at his neck. Dazai huffed.

“Ican’t!”

Hah.

Chuuya snorted, tilting his head up to make eye contact with those pretty brown eyes.“We both know that’s a lie.”

He stayed like that, perched on Dazai’s chest while his mackerel writhed under the sensation, begging and screaming for the vibrations to stop- but only on the surface. Chuuya knew that if there was really an issue, Dazai would pinch him or really try to get his attention. This? This was just Dazai feeling overwhelmed, barely on the right side of it still being ‘good’.

So Chuuya ticked the vibrator up to a seven and had to fight to stay in his comfortable spot when Dazai’s entire body jolted like he was possessed with a little, mewling wail. Then he ticked it up to an eight because that sound waspretty.

It was almost enough to convince him to f*ck Dazai.

…almost,he remedied again with another sore little shuffle.

“Hah, ah,”Dazai sobbed a little this time, a deep and intense shock wracking his body. He wasn’t crying again, unfortunately, but the sound was pretty enough that Chuuya didn’t mind.

Chuuya never wanted to see Dazai cry from negative emotions or situations, but he couldn’t help liking the way he looked when he cried during sex. There were more than enough people in the world who looked ugly when they cried; splotchy skin, snot dripping down their face, and a weird contorted expression. Dazai was the kind of asshole who happened to be a pretty crier who looked more like a picture-perfect model than someone genuinely distraught. It was unfair, because Chuuya knew that while he wasn’t exactly an ugly crier, he wasn’t a match for how Dazai looked when he was brought to tears.

And it wasn’t like he could even photograph it. Dazai didn’t like having pictures taken of himself.

Chuuya hummed with mild interest when Dazai scrambled for his co*ck before pulling away with an oversensitized keen, seemingly too wired up to touch himself. That was fine. Anal stimulation was more than enough to put Dazai over that edge.

Dazai’s moans were teetering on something a little more raw and hoarse after begging so much. It was addicting to hear him when he got to the point where he couldn’t quite make out any words but desperately tried to let Chuuya know not to stop.

And he did, each sob met with a hand scrambling for any inch of Chuuya’s body he could grasp onto. It was nice, actually, so Chuuya let him touch, stretching himself out and turning a little so that Dazai’s roving hand had more access to his skin. He liked being touched after a long session, so he leaned into every glancing sensation. Dazai breathed out a little yelp when he shifted and accidentally put more pressure on his prostate. He tried to squirm away, but Chuuya hooked a leg over one of his and pinned him back.

“Ah!Hah-ah- Chuuya, no, too-too much,”he sobbed, his head falling back. Chuuya hummed in response but kept him pinned even as he fought the hold.

Dazai wasn’t even getting fully hard at that point. Chuuya wasn’t worried if he could cum or not; Chuuya knew he could, even though he knew that Dazai would've complained about it if he had his head on straight enough to actually do more than moan and whine and scream. He could cum just fine like this.

Chuuya tapped the vibe back up to a ten. Dazai was getting louder now, a moan following every exhale like he could hardly do anything but make noise. Chuuya thoughtfully reached over to hold his hand while Dazai's other hand frantically reached for his co*ck. He barely touched himself before he was falling apart, cumming dry and sagging bonelessly against the bed when Chuuya turned the vibe off quickly.

He didn't like to tease Dazai after too many org*sms without a break. Messing with him right away after a fifth would've been way too much in the wrong way. It almost made him wonder, if he were to give Dazai a second to breathe, just how many org*sms he could wring out of Dazai before he either tapped out or passed out. Next time, he thought while pressing a few more kisses into the tender underside of Dazai’s jaw.

Instead, he pillowed his head on Dazai again and hummed while he played with the hand he'd held during Dazai's org*sm. Physical touch was the quickest way to ground Dazai after an overstimulating session. He'd ease the vibrator out of him in a minute.

It was surprisingly comfortable. It wasn’t amazing or plush, because Dazai was all hard angles and willowy lines, but Chuuya could imagine himself napping there. Hehadnapped there a few times in Russia, actually, cushioning his head against Dazai while they watched some stupid children’s movie. If nothing else, his partner was good at staying still for long periods of time.

Slowly, Dazai came back to awareness and shuffled against Chuuya, not squirming but adjusting himself to get into a more comfortable position.

“Hey,” Chuuya hummed softly.

“Hey,” his mackerel responded, his voice a little rough.

“Can I clean up or d’you want a minute?” Chuuya asked, not making any indication that he was going to move or that he cared one way or another. If he did, then Dazai would answer without actually taking into stock what he needed.

A moment passed. Dazai gently untangled his hand from Chuuya's. “Yeah.”

Chuuya reached back and clutched the hand. When Dazai startled at the move, he pressed a quick kiss to the skin there and, ignoring the complicated expression that flitted across his mackerel’s face, sat up to grab tissues from their nightstand, quickly wiping up the wet stickiness of lube and cum from between his thighs and his hole. He grabbed another tissue and leaned back over to Dazai.

He tapped a bandaged knee and it fell open pliantly at his touch. Chuuya gripped the base of the vibrator and started to ease it out slowly. Dazai whimpered a little but otherwise didn't protest. He quickly wiped down the wet lube that trickled out once the vibrator was out. Chuuya set the toy aside to be cleaned later.

He went around the room, taking a second to stretch and wince at the ache in his spine, setting the lube back in the drawer and wiping himself down, setting out clothes for when they were done showering and grabbing a few towels. When Chuuya was satisfied with the cleanliness of the room in the dying light of the window, he nudged back over next to Dazai.

“Still good?”

Dazai smiled a little and nodded, his eyes opening when Chuuya brushed his hair away from his forehead. “M’great.”

He smiled back a little bit, then stood up.

“I’m taking a shower,” Chuuya announced with a purposeful eye on Dazai as he walked to their ridiculously large ensuite bathroom on slightly shaky legs.

It was an offer to shower alone and an invitation to follow him all at once. Since it was a bandage day, Chuuya made sure to give the unspoken offer to Dazai. It was easier than asking outright and risking him getting tense or uncomfortable.

After a moment, Dazai stood up too and walked over with a minuscule little twitch of a nod.

Okay,Chuuya breathed.

He was careful not to look for too long while Dazai slowly unraveled his bandages (because he knew Chuuya wouldn't let him sit around in soaking bandages), instead focusing on turning the water on and waiting for it to warm up. Chuuya flicked the showerhead on and stepped under the spray.

The standing shower was large enough that he could shift out of the way when Dazai stepped in with him. It took a long moment for him to come over and actually get in, so Chuuya took his time to just stand under the spray until his partner hesitantly stepped into the shower.

Usually, he’d wash Dazai, do his hair for him and run his hands down his scarred body to remap the lines under his hands for the umpteenth time. Chuuya weirdly liked doing it too, but after he rinsed the shampoo from his own hair, he just tossed the bottle to Dazai with a small smile. Dazai’s face was just open enough that he could see what he thought might be gratitude (but who ever really knew with Dazai?). Chuuya just conditioned his own hair and maneuvered out of the way so Dazai could rinse his.

When Dazai wanted to keep bandages on, it was implied- at least, to Chuuya- that he didn’t want to be touched without them even though he almost always gave in to having post-sex showers. He respected Dazai's boundaries and kept a short but intimate distance between them.

While waiting for the conditioner to soak, he went about cleaning his body, taking note of the little bruises on his hips from where Dazai held them. They weren’t dark or anything, and he hadn’t even noticed them so it wasn’t like they hurt, but the knowledge that they were there and the phantom sensation of beingheldhad a warm hum settling itself in his chest.

He cleaned the remaining cum away from his ass and thighs and grimaced a little at the stickiness before he wiped it away. Chuuya was so caught up in doing it that when he looked up to hand Dazai the soap, he found his mackerel had been staring at him with soft eyes. Chuuya blinked, a weird little lump settling in his throat at the expression.

It didn’t make sense, but Chuuya really wanted to kiss Dazai right then.

And then he did because that was something they apparently were going to keep doing even outside of sex. He handed Dazai the bottle, then leaned up on his tippy toes and craned his neck while angling his body away for a kiss.

It would never not rankle Chuuya that he was just barely too short to kiss Dazai even like this. Not that it really mattered when Dazai leaned in to close the distance and take the bottle. Chuuya made sure that no other part of their bodies were touching, but that kiss settled the weird post-sex buzzing of energy.

The kiss only lasted a few lingering moments before Chuuya pulled away. “I’m getting out. We’re going to dinner, so don’t get too comfortable.”

Dazai pouted but acquiesced to letting Chuuya out of the shower. He still didn’t like eating too often when he had other things he wanted to do like sleeping, so he was lucky Chuuya was there to bully him into being somewhat healthy.

“Bandages are in the top left cabinet,” Chuuya called over the shower spray while he toweled himself down. “Don't reuse your bandages or I'll choke you with them.”

“Really?”He didn't have to be in the shower to see the half-fake glimmering of excitement in his partner's eyes.

“No, f*ck off. It's just gross.”

Even as he bundled up the discarded bandages to toss them in their bedroom away from the bathroom to make sure Dazai didn't get any annoying ideas, Chuuya was feeling a static-y edge of excitement building in his chest.

He shook off the lingering tiredness, glad that they chose to nap after the flight, and pulled out the clothes he’d personally designed. It was a personal project of sorts that he never worked on at the hotel in St. Petersburg but was ultimately what had secured his transfer request. While Chuuya mainly worked to design hats for the accessory line, he’d been given a chance to design what the department head called ‘androgynous masculine silhouette apparel’ but Chuuya called his own everyday style after looking at examples.

He managed to be lucky enough to have practiced measuring with Dazai, even though he'd been a pain about it the entire time, so he already had the measurements he needed to bring to life his vision of putting Dazai in a corset and burning his old mafia clothing. While it had all been tailored to Dazai, the mafia clothing was meant to be mission-friendly, so not only was it subtly loose but it also had little room for personalization. Not that Chuuya cared, because he did what he wanted and Mori could suck it, but Dazai really didn’t wear a lot of nice outside clothes that weren’t mafia apparel.

Which was why Chuuya had customized an outfit for him, lining it with soft fabric that wouldn’t irritate Dazai’s skin. While his mackerel would never admit it, that was the real reason (that Chuuya suspected) Dazai mainly wore the sinfully soft and ridiculous sweaters that Chuuya bought for him nowadays. That, and he had no sense of style.

He wouldn't ever do or say anything aboutthat damned tan trench coatbut Chuuya wished Dazai would eventually consider leaving it behind some nights so that he could put his mackerel in colors that decidedly didnotgo with tan. For now, though, he'd thoughtfully centered the color scheme around the tan coat.

Chuuya had no problems with lacing his own black corset over his wine-red button-up, so he quickly dressed himself, pulling on his ripped black jeans and slipping on a pair of socks. Just as he was blow drying his hair in their bedroom and latching his black choker around his neck, Dazai walked in, fully bandaged again and not bothering with a towel.

“I have clothes for you to wear,” Chuuya blurted quickly when Dazai moved to grab a sweater from the closet.

“I was just going to wear-” he kept reaching for the closet.

“Please?” Chuuya winced out. Dazai pulled his hand away from the closet door immediately and looked at him with mild surprise. It wasn't exactlyoftenthat Chuuya said please to Dazai.

Dazai sighed and flopped back onto the bed. “Fine, fine. I guess I'll wear my chibi's outfit.”

Chuuya perked up and, feeling a little too giddy, pulled out the large white box tucked under the bed and presented it to him. Dazai blinked at it, looking up at Chuuya once before accepting it hesitantly.

“I'm not wearing it if it's weird,” he warned Chuuya (lying through his teeth and contradicting himself, of course; he'd wear anything Chuuya got for him).

“Like you'd be able to tell if it is,” Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Just open it.” He grabbed a towel and started scrunching the ends of Dazai's hair.

The slacks were the first item at the top of the box. Dazai looked at them for a minute and then looked over at Chuuya like he was trying to decipher something.

“Black pants….thanks?” Dazai said, a lilt to his tone that said he wasn't sure what to say.

Which, in retrospect, was fair. Dazai had a lot of pants just like it. Not as well-tailored, but close enough to it that Chuuya wasn't surprised he didn't notice the difference. He huffed, “keep going, mackerel.”

Dazai set the pants aside, revealing the hale navy corset in the same style as Chuuya's, which stopped just under the chest. He looked up at Chuuya.

“You… got me a corset,” his tone was less than pleased, especially when paired with those blank eyes.

Chuuya scrunched his nose and t’ched at him, tossing the towel away. “No, Imadeyou a corset.”

Dazai's hands shifted to touch the corset a little more reverently then even as he fought to keep his expression the same. Chuuya caught the twitch in his fingers, though, so he didn't mind being on the receiving end of that annoying face. Dazai dug through the box again and pulled out the very light gray button-up underneath.

Rather than complimenting Chuuya or snarking at him or saying anything of note, Dazai's gaze shifted between the three articles of clothing and landed back on Chuuya. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Chuuya asked, not noticing when he'd tensed under Dazai's perusal but relaxing now.

“Yeah.”

Dazai was weird about gifts, Chuuya noted as he buttoned the shirt up for Dazai while his partner buttoned the slacks. He didn't buy a lot of indulgent things for himself or others and didn't know how to react to being given a gift. Even if it was something as mundane and average as clothing. Not that Chuuya's designs weremundaneoraverage,but the concept behind giving them as a gift sort of was.

Chuuya picked up the corset and nudged Dazai forward a bit, wrapping it around him. He purposely hadn’t inserted a panel under the corset’s ties, so the light gray button-up’s color showed through. He ran a finger down the long length of Dazai’s spine through the button-up as he shifted the corset into place. Dazai’s body was wracked with a small shiver and he sank back into the touch. And then he tensed forward when Chuuya grabbed the corset’s lacing andyankedit tight through the grommets.

“Ack!” Dazai twitched, leaning forward, but Chuuya quickly wove the lacing through the next holes and pulled him back again by them. “Chuuya! A warning, maybe?!”

“You’re such a big baby. You’re fine,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, pulling the corset tight and maneuvering the lace down, chortling at each over-dramatized sound Dazai made in protest.

“I never- urk!- thought I’d see the day when my dog tried to kill me,” Dazai sniffed.

Chuuya raised a skeptical eyebrow even though he knew Dazai couldn’t see. “I told you to stop calling me that, and no one’s ever died from a corset, mackerel. I wear them all the time.”

Dazai braced himself on their nightstand when Chuuya got halfway down the lacing. “That you know of! And Chuuya’s a masoch*st.”

“No, I’m not-why do you know what that is?!” Chuuya blushed a little, yanking harder on the second to last portion. He tied off the bottom with a flourish of a bow and stepped back. “Let me see.”

His mackerel huffed with a grumbling of“stupid slug”under his breath but turned around and-

Oh well that was just unfair.

Dazai lookedamazingin a corset. It was even better than Chuuya imagined. He had to give it to himself- the blue and gray hues looked gorgeous on Dazai just like he thought they would. The light gray made him seem less unhealthy than the white always did and the pants were tailored to compliment his legs, just a little more fitted than his regular pairs to really accentuate how long and slender they were. The hale navy corset broke up the long straight line of his body and defined his pretty waist, bringing attention to how thin he was without making it seem unhealthy (which it was, obviously, but the slight pillowing of the gray button-up out of the top of the corset artfully distracted from the bony protrusions). The color worked to add interest to the outfit and tie it all together.

Chuuya was definitely not insecure about his body, but Dazai really did just look good in everything. Dazai in a waistcoat was already distracting enough, but Dazai in a corset made Chuuya almost want to bend him over their king size bed again and-

“Are we going or not?” Dazai interrupted his thoughts, already having put his shoes on and- thankfully or not- tossed his tan coat over the outfit.

It looked good; not as much as a black or dark gray or even navy coat might have, but still enough that Chuuya once again patted himself on the back. He toed on his shoes and grabbed his hat.

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon,” he opened the door to their living room and grabbed his coat and hat from where he’d left them on the rack where they belonged, unlike Dazai. He snagged his phone from the counter too and tossed Dazai’s to him.

“Walking?” Dazai asked, opening the door for both of them.

Chuuya nodded, rankled about his poor motorcycle. “It’s coming in tomorrow, so I have to pick it up then.”

Dazai hummed. “I’ll go with you.”

“Y’don’t have to,” he wrapped an arm around Dazai’s waist when they stepped into the elevator. Dazai shrugged.

“And miss the chance to see you reunite with your precious pink bike again? Of course I have to,” he teased.

“Motorcycle,”Chuuya stressed, pinching Dazai through his clothes. “And it’s a darkmagenta,jackass.”

“Oh, sorry,” Dazai drawled sarcastically when they reached the ground floor. “I’m really looking forward to you reuniting with your preciousmagenta motorcycle,slug.”

Chuuya elbowed him, then pulled him closer for a moment as they walked by a group heading towards the elevator. “Shut up, oh my gods.”

Unlike in St. Petersburg, they didn’t get any rude looks from being so close together, but Chuuya couldn’t help noticing the way men and women alike took a double take at Dazai (and Chuuya too, obviously, but he didn’t care about that. He knew he was hot and they were both dressed in form fitting clothes with what were essentially matching corsets. Of course they drew eyes to them). He was glad that he’d already gotten an arm around Dazai, so he pulled him in close again while they walked just to watch those eyes jump to him with some embarrassment.

(He distantly noticed Dazai leaning in whenever someone stared a little too long at Chuuya, and the way his eyes narrowed threateningly at a handful of people who stared at their expensive clothing and foreign features just in case they thought about trying anything. Chuuya just tried not to think about it for the sake of his sanity.)

The Paris streets were distracting. It was a late night on a weekend, so it wasn't particularly surprising, but Chuuya couldn't help the way his eyes drifted to the lit-up stores.

“Are we going straight to dinner?” Dazai asked suddenly, eyes trained on Chuuya.

“Yeah?” Chuuya hummed. “Did you want to see something first?” He looked around, trying to see what might've caught Dazai's eye. If it was something Dazai wanted then he would buy it immediately. His mackerel rarely ever talked about things he liked and each request had a little scrap of Dazai's personality in it. Dazai didn't give any sort of indication, still watching Chuuya intently.

Dazai blinked at him with furrowed brows and shook his head. “No.”

“Oh,” he tried to hide his disappointment. “The restaurant should be around here anyway,” Chuuya changed the subject.

Staying in highly populated and high-profile areas was a diversion technique they were employing to keep the mafia off of them. Neither of them had social media and while Paris was definitely busy and well-lit, Dazai's hair had grown out even more with his lack of interest in upkeeping it and Chuuya wore hats religiously so they both had visual distractors that would make them difficult to pick out in the background of a photo.

…and even if Dazai had been caught in the background of a picture in St. Petersburg, the ridiculous sweaters were the last thing anyone from the mafia would associate with the Demon Prodigy, so Chuuya figured they were fine.

He chortled at the mental image of Dazai strolling into the Port Mafia wearing aMy Little Ponysweater. Someone would’ve fainted. Chuuya almost mourned the missed opportunity. That video would’ve beenamazing.

“Bonjour!” A waiter greeted them when they walked in, not batting an eye at their close position. “Seulement vous deux?”

“Oui,” Chuuya responded easily without missing a beat, garnering a little side-eye from Dazai.

“Suivez-moi. Vous êtes tous les deux des touristes?”

Chuuya shook his head. “Non, on vient d'emménager ici, en fait.”

Dazai was staring at him fully now. Chuuya smirked a little.

“Pour un emploi? Ou pour l'école?”

“Pour un emploi,” he said as they were seated and handed menus.

“Je reviendrai pour vos commandes.”

“Merci,” Chuuya said politely.

(Hello! Just the two of you?

Yes.

Follow me. Are the two of you tourists?

No, we just moved here, actually.

For a job? Or for school?

For a job.

I'll be back for your orders.

Thank you.)

Dazai waited two seconds before turning back to Chuuya, kicking his feet under the table. “You speak French?”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “I'm half French, idiot.”

He didn't really like talking about it, because it wasn'thim,exactly, but it did ring true that Nakahara Chuuya was half French and half Japanese.

“Really?”Dazai sounded surprised on the surface, but there was a hint of satisfaction like Chuuya had confirmed a theory of his.

“Yeah,” Chuuya waved his hand offhandedly, trying to give a quick ending to the conversation. He might not care whether or not he talked about it, but in some sense, it was uncomfortable, in the way that giving updates on distant acquaintances one didn’t know much about was. “I mean, I’m not fluent anymore and I can’t really read it that well, but it’s better than my Japanese used to be.”

“Huh.” Dazai grinned mischievously. “Does that make you myFrench poodlethen? I’m so glad we’ve finally figured out what breed you are!”

“Oh my gods-will you piss off with that?” Chuuya hissed as the waiter came back.

(Dazai, easily reading the discomfort from his partner, nicely decided to drop the topic after that. Chuuya didn’t talk about his time before the Sheep, and hardly even talked about the Sheep at all as it was. He didn’t feel like fighting right now. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a clue of what Chuuya's childhood (or lack thereof, considering what he knew about Nakahara Chuuya) was like, anyways. Chuuya was easy to read, but sometimes… and- and it was strange, but sometimes he wanted to hear it from Chuuya first. So he didn’t bother reading too far into Chuuya’s cues.)

“D’accord, pour dîner, vous avez choisi?”

“Nous a voudrais le steak frites- à point, s’il vous plaît,” Chuuya rattled off easily, taking a glance at Dazai to affirm, to which Dazai shrugged noncommittedly. Just as the waiter nodded in understanding, he hummed. “Montrez-moi la carte des vins?”

“Bien sûr.”

Dazai stared at him. “You’re an alcoholic, you know that right?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” Chuuya hissed back. “I just like wine. You’re the one who drinks piss-poor whiskey.”

“Not a glassevery night,”Dazai tossed back as a wine menu was set in front of them.

“Merci,” Chuuya thanked the waiter, and without looking at him or the menu, eyes locked on Dazai, he spoke. “Deux vins rouge, s’il vous plaît."

“I don’t drink gross wine, chibi,” Dazai rolled his eyes after the waiter walked off.

“They’re not for you,” Chuuya snorted, and when the waiter came back and set a wine glass in front of each of them, he plucked the other from in front of Dazai and set both glasses in front of himself.

“Je veux juste de l'eau,” Dazai told the waiter in his cute clumsy accent. Then, in Japanese, to Chuuya, “if you get black out drunk I’m leaving you here.”

“Shut up,” Chuuya snarked around a generous sip. He could handle his alcohol just fine, especially with a meal.

“You need therapy,” Dazai drawled, taking a sip of the water set in front of him.

Chuuya snorted into his glass and had to pull away for a minute to swallow.“Really?Between the two of us, I’m not the one that needs therapy, holy f*ck.”

“You drink every night.”

“You literally try tokill yourselfevery other second,” Chuuya scrunched his nose.

Dazai rolled his eyes. “That’s a personal choice, chibi. Not that you’d understand the beauty of committing suicide with a woman.”

“Y’know what?” Chuuya gestured to him with his glass of wine after another large sip. “If you find a therapist willing to deal with you and sign yourself up, I’ll go to therapy with you.”

“They’d need therapy too after a session with you, hat rack,” Dazai snipped back. When Chuuya raised a brow, he copied the expression. “Arahaba-”

“Gods f*cking dammit,”Chuuya kicked him harshly under the table, glancing around them to watch for anyone who might’ve heard his idiot dumbass of a partner. “You really have no f*cking brain up there, huh?”

“Ow,” Dazai whined. “What a rude slug. And here I was, about to invite you to watch a show with me when we get back.”

“You were about to spill sensitive information,” Chuuya rolled his eyes. “And one of your kid shows? You really need a hobby.”

“Scooby-Doo, actually,” Dazai sniffed. Chuuya straightened a little.

He’d make fun of the other shows day and night, but Scooby-Doo was one of the few that he kind of liked. Like Dazai, Chuuya’s childhood hadn’t been full of normal pop culture references, but he’d watched an episode or two of the show before. Sue him; he liked dogs.

“I might be convinced to watch it with you,” Chuuya hummed, knowing damn well he’d be spending the night on the couch watching the cartoon with Dazai. “But you do need a hobby.”

“I have hobbies,” Dazai said a little petulantly.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “Really? Like what?” As far as he knew, all Dazai did was stay inside like a hermit, running interference and watching different kid shows. He started on Studio Ghibli films recently, which Chuuyausedto own all of the discs for before Dazai dragged him out of Japan and made him leave behind his collection. He couldn’t emotionally handle rewatchingWhen Marnie Was Thereor- Gods forbid-Grave of the Fireflies,so he opted out of those movie-watching stints.

Dazai tellingly took a second to think. “Talking to you. Where would my dog be if he didn’t have his master around? You’d be like a lost stray.”

There was a weird little shutter of emotions that flittered on and off of Dazai’s face when he said that last bit, like it was something significant. Chuuya would’ve dug a little more, but their waiter came back with their food a moment later, and he was in just a good enough mood to let the topic go and focus on the steak-frites.

“f*ck yeah,” Chuuya garbled a little around a mouthful of steak and fries. Steak-frites were amazing and he would not accept any argument otherwise. Dazai was picking at the cuts of steak, pushing it around a little bit with his fork. Chuuya frowned. “It's not poisoned, mackerel.”

Dazai looked up a little and plastered on a smile, finally taking a bite of the food. His eyes sparkled a little. “It's good,” he muttered quietly.

Chuuya, not bothering to call Dazai out on how weird he was being about the food (he knew not to push his luck when it came to getting Dazai to eat), just snorted a little and finished off his first glass of wine. “Told you.”

He already felt the nice warm buzz of alcohol flooding him, making his brain feel a little fuzzy. Dazai always looked prettier when Chuuya was tipsy, the color of his eyes standing out more and the flop of his curls more pleasing than usual. When Dazai looked over at Chuuya, he took a bite of steak and washed it down with another generous drink of wine from the second glass. It was a softer strawberry taste that was just the right amount of fruity. Dazai was taking a few smaller bites, and he probably wouldn't finish more than half of his plate, but it was more than Chuuya realistically expected him to eat.

“Are you already drunk?”

Chuuya took a minute to respond from where he was staring at Dazai.“No,”he scowled, taking another sip. His second glass was already half empty.

Dazai rolled his eyes and took a few bites out of a warm fry. “Sure.”

He didn’t deign to respond to the sarcastic agreement, just rolling his eyes right back and digging back into the food. They finished eating twenty minutes later with Dazai still picking at the rest of his plate. He actually did manage to eat almost half of the steak and a little more than half of his plate of fries, so Chuuya would take the small victory.

He paid for their food and they were off again, strolling leisurely through the streets.

“Are we going back?” Dazai hummed into the night air with a hand intertwined with one of Chuuya’s.

He shook his head, warm and a little dizzy from the wine. “D’you want dessert? We can get crepes.” It was half a ploy to put more calories in Dazai, but he also kind of just wanted a crepe.

Dazai’s little side eye told Chuuya that he knew exactly what he was trying to do, but he just swung their hands a little and sighed. “We just ate,” he whined a little petulantly.

“We don’t have to get them right now,” Chuuya nudged him after he failed to kick his feet in his buzzed state. “We can window shop first. Or see the river.”

“The river?” Dazai asked a little curiously.

Chuuya nodded, not bothering to think too much about why Dazai would be interested in the river. “The River Seine,” he supplied. With a little thought in mind, it was with a twitch of his lips that he tugged Dazai along. “C’mon.”

“Don’t drag me you mutt,” Dazai complained, but he didn’t pull away or throw up any more of a fuss as Chuuya led them away from the crowds towards the sound of water. After a few minutes of weaving through the streets, they opened up to the pathways that lined the river.

There were more people over here, congregated in couples and groups of teenagers enjoying a romantic or friendly evening. It was a bit…much,to say the least. They were milling about the closest bridge, so Chuuya scanned around, spotting a darker, less populated area a ways away from them.

The lights were out over the Alexandre III bridge, so not many people were wandering over it on that particular night. It was dark over there, dark enough that Chuuya felt weary of it when they got closer until he reminded himself that he had a goal in mind; something he’d wanted to show Dazai since Russia.

“Hey, come on,” he tugged Dazai along with their conjoined hands. Dazai’s eyes flickered down to the touch.

“Okay-”

Chuuya dragged Dazai away from the crowds, flittering around a few older couples milling around that laughed a little at them. Chuuya called back some kind of apology when they almost ran into them while Dazai just snickered. He pulled him along until it was nearly too dark to see, and then he pulled out his phone’s flashlight without missing a beat and ushered Dazai onto the bridge. He didn’t like the dark, so his eyes were darting around the ground with a fervent anxiety, but Dazai’s slightly colder hand in his and the alcohol buzzing him up warmly calmed him enough that he didn’t dart back towards the lamposts.

“Why are we over here?” Dazai panted a little, prompting a little smirk from Chuuya, who was barely breathing heavier after the mini sprint. Dazai rolled his eyes and bumped their shoulders together.

Chuuya huffed and led him to the middle of the bridge and lifted himself onto the railing (which wasdefinitelyagainst some kind of law). “Okay, I wasn’t sure if it’d be too bright for this, but…” he clutched their hands tighter together and, after one last sweep with his flashlight at their surroundings, tapped it off and quickly looked up before his brain could imagine shapes in the darkness.

There.

The sky was twinkling with stars. Not as brightly or clearly as Yokohama’s port’s view, but close enough that Chuuya was able to make out some of the shapes he’d memorized. He snuck a quick glance at Dazai and felt his breath catch.

Maybe it was the reflection of the sky or the residual buzz of wine in his system, but Chuuya was speechless on that bridge, perched on the railing when he turned to look at Dazai. For the first time since he could remember, there was light in those eyes as he turned to face the sky with Chuuya, holding his hand a little tighter when his eyes roved greedily over the inky expanse littered with stars.

Chuuya loved watching the stars and would say they were his favorite sight, but he might like watching their reflection in Dazai’s warm brown eyes more. Or maybe he hated it, and he was completely misinterpreting the weird warmth filling his chest. Either way, the sight was well and truly addicting.

Dazai looked up at the stars, but all Chuuya could look at was his mackerel, drinking in his reactions, every minuscule twitch, and the way those fascinated, intelligent eyes cataloged every constellation to build a galaxy in his memories. It was breathtaking.

“Ever gone stargazing?” He asked with a little nudge at Dazai’s shoulder.

His mackerel didn’t even blink. “No,” he murmured quietly with a weird little twist to his brow that Chuuya wanted to kiss away. He didn’t, if only because he didn’t want to interrupt the view that was Dazai stargazing for the first time, but he wanted to.

They hadn’t been in their home country in months, but Chuuya didn’t feel the slightest bit homesick. He realized that attachments like that weren’t a big deal; if he could keep Dazai around for as long as his partner could stand with wanting to run, he wanted to have a front-row view of everyfirstDazai experienced.

Being with Dazai had become more important than his apartment, his things, the mafia, and the promises that he made to other people. That was….

Chuuya took in a deep breath and tilted Dazai’s chin towards him, the galaxy reflected in his eyes and making them shine like jewels. There was a fascination lingering there that Chuuya wanted to taste on his lips. And this time, he gave in to the temptation.

It was a soft, languid kiss that amounted to a firm but gentle caress of the lips. Chuuya leaned in just a little more when Dazai hummed into it.

“Beautiful,”he sighed into Dazai’s lips with a soft breath, nearly inaudible but still there. It hung in the air without expectation or heat behind it.

For a long moment, Dazai didn’t acknowledge it, but then he did.“Chuuya is too,”he breathed into the space between them with such a soft tone that it would’ve been buried if Chuuya had been breathing even a little bit louder.

It still made his cheeks warm and heart stutter oddly. Chuuya hadn’t gotten a compliment like that from Dazai before, which made it mean a million times more than it should have. He had to remind himself about all the things he hated about Dazai-genuinelyhated, not just the little quirks and oddities he passively snipped about- just to make his head stop feeling so dizzy-light.

Dazai more than likely wasn’t being honest in any case. Compliments like that were almost always a manipulative tactic. Dazai was probably just vying for something later and correctly guessed that the more nice things he said to Chuuya the more likely it was that he would get what he wanted. Even more ridiculous was how Chuuya knew that and found himself not minding all that much.

For now, at least, he amended. Because Dazai could do anything, ranging from leaving him to screwing with his hats. It could be a light ‘prank’ or a devastating catastrophe that would end up with one or both of them dead. Because Dazai was insane and Chuuya would be an idiot to forget that just because he molded in Chuuya’s hands like he’d always been meant to be there. He might not be nearly as smart as Dazai’s buzzing mind, and wouldn’t want to be considering how painful the roads his brain led him down seemed, but Chuuya was not stupid.

He knew he was burning himself on an open flame, but he was certain that Dazai had gotten singed right back. As long as they burned to ashes together, he’d keep leaning into the rising heat.

They might look different, but Chuuya knew their core selves were inescapable. Dazai would never be able to brush away the remnants of the person he was made into. Chuuya would never be able to escape the person he was designed to be. But that was fine. Soukoku had always been meant to destroy themselves or the world.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

When they walked off of the bridge, Dazai’s hand met Chuuya’s the way it usually did nowadays, like it was a routine they’d unconsciously carried on with. He didn’t mind. The darkness of the bridge was starting to feel oppressive, and Dazai seemed to understand that because he squeezed his hand tighter and flicked on his phone’s flashlight too.

Without a word between them, they drifted back onto the path along the Seine together rather than head straight back to their penthouse, perusing the lit-up windows above and laughing people walking along on either side of them.

“The river is nice,” Dazai murmured appreciatively as they strolled closer to the water. Chuuya hummed in agreement. The river was a popular place for nighttime walks in Paris, after all. “How deep do you think it is?”

At that, Chuuya’s eyes slid suspiciously towards Dazai. “...why?” Dazai didn’t answer, but his eyes stayed fixated on the water even as their pace didn’t falter.

Just as his feet shifted left towards the water without warning, Chuuya, panicked, tightened his grip on their hands and pulled Dazai towards him. He twisted him to be on his opposite side and lifted him, thinking about tossing him over his shoulder but holding him bridal-style instead to avoid wrinkling the nice clothes hejustmade for the idiot.

“What thef*ckdo you think you’re doing?!” Chuuya yelled a little too loud, startling any onlookers who’d watched the scene with interest before into scrambling away. “Those clothes arenew,jackass. You’re not getting sh*tty f*cking river water on them.”

Dazai pouted, kicking his legs to be a brat as Chuuya hauled them up the nearest set of stairs back up to the shopping district. “Such an annoying chibi,” he sighed mournfully.

Chuuya’s eye twitched violently, the soft air from before dissipating completely. He set Dazai down in front of a random shop and tugged him in to avoid the curious stares from the general public. “Yeah, so annoying that I won’t let you f*cking drown yourself. You don’t even know how to swim!”

“Neither does Chuuya,” Dazai rolled his eyes, but gave in to looking around the store- which was apparently selling assorted accessories with outrageous price tags.

And- well- okay,no,Chuuya could swim. He wasn’t great at it, but it was good enough to haul mackerels out of the river before they drowned. But that wasn’t thepoint.“At least I can keep my head above water, dumbass.”

The only reason he knew how to swim was because he was Dazai’s partner. Anyone who had the misfortune of being paired with the Demon Prodigy needed to be able to swim, identify injuries based on physical cues, and have enough patience not to kill him themselves. That last part was often up to interpretation, because Chuuya certainly banged him around and gave more than a few bruises, but he’d never killed him.

Looking back, Dazai had definitely been partnered up for more than a few missions he could’ve handled on his own. It was like all of his ‘partners’ were just on a glorified suicide watch rotation before Chuuya’s spot became more permanent. Because Chuuya had gotten good at keeping Dazai alive. He reacted to almost every single one of Dazai’s actions the moment they were made. Chuuya was also intimately aware of danger around Dazai and had gotten used to shifting himself between his mackerel and other people in an automatic, subconscious urge to keep him safe.

Or maybe not subconscious. Brief conversations with Mori had impressed Dazai’s importance to the mafia into Chuuya. Which now made him feel kind of sick now that he knew that all he’d done was keep Dazai from escaping his lifelong nightmare.

Dazai hummed with a teasing air as he stared down at something in one of the jewelery cases. “You’re right.”What?“I guess Chuuya would be able to doggy-paddle like a good dog.”Ah, there it was.

Chuuya’s glare was vitriolic and entirely ignored. He dug his foot into Dazai’s shoe to hear his pained little yelp. Dazai really did just have to have the last f*cking word all the time like the asshole that he was.

“Bad dog! Heel!” Dazai shrieked way too loudly and dramatically for being inside a store.

“If you’re gonna be an ass, then go get crepes across the street and leave me the f*ck alone,” Chuuya spat, an embarrassed heat building at the back of his neck when an employee stared at them.

Dazai gasped with faux sadness. “Maybe I will if Chuuya’s just going to bully me.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes and threw a wad of cash at Dazai from his pocket, knowing that the day Dazai brought his wallet anywhere when Chuuya was with him would be the day the world burned. It was irresponsible considering he and Chuuya weren’t guaranteed to never split up while in public, but it was the kind of irresponsibility he expected from his dumb mackerel.

With a dramatic flourish, Dazai turned on his heel out of the store, and after a moment of making sure he actually went into the place across the street, Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose and went back to his perusal. Curiously, he wandered back over to where Dazai had been standing to see what he’d been looking at. If it was nice enough, he might buy it for Dazai and save it for another day when he wasn’t acting like a brat.

Huh.

The ring cases.

He knew which one Dazai had been looking at because it situated at his waist where he’d been touching it. Chuuya’s brow furrowed as he took in the sight.

The rings were obnoxiously expensive, each with a price tag of over three thousand euros with a small discount if purchased as a set. They were in matching elegant vine-esque styles with a more simplistic, sturdy design. One was inlaid with diamonds and rubies, the other with diamonds and aquamarine. They were clearly marketed as being meant for couples.

Chuuya didn't think Dazai liked rings, and even if he did there were single rings that weren't meant to be worn in pairs not even a foot away. So….

Sowhy?

Dazai didn't care for fashion, but the rings were the sort of stupidly expensive yet practical design thatChuuyaloved. It was dumb, and he was overthinking, but-

What would Dazai look like with that ruby ring on his finger? And…. and if Chuuya had the matching one… it didn't- and they weren'tlike that-and there was no way Dazai felt the same way, but-

Did… did Dazai want a ring?

“Monseiur?” The store attendant called. “Tu vois quelque chose que tu aimes?”

Chuuya blinked at him, then back to the rings.

“Ah…”

Chuuya walked out of the store and ran into Dazai, who was holding two overly sweet crepes without having been asked to get one for Chuuya. The weird, uncharacteristic thoughtfulness made something bubble in his chest.

“What took you so long?”

“Thought I saw something I wanted,” Chuuya shrugged, grabbing the crepe from Dazai and wiping away the whipped cream his dumb mackerel had already gotten on his face before lacing their fingers together again.

Walking leisurely along the Seine again, this time with Chuuya standing in between Dazai and the river, they made their way back to their penthouse with their fingers entangled the entire way.

(The weight of the ring box in Chuuya's coat laid heavily against his side, almost as distracting as the flutter in his stomach whenever Dazai squeezed his hand as if to reassure himself that Chuuya was still there.

Maybe…. maybe he did know what he was feeling. Chuuya wouldn't say anything, though. He wasn't ready to end the perfect balance between them so soon.

Because Dazai would definitely run as soon as he realized that Chuuya got attached.

He was tired of being alone.)

Chapter 5: exquisite exaltation

Chapter Text

Paris, France

November 12th

11:47 p.m.

The second they got ho- to the penthouse, Chuuya excused himself to find a place to hide the ring box when Dazai pawed at his body, needy for intimate touch. Chuuya had given in to it at first, leaning into each kiss with a smile budding on his lips, but when his mackerel’s hands strayed too close to where he’d stowed away the ring box, it instilled a sharp moment of clarity within him and led to him pulling away and directing his pouting dumbass to their bedroom.

Those were engagement rings.

Theirengagement rings.

Hebought themengagement rings- or- wedding rings? They were already married.

The warm buzz of wine completely fled him when he realized exactly what he’d done. Spending a few thousand euros on rings wasn’t the dumbest thing he’d ever done while semi-drunk, but it was edging the top of the list. Because now Chuuya had to try to hide rings from the nosiest bastard he knew in their shared penthouse.

Dazai was in their bedroom changing out of the nice tailored clothes Chuuya had designed for him, so he had another minute or two to figure out a place good enough to keep Dazai from seeing the box. Chuuya genuinely had no clue if he’d ever actually get down on one knee and propose- they weren’t eventogether,they just had sex, holy sh*t- but if Dazai found the ring box it would actually ruin everything.

He was skittish, so no matter how bad Chuuya may or may not have wanted to see a ruby encrusted ring on his finger, the chances of Dazai running off the second he saw it were too high for his peace of mind.

Chuuya darted into the spare bedroom and hid the ring box behind the TV, seated on the place where it was mounted to the wall by using his ability. He couldn’t reach it without his ability, and with where it was, he figured it would be just above Dazai’s line of sight. And to be perfectly honest neither of them ever really went into the spare bedroom anyway. The wall mount was the same black as the box, so even if Dazai was tall enough to see it easily, it blended in well enough that unless he was really looking, he wasn’t likely to notice it.

If Chuuya was lucky, even he would forget it was there.

Even if Dazai actually wanted a ring, Chuuya wasn’t sure he’d ever want to get down on one knee for that asshole. They weren’ttogether.

He repeated it a few times in his head after shutting the door soundlessly to try to convince himself.

Chuuya strolled into their bedroom to find Dazai rummaging through their drawers with a little frustrated furrow to his brow. He’d already thrown his clothes off, tossing them around the room instead of folding them or putting them in the laundry basket like a normal person. Chuuya’s eye twitched.

“Can you not be a nuisance for once?” He rolled his eyes, collecting the stray articles of clothing and tossing them into their laundry basket, his lip curling at the mess Dazai had made of the corset. When he turned around, Dazai was bending over to sift through the bottom drawer with his ass on full display. Chuuya willed his dick not to get hard.

“I would if chibi put things where I could find them,” Dazai huffed, but he wiggled his hips in a way that felt a little too inviting.

…he was probably still stretched from earlier too. Just enough that if Chuuya wanted he could lube up his co*ck and push right in-

No,he hissed internally. He knew exactly what Dazai was trying to goad him into doing and he would not give in. They’d already had sex a few hours beforehand.

“I did,” he said instead, walking over and swatting his ass, reveling in the little yelp from the feeling of chilled leather gloves through his underwear. Chuuya pulled open the second drawer from the top, revealing Dazai’s horrifically bright collection of colorful clothing and pajamas. “Now get dressed so we can watch a show.”

Chuuya started to pull his own clothes off, undoing his corset easily and properly arranging the lace so it wouldn’t tangle. He was unbuttoning his shirt when a pair of hands settled on his hips. “What are you doing,” he said flatly, because he knewexactlywhat Dazai was doing.

Dazai’s cheeky smile was visible in the mirror beside their bed, something that made his eyes twinkle with a mischievous light. Underneath that, though, hidden artfully in the curve of his fingers and the circles rubbing themselves into Chuuya’s hips, was an underlying note of uncertainty. It made Chuuya huff a little, reluctantly amused; it really was just like his partner to try to goad him into sex without knowing exactly how to initiate it. The uncertainty was clearly fabricated to some extent, but the twitch of his fingers and the still line of his body seemed genuine.

So Chuuya turned around with a raised eyebrow. “Hm?” He asked again, trying to seem unaffected- and he really wasn’t; not exactly, anyway. They f*cked earlier so it wasn’t like he was jumping in his skin to get his hands on Dazai’s skin. Chuuya was mostly satiated. Dazai seemed to recognize that, because his fingers twitched away and he pouted.

“Kiss me?” He demured instead, his smile edging with something a little more flirtatious. Chuuya’s lips softened into a small smile and he leaned up, caressing Dazai’s cheek as their lips hovered closer, the spark of budding victory lingering in Dazai’s eyes.

And then he pulled back before their lips could touch. “Maybe when you put some clothes on,” Chuuya snickered into the air between them, then recoiled at his own breath. “Mmh, and brush your teeth.” With that, he grabbed his oversized lounge shirt and shorts and brushed his teeth in the bathroom after pulling them on. He flicked off the light, rolled his eyes at Dazai’s persistent pout as he walked through their bedroom, and headed to the living room while tapping on his phone.

Dazai’s mildly surprised and disgruntled expression was more rewarding than any exaggerated fake one he could’ve put on. Chuuya smirked to himself and turned on the TV, queuing upScooby Doowhile he waited for Dazai to come up with another plan to try to get Chuuya to f*ck him. He was taking longer than Chuuya thought he should, but he didn’t mind waiting, pulling his gloves off and setting them on the kitchen counter.

It was weird, but at a certain point he’d gotten used to leaving his gloves off when it was just the two of them. Before, Chuuya preferred wearing them almost constantly after finding out about Corruption- he’d even gotten used to falling asleep with them semi-regularly. They were an assurance, a barrier, something to temper the anxiety his ability gave him when it came to contact with just about anything. It wasn’t something he talked about- he kept his gloves on even when fighting, because he could use his ability even while wearing them, but it was more… violent, so to speak, when he used his hands for it.

Not that it mattered anymore, he snorted to himself while washing his hands. Dazai was the biggest safety net any ability user could ever want- or despise. After drying his hands, he turned up their thermostat, feeling a little ounce of regret at wearing shorts since they hadn’t turned up the heat before leaving earlier- and he definitely wasn’t going back into the bedroom just yet with his dumb mackerel in there. It was fine, though, since Dazai’s stupidly soft throw blanket was already in its permanent place in their living room ready for use.

Before that, though, he needed to put bandaids on his fingers. He'd gotten better at sewing details, but… well, f*ck, okay, it was hard and he still slipped sometimes and poked the sh*t out of himself. He'd been practicing a bit here and there and had done so on their flight and didn't bother putting bandaids on, so now the little pricks were inflamed and red.

Chuuya fished antiseptic salve out of their medicine cabinet in the kitchen- kept there in the event of any cooking accidents- and the horrendous cartoon dinosaur bandaids Dazai so graciously got for him so that Chuuya wouldn't touch hispreciousHello Kitty, unicorn, and… he glared a little at the dog-themed bandaid box in their cabinet. When did Dazai even put those in there? He'd crashed earlier and made Chuuya do all of the work unpacking.

After plastering a few triceratops and stegosaurus bandaids over his salve-treated hands, he sat down on the couch, scrolling through whatever came up on his twitter feed. He waited to turn on the show, knowing that not only would Dazai make a fuss over it and make him restart the episode, but he’d also be an ass about whatever tactic he’d come up with to try to get Chuuya to f*ck him.

At that point, the game was a little more fun than the actual act for both of them, so Chuuya was a little surprised when Dazai eventually came in actually wearing his pajamas.

And then his eye twitched, because-

His,as inChuuya’s.

Instead of the dumb fish pajamas that Dazai genuinely liked for whatever reason, he was dressed a little more scantily in a pair of Chuuya’s dinosaur pajamas, which were just a pair of shorts and a button up sleep shirt. The shorts were a regular mid-thigh on Chuuya, but Dazai was taller, so it fit him in a shorter fashion, brushing his upper thigh.

Dazai had no right looking so good in cartoon dinosaur pajamas and bandages.

What an asshole,Chuuya’s eye twitched a little more aggressively. Dazai rarely if ever wore shorts, so even with the bandages on, the sight of his long legs so casually on display was enough to get a small twitch from his co*ck.

“Are you ready yet? You took forever,” he griped, kicking at Dazai when he got closer to the couch.

“Hmph, Chuuya’s such a brute,” Dazai huffed, shoving Chuuya’s legs away.

Chuuya had a rebuttal waiting on the tip of his tongue, but then Dazai sat down. On Chuuya’s lap. Andwhined.

“What the f*ck?! There’s a whole couch, dumbass,” he pushed at Dazai, but jostling him got another pitiful whimper as he fell to the side without resistance. Chuuya's nose scrunched suspiciously at Dazai’s small writhes and twitches. “...the hell’s wrong with you?”

Dazai’s little swallow to steady himself was just barely visible, but it sent a spike of trepidation down Chuuya’s spine. With small movements, Dazai gingerly repositioned himself a little too close to Chuuya, but not on his lap anymore. The way he moved was weirder than the usual subtle grace he was used to seeing from his partner. He didn’t deign to respond, but he did nudge at Chuuya. “Just start the episode, slug.”

With another weirded out side-eye at Dazai’s continued shuffling, he threw the soft throw blanket over them. “...fine, but don’t try anything weird, mackerel.”

Dazai’s petulant little response of“me? Never”was drowned out by the opening theme for the show.

And for four minutes and twenty three seconds, everything was fine. Normal, even. The gang was hearing about an inheritance gifted to Scooby- which was suspicious asf*ckin Chuuya’s opinion, but whatever- and they were stupidly agreeing to go at the ascott-wearing-asshole’s insistence.

Four minutes and twenty three seconds were apparently as long as Dazai could go without being a nuisance, because then the sound of buzzing started.

For two blissful seconds, Chuuya thought his phone was going off. But then he heard Dazai’s breaths hitching and felt a little more of his sanity escape him.

“Hn, ah,” Dazai shifted, the sounds bit off and tempered, but he wasn’t fooling Chuuya. He wasn’t even trying to, the ‘attempt’ at quieting himself ruined by his purposeful little glances to see if he’d noticed. As if Chuuya could focus on anything else.

Not that he wouldn’t try. Dazai wanted a reaction, so Chuuya wasn’t planning on giving him one anytime soon. Even so, the knowledge that Dazai had a butt plug in his ass and was pleasuring himself on it right next to him was almost enough to break him.

“Hah,” Dazai choked out, high and airy and quiet, but because he felt so hyper fixated on every one of his reactions Chuuya took in every little twitch of his fingers and pathetic little rustle of his ass.

He probably didn’t put it on high, not like Chuuya would’ve at first just to see him whimper. He’d lower it right after, though, work him up slowly and then bring the vibration back down until Dazai’s prostate felt aching and swollen even inside of him. Until the only sound he could try to make was Chuuya’s name- but he’d make a game out of it. He’d keep Dazai on edge and blissfully quiet until Chuuya was done watching, not that he’d genuinely be able to focus on the f*cking cartoon, but he could pretend well enough to make Dazai believe it.

Gods, Chuuya would keep teasing him until he begged. Not quite denial; he wouldn’t let it go that long, because that needed a conversation, but just long enough that the eventual org*sm would feel insane. Dazai would have to beg for his co*ck if he wanted it. Or maybe Chuuya wouldn’t have the patience for any of that. Maybe he should just f*ck Dazai here and now and save the rest for another day.

Chuuya’s co*ck was half hard at that point, and he couldn’t really pretend anymore that he was still focusing on the show, because Dazai’s finger twitched at his side where he must’ve hidden the remote, and he was jolting again. He had to have put it on a two then. He spread his legs a little, showing off the twitching hardness of his co*ck. Dazai looked faintly uncomfortable, a weird twist to his brow that said that he wasn’t entirely into having Chuuya ignore him.

He’d almost feel bad if Dazai hadn’t gotten five org*sms earlier that evening before they went out for dinner. But he had, so Chuuya rolled his eyes and kept them forcibly on the screen, twitching his fingers right back into his own lap.

“Ngh, Chuuya?” Dazai called, and something about the anxiety that flooded his tone got to Chuuya, because his head was already turning, unconsciously reacting to it.

Dazai’s eyes were searching him a little desperately, and he was still shifting, but his erection had actually gone down a bit- from the lack of attention?Holy f*ck.His eyes were asking unspoken questions that Chuuya only half-understood, but he decided to throw every plan out of the window. Whatever, honestly, Chuuya had already admitted to himself that he was going to f*ck Dazai again that night. He wasn’t losing. Not really.

“Yeah, ba-” Chuuya tried to bite down the word, but something sparkled in Dazai’s eyes and it looked too pretty to ignore. He clenched his jaw for two moments and sighed. ‘Baby’ didn't sound quite right. They weren’t in a relationship. There was no need for terms- gods,endearmentslike that, so…. well….

The rings.

f*ck.

Chuuya closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself. “Yeah, b… baby? Need something?”

Gods, it felt awkward on his tongue, but already Dazai’s- or rather,Chuuya’s-shorts were tenting a little more and his face flushed beautifully.

Huh.

Helikedthat.

Chuuya stared for two moments to fully register that, yes, Dazai apparently was good with being calledbabyof all things. Something couples called each other. There was an implication there, but he just noted it along with the other weird little things he knew about Dazai.

“M’not a kid,” Dazai murmured, looking a little unsure, maybe even confused at his own reaction. That just solidified Chuuya's resolve. If Dazai liked being called sweet things like baby, beautiful, pretty- f*ck, sh*t, he really did call Dazai all of that, huh?Embarrassing-then Chuuya wasn’t going to judge. Not yet, at least. Degradation wasn’t on the table just yet. He smirked and finally reached over to put his hand on Dazai's thigh, making him spread it again from where he'd twitched them closed earlier.

“You're not,” he agreed easily, rubbing his thumb into the bandaged skin. “But you are mybaby,yeah?”

Dazai's eyes widened, a weird hazy edge building there so suddenly that Chuuya actually leaned back to examine it worriedly. It wasn't a bad haze, though, it looked more like….

Dazai’s eyes were nearly vacant, something high and pleasant floating in the gorgeous wine-brown. His mouth was a little slack, but it was lifted into something euphoric and gone, dizzy and relaxed. Dazai’s entire body was limp like he’d lost all strength and was just floating in his head, carried away by the sensations tingling around his body. His co*ck was spent, a bit of cum still drooling from the head.

Chuuya didn’t know… well, he didn’t know if the word was right, but- subspace? He’d briefly heard about it from a previous partner that wanted to hurt Chuuya during a… a bdsm(?) scene. He hadn’t gone through with it, and had even gotten up and left before they got past a bit of groping and making out, a little too freaked by the sight of the riding crop the guy had brought out.

He hadn’t hurt Dazai though, so…. huh. Chuuya nervously tapped Dazai’s thigh, and thankfully those warm eyes slid over to him, glazed with pleasure.

Chuuya swallowed thickly, trying to ground his thoughts before they got away from him. Could he get Dazai there again? Did hewantto?

He'd read up on it more after that just to make himself more aware and had found out that pain play wasn't necessary. It was more common to reach subspace with pain, but excessive stimulation was good enough when done right. He'd figured that because he'd had Dazai listening to his instructions and doing everything he said, especially after the accidentally ruined org*sm, Dazai had both relaxed and given in enough that he had just barely reached that point.

He… well, he knew himself well enough to realize that hewantedthat for Dazai. His mackerel had shared once or twice how difficult it was to get his mind to shut down for a second to let him relax. It looked painful, almost, to be that- well, thatintelligent.He already had trouble sleeping, so Chuuya tried to stay up to help as best as he could. He tried to get his mackerel to talk about what bothered him, but even after all this time Dazai still had secrets to tell. If subspace could help with sleeping more easily and getting out of his head, then….

“Hey,” he drummed his fingers against Dazai's thigh to get his attention away from the vibrations still making him pant. “How do you feel about subspace?”

Dazai blinked at him. “Subspace?”

Chuuya licked his lips. “It's like a… it's a floaty state you can get to if I, like, make you cum over and over without stopping or whatever. Itcanbe a pain thing,” Dazai's jaw clenched, “but I'mnotinterested in hurting you,” Chuuya said very firmly, rubbing over Dazai's thigh. “I think you've almost gotten there before, but I want to do it on purpose this time.”

Dazai's eyes shifted away from him for a second. He swallowed. “Whatever. If Chuuya wants to.”

He scowled and pinched his thigh a little bit. “I'm asking forconsent,asshole. Doesn't matter if I want to. If you say no then we're not doing it. I want to make you feel good, but only if you agree to it.”

There was a long moment of silence where Dazai just stared at him like he wasn’t real. Chuuya wanted to know what he was thinking (nothing new, honestly. Chuuya always wanted just a glimpse at the thoughts swirling in Dazai’s brain, if only to try to understand just a fraction of his thought process). If he said no, that would be just fine. He’d f*ck him and they’d get to go back to watching the show as planned. It would be fine; there were other ways to get Dazai out of his head.

But if he saidyes….Well….

“If-” Dazai cut himself off, like he hadn’t meant to speak. Chuuya carefully kept his startled reaction to him speaking under control. After a moment, he swallowed. “If I want… to stop, then-”

“Then I’ll stop,” Chuuya affirmed with as much seriousness as he could inject into his tone.

Dazai looked at him, a hint of vulnerability lurking there. “That easy?” He said it like he didn't believe it.

“It’s that easy.”

Wine brown eyes searched him intently for a long moment, a searching glint lighting them up in the dimness of their living room. Chuuya let him, keeping eye contact and letting him search through, picking around his tone for genuineness and scraping the honesty from his gaze. Finally, he shivered a little bit and his intense stare fluttered into something a bit softer.

“Okay.”

Chuuya blinked. “Okay?”

Dazai nodded, squirming on the vibrator a little more openly. “Yeah, Chuuya can… do the subspace thing.”

“Okay,” Chuuya swallowed. “Okay, yeah. It takes a while to get there- or it probably will for your first time so we can- should, actually,” he stopped, trying to minimize the energy brimming under his fingers and scrambling with his other hand for his phone.12:17 a.m.-f*ck, yeah, it was getting late. “We should do the- the subspace another day. It’s getting late for that, not thatsomeonecares,” he reached down to brush a judging finger over Dazai’s erection.

“Ngh,” Dazai groaned. “But chibi~ you can’t bring something- hah- up and not do it.”

Chuuya would agree, but he could see the tiredness on Dazai’s face and the way his eyes were drooping the tiniest bit. That was weird- hadn’t they just gotten a long nap? Chuuya was tired enough to sleep, but Dazai had to have been nearing exhaustion if he was letting the signs show on his face. “We’ll use the stoplight system. Say red and I’ll stop, yellow to get me to slow down, and green means you're good, okay?”

“Shouldn’t Chuuya tell me this when we actually do it,” Dazai was starting to whine a bit, shifting on the vibrator with more insistence than before.

“Mmh, I would,” Chuuya gripped into Dazai’s bandaged thighs and maneuvered him to be lying on the couch with a leg over Chuuya’s shoulder. He reached over to swipe the remote out of Dazai’s hand, delighting in the noise of disgruntlement it elicited. “But I want to make sure you listen.”

“Hah, ah,” Dazai panted and moaned from the movement, jostling the vibrator in him. “What- ngh- are you talking about?”

Chuuya swatted the back of his thigh again- not hard, definitely not any more aggressive than a small pinch would’ve been, because consent was important, especially for anything pain-related- and smirked at the yelp. Dazai hadn’t reacted negatively to little things like that, and it held true right then, too.

“Sweetheart, you and I both know you wouldn’t tell me to stop even if you needed to.” Dazai’s eyes shuttered into something less open, a film hazing over, and Chuuya pinched him to get those closed-off eyes to look at him. “No, you know you won’t. I’m not going to askwhyright now. I think I know, anyway,” he added, muttering it just loud enough for Dazai to hear and look away again, something deeply complicated swirling in the wine brown of his irises. Dazai had been abused,horrificallyabused, sexually and physically and mentally- and, well, Chuuya didn’t know the half of it. He’d be stupid to pretend like he did. “But if I can’t trust you to tell me to stop, we can’t try new sh*t like that where you might not be able to tell me to stop or kick me or whatever the f*ck. So we’re going to practice right now.”

Chuuya refused to have a starring role in any of Dazai’s ptsd-fueled nightmares.

His partner sighed, a trembling little thing, then nodded. “Okay, stupid slug,” Chuuya's eye twitched but he let the insult go. And then, after a pause, Dazai smirked, “green?”

With a disarmingly gentle smile and a steadying hand brushing Dazai’s cheek with something he’d never admit was affection, Chuuya flicked the vibe up to a six.

“Chu-! Chuuya- ah- oh f*ck- I- hah-” Dazai writhed on the couch, but Chuuya quickly pressed him down into the cushions with a firm hand. Dazai bucked up into it, but he didn’t let him do it twice as he applied more pressure.

As Dazai shrieked and whined on the vibrator, Chuuya ran his hands down his sides and fingered the edge of his shorts. With a panting moan, Dazai lifted his hips, clearly urging Chuuya to get on with it. So he didn’t, continuing to just barely dip his fingers around the waistband.

Chuuya leaned up to kiss and nip at his jaw, lining it with dark hickeys. Dazai let out a low, pleased little moan that peppered into a little drawl of his name. “Color?” Chuuya asked pointedly, keeping his hands firmly above Dazai’s waistband.

As though entranced, Dazai took a moment to gather himself enough to answer, and even then he seemed a bit floaty, distracted by the vibration against his prostate. Chuuya turned it down to a three. “Huh?”

“Need your color, baby,” Chuuya explained with forced patience, but already he was feeling a bit of annoyance at the slow pace he himself had set. The endearment still felt a little weird on his tongue, but he loved the little shiver that ran up Dazai’s spine the moment he heard it.

“Oh my- f*ck,green,Chuuya!” Dazai kicked at him brattily, glaring at him. It didn’t translate nearly as well when he immediately threw his head back when Chuuya’s hand brushed over his co*ck in his path to strip away his shorts and boxers. Gods, he said he’d take his time and make him consent to everything with the color system, but he was feeling impatient and Dazai clearly wanted it too.

Chuuya flicked the vibrator off and huffed out an amused laugh when Dazai immediately kicked at him for real. “Bad dog!” He whined. “Turn it backon-”

There were a few moments in the past few months where Chuuya had had to admit to himself that he’d misstepped when it came to Dazai. Whether it was with oral, an accidentally ruined org*sm, a bad choice of words, or something along those lines. This was, potentially, one of his biggest f*ck-ups. He’d blame himself entirely, because he talked about consent and then had already done something similar earlier-

When Dazai whined at him, Chuuya (not very hard, not particularly painfully, not even with a fraction of the strength Dazai knew Chuuya could’ve pulled on him)spanked his ass.

Dazaimoaned.

(Very notably, it would take Chuuya a long moment to realize that wasn’t apainedmoan.)

.

Chuuya froze, immediately pulling his hand away and wincing because there was asoundfrom the impact and- well- he barely felt a thing from his hand, so it hadn’t been a hard hit, butstill-

“sh*t, f*ck, Dazai, are you okay?” He gently pushed his thigh up to inspect the small, light splotch of redness. “I’m sorry,” he babbled, a choking coldness shooting down his spine and instilling a frigid clarity that quickly doused the arousal he’d been feeling. He’d actually left amarkon him from that. He left a mark on Dazai from hitting him. A little swat here and there had been one thing, just a firm tap on his skin, but that, just now, was way more than a tap. “I didn’t mean to- f*ck, it might bruise a little. One second.” Chuuya pushed off of the couch as soon as he saw the red mark getting a little pinker, fueled by his panic and not really taking a second to register that Dazai looked dazed but definitely not upset.

He bustled around the common bathroom, grabbing a soft washcloth to dampen it with cool water and, brimming with nervous energy, grabbed lotion too. Did they have bruise cream? Because that might work better, since he…. HehitDazai. He hitDazai.f*ck. f*ckity f*ck,f*ck-!

“sh*t, gods, mackerel,” Chuuya bit his lip, scrambling back into the living room because he left Dazai during sex, something heknewDazai hated and- f*ck- he was really just f*cking up in all sorts of ways.Chuuyadidn’t like being left by himself during or after sex, either, so- so for Dazai- “Here, I,” Chuuya hovered over the place his hand had made contact, still not looking at Dazai.

“Chibi-”

“Do you want me to, or-”

“Chu-”

“I should grab Ibuprofen,” he backed away (because he didn't like pills, nearly avoided them like the plague, but he bought them, tolerated seeing them in their bathroom cabinets in the mornings for Dazai's chronic headaches), but a hand intertwining with his stopped him.

“Chuuya!”Dazai raised his voice a bit, and for the first time since he realized exactly what he’d done, he noticed that his mackerel waslaughing.Not loudly, because Dazai didn’t do that, but soft, bubbling, snorting laughter. Chuuya couldn’t have looked away if he tried. “I’m fine,” Dazai tugged Chuuya closer. “It- it hurt, but not…”

Dazai’s face was a little pink when he trailed off, like he hadn’t meant to say anything else, like his tongue had slipped. Chuuya stared for a long second, because as far as he could tell there wasn’t any reason for Dazai to be laughing. There were more reasons for him to stand up, walk out andleaveandnever come back because Dazai hated him now-

“You don’t like pain,” Chuuya stated, feeling a little lost and like he was missing something, still a bit dazed by how insanely beautiful Dazai had looked when he was laughing in a way that seemed pretty f*cking genuine (the genuineness of it a novelty in itself for his partner).

“I don’t like getting hurt,” Dazai said, a small rewording, but any kind of rephrasing always meant something with his partner, so Chuuya latched onto it.

He settled down back onto the couch, just in between Dazai’s spread legs. Chuuya rubbed his hand firmly up and down the skin of the back of his thigh, noticing that despite his supposed aversion to any kind of pain, Dazai was still hard- leaking, even, more than before.

Huh.

“So this….” Chuuya didn’t really know what he was trying to say, so transfixed at the way Dazai’s co*ck twitched a bit when he gently trailed his hand down to the place he’d hit and rubbed over it soothingly.

“Chuuya didn’thurtme,” Dazai confirmed, his voice drifting quietly, just as gentle as the hand Chuuya worked over the splotch- which, upon inspection, didn’t seem like it would bruise, and even if it did it would be because Dazai was easily bruised more than because Chuuya had inflicted the kind of damage needed to cause a bruise.

He stared up, still feeling a little bit like he wasn’t understanding something about what Dazai was saying. Dazai didn’t elaborate even as they made tentative, searching eye contact. He didn’t like being hurt, but claimed Chuuya didn’t hurt him.

Hurthim.

.

Oh.

Dazai knew better than most just how hard Chuuya could’ve hit him. Relative to his past abusers, Chuuyahadn’thurt him. Not the way he could’ve if he’d been trying to. Even without his ability thrumming under his skin, Chuuya was physically very strong and still worked out whenever he could and therefore was more fit than most. If he wanted to cause some damage to someone, he wouldn’t needFor The Tainted SorroworCorruptionto do it.

That might not have been it, but it seemed likely that that was what Dazai meant.

“I’m never going to hurt you like this, mackerel,” Chuuya murmured gently, offering his own confirmation to settle any doubt that might have been lurking in glimmering brown eyes. Dazai’s exhale was shaky, and he clenched his fingers into the cushions a few times, but nodded slightly in understanding. “Wanna talk about it?” He ran his fingers over the place he hit Dazai to make it clear what he was talking about, offering that line of communication offhandedly while knowing damn well Dazai wasn’t going to take it right then. Just as he thought, Dazai shook his head a bit, but didn’t pull away from him. “Okay, well,” Chuuya sat back and drifted his hand fully away from the sensitive spot, “if we can’t talk about it, we’re not doing it.”

“Chuuya-”

“No,” he spoke, as firmly as he could. “I’m not hitting you again unless you can ask me for it andgenuinelywant it, sh*tty f*cking mackerel.”

Even though he was pouting over it, Dazai nodded with a disgruntled huff. “Fine. Can my slug f*ck me now or do I have to ask for that too?”

Chuuya raised an eyebrow- because he would’ve gone ahead and f*cked him, but the sarcastic twang to Dazai’s voice had him sitting back a little more. “I don’t know, maybe.” His grin felt sharp in his mouth as he leered down at Dazai, feeling a little more aware of his erection at the realization that Dazai had been turned on by getting spanked even if they weren’t doing more that night. “How pretty can you sound begging me for it?”

Dazai rolled his eyes and hooked a leg around Chuuya’s waist, calling him on the passive bluff and trying to line him up to get his ass around his co*ck. “Just f*ck me already! I know Chuuya wants to,” he whined, shifting to rub his ass against Chuuya’s dick when he failed to line them up just right.

He succeeded in knocking Chuuya into the lotion and cold, damp towel he’d brought out. Chuuya, despite his lust, pulled away a bit. “We should make sure it doesn’t bruise first-”

“I don’t f*ckingcareif it bruises, Chuuya,” Dazai complained. “Now comeon.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes, already pouring a bit of lotion on his fingers. Dazai wasn't patient enough to sit still for a cool towel, so lotion would have to do for the moment. “Okay, that’s so great for you, sh*tty Dazai. But some people don’t want to leave bruises on their-” Partner? Husband? f*ck-buddy? Chuuya didn’t really know which one was right, or made sense, or was too intimate or not intimate enough. He cleared his throat and tried again, hoping he wasn’t being too obvious about it. “Maybe I don’t want to leave bruises on you, dumbass.”

Yeah, Dazai’s keen, interested stare while Chuuya rubbed a bit of lotion over the mark confirmed that he had noticed. From the looks of his twitching co*ck and little whine, though, he was too worked up to bother with a conversation over it.

Chuuya trailed his fingers over Dazai's twitching hole and thumbed over it. It was loose from the vibrator, but he should, if nothing else, grab the lube before f*cking him. As if reading his mind, Dazai glared at him a bit and tightened his legs around Chuuya’s waist.Don’t you dare,his eyes and body begged. With a long-suffering sigh, Chuuya lined up his co*ck and pushed the head in and hissed a bit at the somewhat under-prepared tightness.

“Ah,” Dazai gasped breathily, apparently enjoying the stretch, because the more he pushed in, the more his co*ck leaked and his hips writhed.“More,Chuuya, come- hah- come on~”

“You really are the worst,” Chuuya groaned as he bottomed out. Before Dazai, panting and flushed and squirming on his co*ck, could try to retort, he pulled out again and f*cked into him for real.

They definitely weren't going to last for long, what with how Chuuya was already moaning at the tight feeling and Dazai was squirming on his co*ck. That was fine, though; it wasn’t really meant to be dragged out.

“Hngh- hah- Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya,” Dazai already chanted his name, moaning long and loud when he adjusted just enough to hit his prostate with every thrust. “Hm- hah- yes, yes, don’t stop-”

That caught Chuuya’s attention. Dazai already sounded so close when he’d only started f*cking him. Multiple org*sms were fine most of the time, but if Dazai got too worked up, this wouldn’t end anytime soon. Chuuya wastired-he’d ridden Dazai’s co*ck for far too long earlier that evening, and was feeling the strain in his thighs the longer he f*cked into him. He could, in theory, keep f*cking him as long as Dazai wanted, but tomorrow would be a bitch on his thighs if he did and they wouldn’t get any grocery shopping done like he’d planned. He slowed his thrusts into a deep, dirty grind instead.

“Ngh,faster,”Dazai moaned desperately, rocking back as best as he could manage. Chuuya picked up one of his gorgeously long legs and put it over his shoulder to prevent him from moving too much and leaned down to kiss him. He licked into his mouth to swallow down his little whine of annoyance at being ignored. With his other hand, he curled his fingers around the base of his partner’s co*ck and smirked a little when he cried out into their kiss.

“You can wait to cum,” Chuuya spoke into their lips after pulling back a bit. Before Dazai could manage to say anything in response, he pulled out then slammed back in and reveled in the loud, pleasured shriek it elicited. He kept going like that to feel the rapidly building heat in his gut. Whenever Chuuya f*cked Dazai through his org*sm while chasing his own, it tended to rile his partner up enough that another round was unavoidable if he didn’t want to listen to Dazai's complaining. Cumming together would keep Dazai from getting overstimulated and more likely than not interested in another round.

He kept up the quick pace and groaned when Dazai’s hole fluttered around him, clenching and unclenching rhythmically in tandem with his thrusts. Chuuya couldn’t tell if it was anything purposeful or if Dazai was so close he couldn’t help it, but it pushed him closer to his own org*sm.

“f*ck, ah, so tight for me, huh, beautiful,” Chuuya moaned into Dazai’s ear before kissing down his neck. Dazai tossed his head back with a shuddering whine to offer up the portions of his skin that weren’t bandaged. Chuuya nipped and sucked into it, murmuring little compliments that made his mackerel’s desperate attempts at rocking back onto his co*ck increase tenfold. It was still, in some way, kind of embarrassing to so openly praise Dazai, but he’d gotten so used to it whenever they were like this that it slipped out.

In any case, he wasn’tlying.Dazai really was timelessly attractive, with dark wavy hair softened by proper care (almost as curly as Chuuya thought it would be. It wasn’t quite there yet, but he hoped just a little bit that it just needed more care- he wanted to see more of Dazai’s messy bed curls in the morning. To make fun of him and tease him, of course, but also just a little bit to get a chance to finger comb it and tug at the tangles) and big, shining wine-brown eyes. They weren’t dead like they used to be, like they were when they were in Japan, the Port Mafia, when Dazai dressed head to toe in black. It was an attractive look on him, but his eyes were so much morepresentwhen he was wearing blues and pinks and yellows in atrocious combinations.

Freedom suited him, and if it wasn’t too presumptuous of Chuuya, too hopeful,happinesssuited him too.

He was almost certainhemade Dazaihappy.

The gloomy Demon Prodigy, so entrenched in shadows one could argue he blended right in with the darkness that swirled in his blank irises (fish eyes, Chuuya had called them all those years ago, like a mackerel), feeling happy because he was with Chuuya. The idea that he had such a hold over Dazai's emotions that he tried denying he had in the first place…..

It was a weird feeling, a warm buzz from head to toe that surged him to kiss Dazai again. Not quickly, not fiercely, not even a bit like he was trying to devour him. The chaste slide of their lips, the warmth he poured into Dazai so desperately he could hardly stand it, contradicted oddly with the quick slap of their hips. Dazai clearly didn’t agree; if anything it was the thing that tipped him into org*sm with Chuuya’s hand having loosened, whining, panting, shaking, until his entire body tensed and he spilled between them with a long, drawn out moan. Just as his body slackened, Chuuya felt the tight ball of heat snap in him and he bottomed out and cummed into him while their lips stayed connected.

As the org*smic haze slipped away, Chuuya let his lips linger a bit too tenderly, but with Dazai’s slow, half-assed attempt at kissing back, he couldn’t help himself. Dazai had gotten better at kissing, but after sex he went right back to being a lazy bastard, letting Chuuya do all of the work. His arms still came up and around Chuuya’s neck as if to make up for his lack of participation. Kissing between them was usually a team effort, especially when standing, with Chuuya leaning up on his tip-toes and Dazai bending down to meet him, but when they were pressed close like this, with Chuuya balls-deep and flush against him it was easy enough for him to just lay there.

What an asshole,Chuuya smiled against his lips before pulling away with a grimace at the sticky mess. Dazai picked at the childish bandaids on Chuuya's hands with a little smirk of a smile playing on his lips.

“f*ck,” he groaned with more annoyance than post-org*smic satisfaction. If he pulled out right now, they’d get cum and lube all over their nicenewsofa. Dazai didn’t seem to have any thoughts along that line, still humming contentedly and enjoying his little sex-induced high of endorphins. There was really only one solution. “Alright, come on, sh*thead,” Chuuya reached around Dazai’s back, one hand between his shoulder blades and the other lower on the base of his spine.

Dazai honest-to-the-gods floundered like a f*cking fish (Chuuya chortled a little internally at the joke). “What are you doing?!” He squawked, clearly a little alarmed.

Chuuya just continued with his efforts to hoist him up and away from the couch, still seated on his co*ck. “Carrying you so you don’t f*cking leak all over our couch. Stay still.”

His partner shimmied away, fighting the hold even while he kept his arms slung around Chuuya’s neck. He entangled his fingers in Chuuya’s hair and yanked a little like the nuisance that he was. The tussle began. “No! Put me down-”

“f*cking gods, just-”

“You mutt!”

“Holy sh*t, Iwillf*cking drop you-”

“Don’t youdare!This is abuse-”

“There!” Chuuya raised his voice, finally standing with Dazai firmly held against him. “Was that really so hard?!

Dazai whined petulantly, his legs limp and bumping awkwardly against the floorboards because he was so godsdamned tall. His hole clenched around Chuuya’s sensitive co*ck and prompted a hiss out of him for it. “This is awful. You’re too short!”

“Lay off about my height already!” Chuuya pinched right in between his shoulder blades where his skin was exposed. “And wrap your legs around my hips instead of bitching about it, gods.”

There was a second where Dazai didn’t react, Chuuya slowly shuffling towards the bedroom, unable to take full steps with Dazai’s legs in the way. And then, his arms tightening almost painfully around Chuuya, he very tentatively lifted one foot off the ground and slung it around Chuuya’s hips. His other foot skidded and tapped against the floor a few times with hesitation.

Chuuya groaned and stopped altogether at the pitiful sight. Leave it to Dazai to insult him and make Chuuya feel responsible for it. “Oh my gods,” he slid the hand he had on Dazai’s lower back down to his ass. “Don’t freak out,” he warned, then slid it down further to the back of his thigh and hoisted it up, manhandling his leg around Chuuya’s hip and huffing out a reluctant little laugh at Dazai’s squeak. “f*ck-” Dazai’s arms tightened too much around his neck, nearly cutting off his air supply. “f*cking- loosen your grip, you leech! I’m not gonna f*cking drop you-!” Chuuya slid both hands down to his ass and lower back to hold him. Once the support was there, Dazai’s grip loosened bit by bit. Chuuya sucked in a breath, still standing in their living room. That didnotneed to be a wholething.

“Chibi should’ve warned me!” Dazai yelped, and while Chuuya couldn’t see his expression, he did feel him dig his face into Chuuya’s neck and snuffle dramatically. “What if youdroppedme,” he wailed a bit, overdramatic with a small note of genuineness that said that, if only for a second, he really had been nervous about getting dropped.

Chuuya didn’t waste time feeling bad, finally striding towards their bedroom’s ensuite bathroom while rolling his eyes. “Dumbass, I don’t have noodle arms like you. I wouldn’t have dropped you,” and just to show off, he held Dazai up with one arm and, after quickly pinching Dazai’s arm in warning to not choke him again when he flailed a bit in surprise, he opened their bedroom door easily and kicked it closed behind him.

Chuuya liked having the door open, but Dazai always looked too cagey and distracted with surveying the hallway if he left it like that. It was a trade off, since Dazai didn’t complain about the nightlights and “ugly” lamps in their room that he knew his partner didn’t like.

He walked towards their ensuite bathroom after quickly adjusting Dazai, lifting him a little further up and wincing at the little drag it made on his co*ck, still seated in Dazai's wet warmth. With Dazai attached to him like a limpet and significantly quieter than before, clearly having settled a bit, he bumped the door further open and only spared a moment to look at the mirror.

Ridiculous,was his first thought. Dazai's legs were long, and even with his narrow bone structure he was still an adult man being carried like a child. He saw the moment Dazai's head turned to look into the mirror and waited for him to make some kind of joke at Chuuya's expense. He didn't expect to watch Dazai's eyes dilate in real time, or the way his hole clenched and co*ck twitched-

That was enough of that, Chuuya decided, storing away the memory to unpack later. He stepped into the shower and tapped Dazai's thigh while loosening his grip a bit.

“Let go,” he said when Dazai's legs tightened around him a little. Chuuya didn't get a chance to tell him again, because Dazai complied after a minute, unwinding his legs and letting Chuuya control the pace of lowering his legs. He had a quick thought that, now that Dazai knew how to get himself onto Chuuya and figured out that he needed to wrap his legs around him to keep himself up, they could definitely f*ck in the shower, or against a wall…. knowing his lazy mackerel, Chuuya would probably have to hold him up completely after a few minutes when he'd inevitably get tired of holding himself onto Chuuya, but he wouldn't freak out as much as he would if it were his first time being picked up like that.

Chuuya liked taking care of his body. Even in Russia he worked out daily in the hotel gym, lifting weights and blowing off steam. He'd put on even more muscle because of it, and was glad he did since it made things like carrying his lazy partner around easy. He didn't particularly enjoy how difficult Dazai was with jumping into rivers and refusing to move himself, but he didn't hate carrying him. It was a weird sense of being depended on that he… well, he definitely wasn't opposed to, exactly.

When Dazai's feet touched the floor of their shower and he pulled away from Chuuya, he made a little face at the feeling of cum and lube slipping out. Chuuya rolled his eyes and, with a hand on Dazai's hip that was gentler than he meant it to be, reached past him to turn on the spray with a little mischievous grin. Dazai was essentially a large, bratty shield that Chuuya took advantage of, knowing that post-sex he usually wasn't cognizant enough to realize little things.

Like Chuuya not letting the water warm up beforehand.

“Gah!” Dazai yelped, pushing at Chuuya, who laughed loudly at the sight of him getting drenched by the spray. He held Dazai there as the water warmed up little by little, making a face when Dazai shook his head like a dog to get some of the cold water on him. “Chuuya!” He shrieked, but he was laughing a bit too now that the water wasn't quite so frigid.

They stood there, Chuuya clutching Dazai to keep him under the spray and Dazai halfheartedly pushing at Chuuya as the water finally approached a hotter temperature.

“Al-alright,” Chuuya laughed, letting go and grabbing the shampoo. “Bend down, asshole.”

“Chuuya's the asshole!” Dazai spat, but it lost its effect when he was still snorting unattractively in between little laughs. It was a wonder that the most unattractive things about Dazai, like his laugh and bedhead and brattiness, were the ones Chuuya kind of liked the most. They were the most human, after all.

He bent his head down and Chuuya went about sudsing up his hair, finger-combing through tangles interspersed in the messy curls. Should he be washing Dazai's hair again? Probably not- double washing would probably dry his hair up a bit, but Chuuya really liked washing it and the shampoo was already in so, well, whatever. Besides, if Dazai would sit still for a second after the shower, Chuuya could always put a leave-in conditioner or something in his curls that he usually used in his own hair to make up for it.

Chuuya rinsed the shampoo out of Dazai’s hair and put conditioner in it to let it sit while he put faux citrus-scented conditioner in his own hair, skipping the shampoo. Dazai, noticing the skipped step, raised an eyebrow at him but ultimately ignored it and leaned over to let the water run the conditioner out of his hair.

“You could’ve waited a second,” Chuuya frowned at him.

Dazai shrugged and yawned exaggeratedly. “M’too tired- Chuuya wore me out,” he teased.

He rolled his eyes.“I’mthe one who wore you out? I’m not the one begging to cum five times in a row every time we fu-”

“Shut up!” Dazai pouted, ears red from what Chuuya now easily recognized as embarrassment. He backed away to step out of the shower, but Chuuya, noticing the sticky shine at the back of his thighs, wrapped an arm around his waist and gently tugged him back in. “What?”

“Idiot,” Chuuya chided, reaching around to circle Dazai’s rim and feeling a little bit of residual filth even as Dazai gasped from the sensation. “If you don’t cleanI’mgonna have to hear you complaining in the morning.”

“Mmnh, I think chibi just wanted an excuse to get his hands on me,” Dazai smirked, and Chuuya felt a bit of his sanity leave him when, after slipping two fingers in to spread them and clean his careless partner, Dazai’s co*ck twitched against him.

“We’re not f*cking again,” Chuuya warned him, gently cleaning him and, unfortunately, getting Dazai more worked up.

Dazai leaned in and wrapped his arms around Chuuya to steady himself with a little moan when his fingers slipped just barely over his prostate. “Ngh, but my dog is the one teasing~”

To his horror, Chuuya actually was getting a bit hard at Dazai’s breathy little moans. Not enough to convince him to f*ck Dazai, but-

“Hah,Chuuya-!”

.

..

…

Gods dammit.

Chuuya braced his hands under the backs of Dazai’s thighs, lifted him up, and proceeded to rail him against the shower wall- and then ate him out while bending him over their bathroom sink, because their strawberry flavored lube and improved diet deserved to be appreciated.

He really was way too easy for Dazai.

(That realization should probably bother him more than it does.)

Paris, France

November 23

11:51 a.m.

They didn't end up going grocery shopping the day after. Chuuya's back and hips were sore from the night before, and after a long day trying to map out where exactly his workplace was, he was too tired and too annoyed to f*ck Dazai like they'd talked about. He'd also let it slip his mind that they needed to go grocery shopping, so takeout and the occasional restaurant lunch leftover containers every other day had built up in their kitchen trash can.

A week went by until finally, on a slightly warmer than freezing Saturday afternoon, they both left the house to get Chuuya's motorcycle and go grocery shopping and pick out blackout curtains.

It was such a weirdly domestic chore that Chuuya hadn't actually asked Dazai to go with him at first, nor had he originally put the curtains on his list. He thoughtlessly reached over and intertwined his fingers with Dazai's as they walked into the storage unit at the reminder of why, exactly, they needed to pick up blackout curtains.

(Earlier that morning)

Chuuya wouldn't have known if he hadn't woken up to get a glass of water.

Dazainever would have said a word.

It was probably- definitely, he squinted at the clock beside their bed- close to five in the morning and just a hair above being too dark to see when Chuuya yawned with an uncomfortable feeling of being dehydrated sticking his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

His yawn had been nearly silent, so when he turned his head to make sure Dazai was still sleeping, it was just in time to catch him closing his eyes quickly. Chuuya stared just long enough to notice him forcefully keeping his body just a hair too still to still be sleeping.

“Hey,” he murmured very quietly, just in case Dazai really was asleep. “Are you awake?”

It'd been a while since Dazai had woken up before seven or eight in the morning. It was a marvel with his insomnia, but Chuuya chalked it up to him healing a bit more from his past trauma and relaxing without mafia work to do.

Dazai didn't react, but Chuuya was sure that he was awake now and drummed his fingers against Dazai's shoulder. “I'm gonna get some water, one second.”

When he stepped off of the bed, the motion sensing night lights flickered on with a soft glow to guide him out of their bedroom and down the hallway, hissing just a little at the cold floor beneath his feet. He padded into their kitchen and filled up two half-full cups of water (so that they wouldn't spill too badly if they were tipped over in bed) and walked back to their room. Dazai had given up on pretending and was sitting up against their pillows. Chuuya set the glasses on the nightstand and tapped their lamp on. He climbed into bed and pulled Dazai into him, his mackerel limply allowing him to arrange them until they were semi-cuddling, propped against the pillows. He reached over and handed a cup to Dazai before taking a sip of his own water.

It felt so natural to hold Dazai like this that he hardly thought twice about their proximity. They’d always been rather… tactile, so to speak, even before their first time being intimate and open with each other. A touch here to signal a change in tactics, a nudge of their shoes there to indicate a target; regardless of the words they spat at each other, their body language said enough for them to at least somewhat make up for the pure vitriol they sometimes used against each other in verbal fights.

“Why are you up so early?” Dazai asked casually.

Chuuya settled his chin on Dazai's shoulder. “I wanted to get water, duh, but nice try. Why were you up?”

“I was just… not tired anymore,” Dazai shrugged a bit, but there was a weird tenseness to his jaw that Chuuya caught onto from his position.

“Right,” Chuuya said with a tone that conveyed just how little he believed Dazai. Then, with a steadying breath, he asked, “...nightmares?”

Dazai stiffened in his arms, but Chuuya expected that. They didn’t really… well,talkabout much of anything that happened before leaving. Not Mori, not the mafia, not… not the Sheep, thankfully or not, and especially not about Oda Sakunosuke. Leaving with Dazai was a good decision, Chuuya could admit that much after months of being so painfully relaxed for the first time in… maybe ever. It was nearly enough to make him antsy, but traveling and working were enough to keep him from feeling too settled in his own skin. A nine-to-five and stability weren’t bad things to have, after all.

But they didn’t talk about the fact that Oda was dead and the reason Dazai left the mafia. The original defection was because of him, and Chuuya knew that damn well. For whatever reason, though, Dazai came back for Chuuya. The car blowing up? That was in line with what he knew about his partner; as much as it would’ve hurt, he wasn’t surprised when Dazai left without a word. Momentary disbelief, dread, confusion, hatred, loathing- both self and outward-, mourning and denial, but not surprise. Dazai was the opposite of Chuuya by nature on the battlefield- where Chuuya marched onward, Dazai hung back. They worked like that, with Chuuya taking the lead and decimating the battlefield while Dazai orchestrated his victory from a small but cataclysmic distance.

Something about Chuuya was worth coming back for, then, right?

.

Yeah. Well, that was nice to pretend in his head, but Chuuya wasnotstupid. Dazai didn’t come back because he missed something about Chuuya- rather, it was more likely that it was impulsive, a shift in trajectory that he fell victim to in a moment because something benign and uninteresting happened to remind him of Chuuya. And, whatever it was, it was just enough to convince Dazai to come back for Chuuya.

It was a sore spot to think about, so Chuuya tried not to, but perhaps sweeter was the realization that, even if he wasn’t good enough to convince Dazai to come back on his own, hewasenough to convince Dazai tostay.Chuuya had done enough to make staying worth more than leaving. For someone as flighty and skittish as Dazai, that was miles more satisfying than simply having him around in the first place.

But if he let things like this go, how long would that last? Dazai had healed, definitely, in small ways, but he tended to let things rot if they weren’t taken out of his hands. Chuuya was more forceful and proactive about attacking the things that haunted him until they either were well and truly buried so deep he didn’t have to look at them or gone from his mind altogether. Or he drank. It depended.

….okay, so maybe neither of their tactics were healthy. But Dazai’s grief was more fresh than Chuuya’s, so he could afford to focus on it more than his own problems (and how he should probably look into getting that therapist they talked about jokingly but definitely needed).

“About… why you left the mafia?” Chuuya pressed, just a bit, because he wasn’t letting it go, but saying Oda’s name would scare Dazai off into leaving- probably. He really couldn’t tell anymore. Dazai let Chuuya hold him, make him eat, take medicine- a dozen things he didn’t think he would’ve gotten away with in the mafia. As close as they had been, that was a partnership versus… well…. whatever they had now that made Chuuya buyrings.The question was open-ended, an invitation if nothing else.

Dazai, unexpectedly, took it.

“Not entirely,” he said, voice so stiff Chuuya wondered if bending him into saying more might cause the moment to splinter. “But…” he swallowed roughly, “yeah,” Dazai breathed the admission like it hurt to force it out.

“Wanna talk about it?” Chuuya asked, going for a light tone that didn’t prefer one way or another, and he must have succeeded because Dazai relaxed back a little bit even as he shook his head. “You said that wasn’t all?” He asked immediately, letting the matter of his nightmare go without another word. Getting Dazai to admit there was even a problem was more than he’d hope for in any given moment.

“You really don’t stop,” Dazai spoke plainly, like it was just a fact he was letting sit in the air between them. Chuuya didn’t know entirely what he meant, but Dazai was already speaking before he had a chance to ask. “It’s…” he whispered so softly he might as have not spoken at all.

“Hm?” Chuuya asked, leaning away to look at him.

Dazai met his eyes once and looked down into his cup of water. “The lights.”

….huh? The lights? Chuuya looked at the nightlights in every wall socket in their room and the lamp, still on and illuminating the room in artificial golden light. “...what about them?” He didn’t think there was anything wrong; Dazai knew Chuuya kept nightlights in the room beforehand and never complained about it before. They weren’t particularly bright, so….

His mackerel fidgeted a little bit and sighed. “Nothing.”

“Nope. Absolutely not. You don’t get to brush things under the rug anymore.” Chuuya gently tugged the cup out of Dazai’s hands, noticing they were trembling the tiniest bit from- nerves? Or… or exhaustion?

….

Okay, so… So Dazai was tired. Nothing new, honestly, what with his insomnia. But he’d supposedly been sleeping earlier. Chuuya blinked, trying to remember when he last stayed up to check for certain that Dazai was asleep.

….he didn’t like the answer. Russia, early November, when Dazai got sick again and crashed from the flu medicine after biting the sh*t out of Chuuya’s hand. He stayed up with Dazai until he fell asleep nearly every night, but that was the most recent memory he could muster of Dazai actually for certain sleeping.

The nightlights had something to do with it. Or… or light in general did. In Russia, they had dark curtains, but in Paris, they didn’t. Dazai couldn’t sleep, the nightlights were on…. and Chuuya was feeling like an idiot because he should’ve noticed that Dazai can’t fall asleep unless it was completely dark.

He licked his lips, feeling like his mouth was more parched than before. “sh*t, Dazai, why…”Why didn’t you tell me?-was what he wanted to ask, but he already knew the answer. When had Dazai ever offered up substantial information of his own accord without being asked?

“I don’t…know,”Dazai bit out like the admission was painful and suddenly Chuuya had the feeling that Dazai wasn’t apologizing for not telling him. “I can’t stop thinking when I can see, so…”

So Dazai hadn’t been overcoming his insomnia, he’d just gotten better at pretending. And Chuuya fell for it. And now his stupid partner was getting worked up.

“f*ck, mackerel,” Chuuya blurted out, louder than he meant it to be and louder than Dazai expected judging by the way he hunched in on himself just a bit more. “You’re supposed to tell me sh*t like this!” He raked a hand through his hair and kept the other firmly wrapped around Dazai just in case he tried to move. “If you told me we could’ve gotten like, I don’t know, blackout curtains or something. We don’t…” he looked around, just now realizing that maybe a nightlight in every single wall socket might’ve been a little excessive, regardless of how it soothed his peace of mind. “We don’t need nightlights in here.”

“But Chuuya doesn’t like the dark,” Dazai intoned without inflection like that was a good enough reason to ignore his own needs. And on that note- he knew Dazai had noticed, because there was very little that Dazai didn’t notice, and with the amount of automatic night lights strewn throughout their entire apartment it was probably hard not to, but he didn’t think hecared.

Huh. That… that probably meant something, right?

Chuuya swallowed, already feeling grossed out by what he was about to say- what he was about toadmitto. “It’s… it’s fine when you- when I’m not…by myself,”he finally gritted out.

The eclipsing, intruding darkness of a lightless room was present in all of Chuuya’s worst memories- memories, not nightmares, because Chuuya couldn’t dream. Considering what he was, maybe that was for the best. Unlike Dazai, to whom his ability to think and see was a curse, it was the rope that Chuuya clung desperately to to maintain his sense of self.

It was never the dark itself that Chuuya was afraid of. The nightlights were motion detecting, so they weren’t constantly on, though he knew that they were sensitive enough to turn on if he moved around on the bed, so he didn’t need the room lit up at all times. The second he took them out, though, would feel like he was becoming apathetic. Like he wasn’t human enough to recognize what he didn’t like and take steps towards fixing it.

It would feel like he was becoming like Dazai.

Maybethatwas what scared him.

He wasn’t…. no, Chuuya couldn’t pretend he wasn’t just as selfish as Dazai. He wanted to know exactly how he felt to help him, and he knew that, but he also wanted to know exactly how to be as different from his partner as possible. Dazai was despair, apathy, manipulation- all of the worst, most depressing parts ofhumanitywrapped in scarred human flesh.

Dazai could manipulate him a thousand times and Chuuya would never walk away, because Chuuya didn’t know how to not be loyal, but imagining the lifeless look that sometimes carved into Dazai’s eyes on his own face, in his blue eyes when he looked into the mirror….

Dazai was everything Chuuya was afraid of becoming.

And yet Chuuya never felt more secure than when he had Dazai curled in beside him, sprawled out across him, or held in his arms. Helikedtaking care of him, fixing that emptiness, pouring in happiness until it made a dent in the bottomless hole of Dazai’s being, his soul, until his eyes sparkledthat wayand he laughedlike thatand smiled at Chuuya like he’d never been broken.

(How the hell did Chuuya become so screwed up, anyway? None of it made sense- he hated Dazai, but he also…. he….)

There was a horribly awkward moment where Chuuya let his arms slacken around Dazai and was about to shuffle away. He hadn’t lied, but maybe that was worse because telling (and even just thinking) such an honest truth to someone like Dazai made his skin itch. It didn’t last for long, because Dazai just turned around, and with a second of eye contact that wasn’t nearly long enough to fully examine thatlookin his wine brown eyes, his mackerel leaned in for a crushingly soft kiss that tasted like reassurance.

They fell asleep facing each other after Chuuya unplugged the nightlights. Dazai turned off the lamp, so he was already in bed when the lights were off and Dazai slipped back in. Their fingers were entwined the whole night, and, well, it might have been stupid, but Chuuya’s exhaustion-addled brain almost wished that he could’ve fiddled with a ring on Dazai’s finger as they fell asleep, just to retrace ruby gems and cut diamonds until sleep claimed him.

Same morning

10:58 a.m.

“I'm heading out,” Chuuya grabbed his keys and called back to their bedroom where Dazai was more likely than not still buried under the dark of their covers, hiding from the sunlight.

He was proven wrong when a sleepy little grumble responded from their bedroom doorway and a casually but still fully dressed Dazai trodded out. “Mmkay, let’s go,” he said tiredly.

Chuuya stared at him. “What are you doing?”

“My slug’s pretty pink bike is here,” Dazai teased, but it sounded groggy with his morning-gravelled voice.

“It’s a-”

“-dark magenta motorcycle.”

“-dark magenta motorcycle,”Chuuya stressed with a glare, a glare that only increased in severity when Dazai chirped the same words with a teasing glint to his eyes that softened with his tiredness. “I’ll be back in an hour, you don’t actually have to come.” If Dazai was trying to be insufferable today, it would be better for him not to go anyway.

Dazai only smiled, “but chibi’s going grocery shopping too,” Oh, right. “There’s no way you forgot, right?” Chuuya twitched because he kind of did forget, actually. “Chuuya’s so short I’m worried someone will mistake you for a little kid and try to kidnap you!”

“Ohf*ck you,asshole,” Chuuya hissed, fingers flexing with the reflexive warm hum of his ability under his skin. “I can get the groceries myself, so screw off.” He turned away to walk out the door for real. He didn’t want to put up withthatall day.

And then Dazai piped up from behind him just as he touched the door handle. “Without your ability? Don’t tell me chibi’s trying to get caught by the mafia so soon just to carry some bags~”

Well f*ck.

It wasn’t even about his ability- not entirely, at least- but attracting any kind of attention, like going out by himself, especially with his motorcycle, just begged to get mafia eyes on them. Unfortunately, it was less conspicuous for two men to be carrying groceries than one wearing an eye-catching hat, on a previously mafia-affiliated motorcycle, carrying what would probably end up being twenty bags with ease on his own out to his rear basket. Chuuya wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes, opening the door. “But I’m making you actually help carry sh*t.”

Dazai just skipped after him with a small but bright smile on his lips, “no you won’t!”

“Chuuya Nakahara?”

Upon hearing his name called, Chuuya chatted with the attendant and showed her his ID and registration papers, conversing easily in French. Dazai stared intently at him the entire time until his motorcycle was finally set in front of him.

But even Dazai’s weirdly focused stare couldn’t distract him from the high of having his motorcycle back. Gods, he missed driving. It’d only been around two weeks, but the time dragged on and on. It was one of the only really sentimental items he'd never get rid of from his time in the mafia (though he didn't like to think too long about how he'd gotten it), and was definitely the most indulgent item he’d spent his money on up until that point, paying for repairs and general weekly upkeeping. He even went through the trouble of getting actually certified and getting his license instead of faking it or driving illegally.

Which he now thanked his younger self for- because now he could drive in France even without the mafia covering his ass for illegal driving. He was also legally allowed to buy and consume alcohol in France with his actual ID and not a fake one.

The only downside to having a motorcycle and not just getting a car (which hecoulddrive- it just wasn’t as cool) was Dazai.

“Slow down!” Dazai yelped holding onto Chuuya with a vice grip so tight he was starting to feel a little ache. He turned another sharp corner at a speed that was probably a little too fast for city streets and grinned at the bite of wind.

“Don’t pretend you’re actually scared of getting hurt!” Chuuya tossed back with a grin. Dazai preached about his suicidal tendencies so often that he was sure that a motorcycle was right up his alley. He’d found out that he was wrong a year or two ago and paid the price with a broken rib and a shredded tire- apparently Dazai wasnotgood with wheeled vehicles and was actually a bit prone to motion sickness when he ended up driving one or being a passenger.

Dazai just buried his head into Chuuya’s shoulder with a whine. He did end up letting his speed pepper out into something more appropriate for city streets, because he really didn’t want to deal with a motion sick Dazai.

“Chuuya’s a horrible driver,” Dazai complained as they narrowly avoided a collision when he turned again despite the slower speed, voice muffled by Chuuya’s jacket.

“Get your license before you start talking sh*t,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, pulling into a lot in front of the supermarket and parking the motorcycle there in the motorbike lot. He grabbed the padlock and swung his leg over the bike, chaining it to the rack. With a mocking flourish, he extended his hand to Dazai, who stared at it for a second like he wasn't sure what to make of it. “Well? Come on princess, we've got sh*t to do.”

A stunning pink flush spread over Dazai's cheeks and tipped his ears from the name (whether out of embarrassment or pleasure- Chuuya couldn't tell), but he took the hand regardless and got off the bike. “Chuuya's an awful prince. Too short and slug-like- ow!”

“Shut up,” Chuuya dug his heel into Dazai's foot and used the hand Dazai accepted to adjust his hold to settle over his mackerel's daintily thin wrist. He dragged him into the store by the wrist, then let go to grab a shopping cart. “Stay by the cart. Or better yet, keep a hand on it.”

“I’m not a child,” Dazai grumbled, but he did walk a bit closer to Chuuya as they walked through the bakery section. “You sure you don’t want to get a booster seat and sit in the cart? You might get tired with how short your legs are.”

Chuuya tried to kick him again, but Dazai danced out of reach. “f*ckoff,holy sh*t. Can you lay off for like two f*cking seconds? You can’t even talk when you’re a twig- you sure you’re not gonna get tired? At least I work out.” He grabbed some confections as they walked by, muffins and crepes getting added to the cart. After a moment’s thought, he put a small chantilly cake into the cart as well.

Dazai pouted. “Chuuyalikesthat he’s stronger than me though.” Chuuya coughed a little bit, because the way he said that was a little…. “It makes it easier for you to pick me up in the shower and-”

“-Blueberry or raspberry!” Chuuya shouted, cutting Dazai off and attracting way too much attention. He held up the yogurt jars, a strained and manic grin on his face that he hoped conveyed every threat he was thinking to Dazai for talking aboutsexinpublic.

Gods f*cking dammit, they were in a supermarket getting groceries together and he thought talking like that was a good idea- Chuuya should’ve left him at home after all.

.

Nothome,but the penthouse. Chuuya’s home and Dazai’s home but not- nottheirhome. They just lived together, and shared a room (even though they had two bedrooms), and a bed, and a shower, a kitchen, couch, watched movies, slept together….

Something wasn’t adding up about their situation. Why… why did they never talk about the second room?

“What?” Dazai squinted at the jars.

Chuuya blinked. Right. “It’s yogurt. Do you like blueberry or raspberry?” He turned back, because he only grabbed the blueberry and raspberry to distract Dazai, but he really did want yogurt. “There’s pineapple, mango, cherry, coconut, vanilla, strawberry, peach, chocolate…”

“I don’t…” Dazai trailed off, blinking at the selection when he walked closer.

“Have you ever had yogurt?” Chuuya asked, because that was the same look Dazai had given ice cream all those months ago. When Dazai’s expression twitched into something defensive, he started grabbing two of every jar. “We can try them and get more of the ones you like later. It doesn’t matter.”

It really didn’t. It wasn’t a big deal at all.

The way Dazai looked at him like he was unreal disagreed.

“We can split up and go faster,” Chuuya redirected, looking away from that expression. “Can you get eggs, milk, and bread?”

Dazai blinked. “About that… where do I-?”

“It’s in the usual places in a grocery store; we’re in a different country not a different dimension,” Chuuya waved him off, pushing the cart away.

“Well, you see-”

….

“You’ve never gone grocery shopping?!” Chuuya balked, staring at Dazai like he’d grown two head. “How are you alive?”

Dazai stiffened up. “I just got the canned stuff on the shelves right when you walk into the supermarket….”

Chuuya gaped. “You’re telling me the only time you ate actual food back then was when you bothered me to cook?"

“Crab is actual food!”

“Not from the can-! Ugh,” Chuuya sighed. “Come on, let’s go get the fresh sh*t. I’m not keeping that canned crap in my kitchen.”

Dazai complained about it, but dutifully followed after Chuuya while he grabbed eggs, milk (almond, not regular, because they found out a long time ago that Dazai was lactose intolerant.The Demon Prodigy’s only weakness,Chuuya had chortled to himself that entire week), bread, butter, cheese (blocked- he refused to get the shredded bagged stuff), and a handful of other things. He made a point to grab dairy-free yogurt and coconut ice cream even as Dazai whined about it. It felt more and more like was teaching the idiot how to shop- as much as he grumbled about it, he did talk through what he was picking and why while he picked through the fresh fruits and vegetables, instigating back and forth quips about whether or not it was unhealthy to just get the processed (or canned) food.

The conversation carried through the deli meats, where Chuuya grabbed sausage, beef, chicken, and ten crab legs he deemed ‘acceptable’ after intense perusal. It wasn’t expensive at all in France, but the price wouldn’t have been a problem- he was very picky about meats and making sure they wouldn’t give him digestive issues. He’d gotten even more careful about it since living with Dazai, for whom food poisoning would wreak havoc on his body more than it would on Chuuya, who was still leagues healthier than him.

“Food poisoningwouldbe an awful way to go out,” Dazai nodded along.

Chuuya’s eye twitched, but he ignored the comment for the most part with a grumbling comment of, “suicidal bastard.”

They were walking through the cereal aisle adjacent to the snack aisle when Dazai dug his heel into the ground and stopped.“Chuuya.”

The tone, more serious than he’d heard it in ages, caught Chuuya’s attention and immediately put him on guard. He scanned the isle but no one else was in it with them. “What? What is it?”

Dazai turned to him and- pointed? “Chuuya, it's Batman cereal.”

“...what?” Chuuya turned and, sure enough, it was a line of superhero-themed cereals. And- oh gods- it was in the middle of an entire wall of kids show-themed cereal.Novelty diabetes boxes,Chuuya’s lip curled. “No.”

“But Chuuya,” Dazai whined, picking up the box. “You can’t fight crime without a good breakfast!”

It actually said that on the box. Chuuya was fine with the novelty clothing, and the shows, and even with the songs - he’d caught himself humming the intro toMy Little Ponya few too many times. But he drew the line at blatantly unhealthy boxes of pure, overprocessed sugar marketed towards children to give them artificial sugar high.

“Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “It’s literal sh*t for your body and you won’t even like it-”

“How do you know that?”

“Are you kidding me?! You’re the pickiest f*cking eater ever,” Chuuya spat. “You’re thedefinitionof a ‘noodles with butter’ kid.”

They stared each other down for a long moment, with Chuuya maintaining his seriousness in the face of Dazai’s puppy eyes for all of two long, silent minutes.

Dazai got the cereal.

“We need flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, bread flour…” Chuuya looked up from the list he’d scrawled for himself before they left. “Oh, there’s a sale here too.”

“Too?” Dazai asked, looking around like a kid in a candy store. He’d won the battle for a number of weird sweets and novelty bits that ended up in their cart, like weirdly shaped pasta and minion-shaped noodles for soup. Chuuya had gotten heavy handed with his wine selecting, so it was fairly even between them.

“Hm? Oh, grocery store sales usually go in cycles that rotate throughout the year,” Chuuya explained while he looked between six different brands of salt. “Can you grab granulated and powdered sugar? It’s at the end of the aisle.”

“Chuuya, there’s a sale here too,” Dazai called back.

“Just grab whichever one,” Chuuya shrugged. “The unit price doesn’t really matter-"

“Unit price?” Fluffy brown curls popped up when he lifted his head to look at Chuuya intently.

Dazai’s interest was kind of…. ugh, it was actually kind ofcute.f*ck. Chuuya resigned himself to explaining. “So there’s the price on the item, and then there’s the unit price. So if they both cost ten euros, and one’s six pounds and the other’s five pounds, the one that’s six pounds is a better deal.”

“More for the amount being spent,” Dazai nodded. Chuuya blinked, not expecting Dazai to be paying so much attention to something he said. It made his cheeks warm.

“Y-” he cleared his throat. “Yeah. The unit price basically tells you how much you’re getting for how much is being spent.”

“So one euro and sixty-six centimes per pound for the six pound bag and two euros per pound for the five pound bag.”

“Uh-huh,” Chuuya nodded, grabbing a bag of almond flour. “But like I said, it doesn’t matter how much you spend. Just grab whatever you want.”

But Dazai didn’t do that. He actually stood there and figured out the best sales price against ten bags of powdered and granulated sugar. He listened to what Chuuya said and, yes, he knew his mackerel was a genius, but the idea of him applying something Chuuya showed him, in such a domestic chore that he would’ve bet against Dazai coming at all, was….

Well, he just- Dazailistened,and Chuuya’s cheeks were warm, and Dazai was ridiculous and didn’t need to stand there doing that, but he was. There were little shocks in his fingertips and in that moment he really wanted to kiss Dazai, but the need to avoid interrupting the frankly cute scene that was Dazai pouring over sales prices in a Paris grocery store on a Saturday afternoon, wearing his fluffiest blue sweater, won out. He was… it…. the warm feeling, the blush, the tingling-

Maybe it was the reflection of the sky or the residual buzz of wine in his system, but Chuuya was speechless on that bridge, perched on the railing, when he turned to look at Dazai. For the first time since he could remember, there was light in those eyes as he turned to face the sky with Chuuya, holding his hand a little tighter when his eyes roved greedily over the inky expanse littered with stars.

Chuuya loved watching the stars and would say they were his favorite sight, but he might like watching their reflection in Dazai’s warm brown eyes more.

That…. that wasn’t-

For all of the dramatics his mackerel put up over taking the medicine, Chuuya had to admit it was worth getting bitten just to shove it down Dazai's throat.

His partner was really so high maintenance. It was a wonder Chuuya put up with him.

Dazai let out a little yawn and turned in Chuuya's arms to nuzzle his face contentedly against his chest. His arms tightened a little further as he perched his head on top of curly brown hair with a small smile.

Yeah, a wonder.

Chuuya didn’t…. that was just because he’d gotten so used to caring for Dazai….

When they stepped out onto the street, Dazai reached down to entangle his hand with Chuuya’s and didn’t look at him even when his eyes searched for answers.

Dazai’s hand wasn’t warm, especially not through their gloves, but for some reason Chuuya felt like his whole body radiated heat from that simple point of contact. Dazai rubbed over a scar in the divot between Chuuya’s thumb and pointer finger and it made his heart do a weird flip-skip in his chest.

Weird. He was too young and healthy for heart palpitations.

Palpitations, sweaty hands, flushed face, feeling so f*cking warm around Dazai…. He liked his smile, his laugh, even his personality-

.

He… helikedDazai’s gods-awfulpersonality.

‘Oh,’Chuuya thought, a little numb, a little distant,‘I like Dazai.’

Dazai sneezed, sending a cloud of powder into his face from a bag of something Chuuya would definitely have to pay and apologize for. It made him feel more warm than angry, which then sent the next finger-tingling realization zinging into his brain with all the force and deadly accuracy of a bullet.

‘IloveDazai.’

“sh*t,” Chuuya said out loud, too loud and too random to not catch Dazai's attention.

“What?” The idiot mackerel looked over, powder-covered and looking a moment away from sneezing.

Chuuya internally swore. His cheeks felt too red- he almost made the mistake of looking away to hide them, but that would've only gotten Dazai more interested. “Nothing. Wipe your face, f*cking idiot.”

Dazai visibly scrutinized him, that brain working out the truth. There was no way he could though- definitely not.

As if on cue, a lecherous smirk stretched across his handsome face, light dancing in those eyes and offering a decent distraction from the horrible realization he was just hit with. “Was it something dirty?”

“What-?!”

“Chuuya!” Dazai gasped with a faux scandalized expression, talkingwaytoo loud for a grocery store. “In public? You dog~!”

Chuuya kicked him, then slapped a hand over his mouth, already feeling annoyed at the flour no doubt stuck to his glove. “Shut the f*ck up!” He hissed, eyeing customers who'd stopped to stare. He glared at them.

There was no way he wasin lovewithDazai.Absolutely not.

(While Chuuya embarrassedly ran damage control on their surroundings, Dazai hummed a little in contemplation as he tried to dull his own reaction.

He knew, for all of his teasing, that dirty thoughts weren't the reason Chuuya had looked at him like that. Chuuya had a very distinct expression when he was turned on.

But…

Dazai blushed a little. Thatexpressionhad been- well- he'd seen glimpses of it before, but never like that, never so open. There was no way getting flour on his face during a moment of distraction from the way the fluorescent lighting reflected in his blue eyes had put that kind of expression on Chuuya's face. He wanted to dig at it more, question Chuuya until he served every answer he sought on a fiery golden platter. But that wouldn't get him anywhere. That wouldn't make Chuuya happy.

He'd have to figure it out. If only because he wanted to see Chuuya look at him that way again, and again, and maybe for the better part of forever.)

Chuuya had to admit it was a little weird continuing to do something as mundane as grocery shopping with hishusbandafter just realizing he was in love with him.

He had to take a second to keep himself from gagging at the thought.

They grabbed blackout curtains and a few other items, paid, and then left. The rest of the trip, loading the groceries into his basket attachment, and even the ride home felt like a blur to Chuuya, unable to figure out he felt about… about being in love with Dazai. It definitely wasn’t safe to be so spaced out while driving, but Dazai didn’t seem to mind, chatting on and on about one of his shows.

It took two trips for Chuuya to get all of the groceries up the elevator to their penthouse. Dazai tried to help…. but Chuuya gave up on holding him to it when he looked somewhat genuinely stressed at the weight of six bags, three in each hand. Instead, he left his lazy, noodle-armed partner in the lobby with the rest of the groceries to watch them and came back down for him after placing the first load in the kitchen. It was more groceries than they’d need weekly, since they were picking up basic things like condiments and seasonings and dressings and baking supplies that wouldn’t run out too often and require a big trip.

(Dazai wasn’t incapable, of course. He knew how to fight and use a gun, but he acted like he was allergic to anything but running. Even that was only done when necessary. He’d always been a bit more agile than strong, and with Chuuya as his partner he never really needed to be strong anyhow.)

Chuuya sent Dazai to put the curtains up in their room while he set to what he considered the worst part of grocery shopping- putting things away. The fridge was large and steel with a drink and ice tap in the door of it and plenty of shelving space and room. He organized the yogurts into a shelf, the eggs and the meat he’d use tonight and the next night on two separate shelves, another for the milks and tea bottles he got for Dazai. Chuuya organized it to his liking because realistically the only time he could imagine Dazai coming into the kitchen was if he were bothering Chuuya to make something or complaining about how long dinner was taking. Or if, gods forbid, Chuuya ever decided to tackle the monumentally stressful task of teaching Dazai to cook.

He put a bottle of red wine in the fridge with another bottle of ice wine he wanted Dazai to try. His mackerel didn’t have the palette to appreciate a decadent red wine, so he picked out the sweetest top shelf dessert wine the supermarket had. He also, despite his reservations regarding whiskey, got a bottle of it from the top shelf, because if he was buying whiskey it should at least be the most expensive one available.

And, well, he was trying to get Dazai to relax tonight. If the sweetest wine he could think of didn’t do the trick, he needed some kind of back up.

After ten minutes of sorting and dragging a chair around the kitchen, Dazai finally walked out of the bedroom just as Chuuya put the last box of cereal up where his mackerel would (hopefully) forget about it, a pillow on the chair to help him reach the top shelf. He’d realized halfway through standing precariously on it that he could just stand on the counter.

“Why do you have a chair?” Dazai asked, grabbing a lollipop out of the small sweets bowl Chuuya set out on the counter.

Chuuya breathed out very carefully, already anticipating the short joke as he stepped down from the countertop and closed the cabinet door to his wine shelf. “Becausesome peoplearen’t miles up from the ground.”

“No,” Dazai popped the sucker out of his mouth, a little smirk curling at the edge of his lips. “I mean, why don’t you just use your ability?”

He stared at Dazai, who leaned into the counter.

“Did you hit your head putting the f*cking curtain up?” Chuuya muttered, eyeing Dazai suspiciously. “You’re the one who said we can’t use abilities.”

It’d beenmonthssince he usedFor the Tainted Sorrow,and the itch under his fingers was bordering on unbearable. Technically, abilities didn’t need to be used, but Chuuya’s was a bit… well, different, so before Dazai tricked him into getting on that plane,he usually used it for mindless chores here and there.

“Well yeah, when you’re outside,” Dazai raised an eyebrow, the fakest expression of genuineness he’d ever seen on the stupid f*cking idiot on his stupid f*cking face. “Don’t tell me-” he put a hand over his chest, “did Chuuya misunderstand me?Of courseyou can use your ability here. Who would even know, anyway?”

….

That-

That f*cking-

“Asshole!”Chuuya shrieked, grabbing the pillow off of the chair and lighting it up with his ability. A note of apprehension finally glanced across Dazai’s stupidly pretty face. “You watched me do sh*t like this formonths!”He launched the pillow at Dazai. His ability flickered out the moment it touched him, but Dazai’s ability couldn’t stop the momentum it gained as it just barely managed to put him on his ass with the force of it.

“Chuuya! It’s not my fault you didn’t- ah!” Dazai scrambled out of the way of another pillow Chuuya dove into the living room to grab and chuck at him. Dazai kept a hold on the first pillow and threw the other one back.

“You hadmonthsto say anything,” Chuuya shouted, catching the pillow tossed at him. Instead of throwing it back, he dove into where Dazai was sprawled on the carpet holding his pillow up as a shield. “You’re such a f*cking brat!” He yelled, reaching his hands out around the pillow, fighting away Dazai’s kicks- he got a yellow-socked foot to the face,ew-and did the only thing he could think of in that moment.

He started tickling Dazai.

“Ch-” Dazai twitched like he wasn’t sure what to make of the sensation, and then Chuuya’s hands wormed under his sweater and- “Chuuya!Wha-w- wh- ha- aha- no, st- ah- ah- op!” He squirmed and writhed, laughing like he didn’t know why but it was the only reaction that would come out of his body.

Had he never been tickled? Chuuya was laughing too, a full and loud noise he’d once been told was pretty as he used one hand to secure Dazai’s fighting hands above his head. The pillow had fallen away already with how hard Dazai was laughing, red-faced, full-bellied, and aching after another minute.

“Me-mercy!”Dazai shrieked after another minute.

“Say you’re sorry!” Chuuya shouted back, voice bubbling with laughter that wouldn’t stop spilling from him (he wasn’t really mad anymore).

Dazai’s eyes were filling with tears from the tickling and his body his writhing away from the touch. “N- e-never!”He screamed through another bout of laughter.

“Apologize and I’ll stop,” Chuuya warned with a small reprieve, pulling his hand away to watch the stuttering aftershocks and twitching from the rucked up hem of the sweater. Dazai had forgone the bandages on his stomach, only wrapping his arms and legs for the day, so he could watch every muscle spasm of his pale, scarred stomach. He was still laughing like he was out of breath, snorts and wheezes escaping him and his wide, wobbling grin.

“Ch-” Dazai panted, “Chuuya should’ve asked,” he said in lieu of refusal. “Aghk!” He screamed, shifting away as Chuuya continued his assault.

“Just say you’re sorry,” he forced out between his own laughter that felt as uncontrollable as Dazai’s looked.

“N-No!” he whimpered as another bout of laughter burst from his lips. “Cr- cramping! Ah- Chuuya-!”

With that, Chuuya decided to have mercy on his partner- even though he didn’t deserve it- and adjusted his tickling touches into an open-handed rub up and down his hip. “You suck,” he grumbled, but he was still grinning and he knew he wasn’t fooling Dazai.

Dazai was still twitching, flexing his wrists after Chuuya released them. “Mhm,” he hummed through little reflexive spasms and bubbles of laughter.

“I mean it, you’re the worst.”

“Uh-huh,” Dazai smiled.

“Months,”he stressed, “you had literalmonthsto say something.”

“Sure.”

Chuuya shifted both hands to gently rub Dazai’s stomach and sides with his palms to help offset the cramping. “You’re unbearable,” he said, but it was definitely too fond to be taken seriously, his tone softened by the way Dazai melted into the unexpected massaging touch.

“The worst,” Dazai drawled sarcastically, nodding like he agreed.

“You make me want to scream,” he sighed with another upwards sweep to just below Dazai’s nipples.

“Chuuya does too,” he huffed, shifting around like he was getting comfortable with a soft hum of contentedness.

That made Chuuya pause. “The hell doIdo that drivesyoucrazy?”

Dazai peeked an eye open from where they’d fluttered halfway closed. He grinned teasingly. “None of your business!” He chirped, settling back into the touch.

“Bullsh*t,” Chuuya responded, but he pulled his hands away and stood up, ignoring Dazai’s pout at the separation. “I’m making lunch, so put a show on.”

The TV could be seen from the kitchen island, so they could chat while he figured out what to make for lunch that Dazai would actually eat. There was a moment of quiet shuffling and the click of the remote while he fished through their filled cabinets.

“Can we have yogurt?” Dazai’s voice called from the living room, a tentative little request that petered out at the end.

Chuuya’s eyes widened.

He asked for food.

Dazaiasked forfoodthat hewanted.

Chuuya quickly got over his momentary pause and swallowed, vowing not to make a big deal out of it as he tossed back, “sure. I was making something light anyway.”

He continued on to the backdrop of whatever English cartoon Dazai was watching that week-My Little Ponyagain, he realized after hearing the intro start and unable to stop himself from quietly humming along-, his heart warm and his chest feeling full enough of emotions to implode.

(Maybe loving Dazai,getting attached,wasn’t the worst decision he’d ever made. It was definitely in the top twenty, but not… not theworst.)

(As long as he didn’t tell Dazai.)

“Colors?”

Dazai groaned, shifting around with a petulant whine waiting on the tip of his tongue. “Red to stop, yellow to slow down and green to go.”

Chuuya hummed, pulling his gloves back on and flexing his fingers to adjust them. “And you'll use them?”

“I said I-” Dazai cut himself off when Chuuya leveled him with a raised brow. He huffed. “Yes, Iwill.Now, come on-”

Chuuya took a step back.

The more he'd thought about it, the more he realized that their first time had set a precedent for every time they had sex. From showering, to cuddling and spending the night, their first time was far from the norm. The routine felt so natural that he didn't realize it until now when they were intheirbedroom they'd wordlessly decided to share.

“If you want me to give you something you want, you have to listen," Chuuya said blandly, trying to come across as perfectly composed, but the sight of Dazai sprawled out underneath him with his hands knotted together did things to him. He made such a tempting sight laid out on the bed, entirely bare while Chuuya himself was still fully dressed. It didn't take much more than a few teasing touches for Dazai to give in and agree to have his bandages taken off so that he could feel the sensation fully on his skin.

Dazai whined and squirmed, but nodded. "Iamlistening," he gritted out.

Chuuya paused, backing away for a moment to make searing eye contact with Dazai.

"What was that?"

Dazai blinked, visibly going over what he said. "Nothing," he hurried to get out.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. "Really? I think you said something, darling."

Darling.Dazai shuddered visibly under his gaze. It was so satisfying to see how easily and quickly Dazai handed over control with just a few nice words here and there. He'd even say it was worth the embarrassment of saying sh*t like that to him if it got this kind of reaction. Though, maybe there was another reason why Chuuya liked giving Dazai excessive compliments.

‘I love Dazai'ran through his head again.

He swallowed.

"You want to be good for me, right?" Chuuya demurred softly, leaning over the bed to run his hands up and down Dazai's thighs, squeezing intermittently, Dazai's lip trembled and he shook his head a little bit. "Mmh, I think you do. You're spreading your legs for me already."

Dazai seemed to have just noticed that he'd been spreading apart his thighs slowly but surely. He shuffled them closed, but was stopped by Chuuya's soothing touch. They made eye contact for a single, blistering second.

"Okay," Chuuya breathed carefully, each breath as measured as he could stand to make it when he had Dazai so beautifully flushed and panting on their bedspread, willingly bound by black silk. "Okay, turn over for me, yeah?"

Dazai hesitated, but with a deep, settling breath, he turned over, lying flat on the bed. His pretty pale ass was perfectly on display for him, but Chuuya wasn't satisfied just yet. He settled his hands on Dazai's hips and massaged his fingers into it.

"On your knees."

At that, Dazai huffed. "Chuuya already has me-"

"Did I ask you to speak?" Chuuya cut him off, his grip tightening just below the point of pain. He didn't want to be too authoritative- because, really, that probably wouldn't garner the best reaction from someone like Dazai, but he needed to be fully in control if he was going to get Dazai to the right mental space. "On your knees, Dazai.Now.”

But even as he made his demands, Chuuya quickly tapped a discreet message into Dazai's skin.

'Color?’

It took a long moment for Dazai to react, but eventually, with a soft, trembling exhale, he slowly got to his knees. "Green," he gasped out, not bothering to try tapping anything in morse code back with his hands tied together. "S'fine, come on."

Chuuya kneaded the small amount of fat on Dazai's ass, gripping into it with a firm hand. Part of him couldn't wait to see it red and pink. Not bruised- not yet, but just enough to be a bit sensitive. Dazai was already swaying into the touch mindlessly.

"Tell me how much force is good and we'll keep going, okay?" Chuuya asked gently. Dazai just hummed in understanding- which, normally, would've been fine, but with the kind of play they were getting into he'd need more than that. "Need you to use your words, baby." He punctuated his request with a pinch to the meat of his ass.

"Yes."Dazai hissed out at the pricking sensation.

"Good boy." That earned him a shuddering little noise of pleasure. "Tell me as soon as it's too much and I'll stay under that."

They'd talked about spanking a bit more in-depth beforehand, when Dazai got too grabby and Chuuya decided to tie him up. While Dazai was clearly apprehensive, he agreed to try it. Chuuya made a note to go easy on him- easier than he would even on someone doing this for the first time. Dazai reacted well to getting hit before- a hit that hadn't bruised, actually- but who could really predict his reaction on any given day? His positive reaction to having his bandages removed was a good indicator that it'd be fine, but trying to guess Dazai's responses to anything never really worked out in his favor.

Chuuya dug his fingers in once as a quick warning. Then, pulling his hand back, he lightly swatted Dazai's ass once. Maybe a bit too light, considering the build up to it.

"Nh-Chuuya,"Dazai complained. "I'm not made of glass, so- ah!"

Chuuya hit him harder, an open-palmed smack that created a small sound upon impact. He waited a moment to give Dazai a chance to tell him to stop if he needed to. It was unnecessary, apparently, as Dazai rocked back into his hand needily. So Chuuya did it again, a little harder, and again, harder,more,until-

"Mn! Ch-Chuuya-?" Dazai sounded confused more than pained, and didn’t even tell him to stop, but Chuuya obliged immediately, pulling his hands away without another thought. He went to check in, but Dazai whined in disgruntlement. "Don't stop touching me," he urged, swaying back and wiggling his hips invitingly.

“I won't," Chuuya assured, rubbing his hands over Dazai's skin. His limit wasn’t as light as Chuuya expected; the hit that preceded it was hard enough to make his skin pinken immediately. If he hadn’t said anything just then, Chuuya probably would’ve stopped after another hit or two. "I won't hit you harder than that, alright? You're okay. Thank you for telling me." He paused, taking a second to let that sink in and for Dazai to clear his head. "Do you want to keep going?"

"Yes!" Dazai said immediately, his hands shuffling together in the bind of black silk. "Don't stop, I'm-"

Huh.

Chuuya, a little curious now, reached his hand around Dazai to touch his neglected co*ck and found it so hard it seemed painful. He was positivelydrippingwith impatience."Baby,"fell from his lips without a second's thought. He felt lightheaded and dizzy with the need to rail Dazai already. "You liked it that much?"

Dazai shuddered, telling not saying anything or even shaking or nodding his head. Chuuya had planned for Dazai's first org*sm of the night to be with fingers in his ass, but he reconsidered. If Dazai was getting so worked up over a few slaps, he was probably way too oversensitive to find Chuuya’s other plans properly pleasurable. An org*sm would take the edge off.

“I’Il take care of you," he promised, closing his fingers around Dazai's co*ck and grinning at the loud moan it elicited. It hardly took any touch at all to get Dazai there. Within seconds of having a hand on his dick, Dazai spilled over with a desperate cry. "Feeling a little pent up?" Chuuya gently mocked when he noticed just how much Dazai had cummed onto the bedspread.

“Mhn," Dazai moaned in what might have been agreement, shaking through his org*sm. It wasn’t quite the build-up Chuuya usually made him go through, so already he could see the small twist of dissatisfaction in his brow. Well, he supposed that would be the result of getting someone used to being wrung dry every single time they had sex. Even so, Dazai sagged forward a bit, letting the heat of arousal go down. Chuuya reprimanded him for it with a light slap and dragged him back.

“Not yet," he tsked, "I was being nice to you right then, so stay still for a moment."

He leaned away to grab the lube, a co*ck ring, and the dild* he bought just for Dazai- not as big as Chuuya, but curved and rigid with a vibrating feature that he'd be sure to use before f*cking Dazai, then he'd f*ck him with it again and again before he had a chance to come down. Over and over until he either slipped into subspace or begged to stop.

Dazai obediently didn't move- probably finally getting the memo that Chuuya was running the show then and there.

"Relax," Chuuya reminded him, dribbling lube over his fingers. "Red to stop, yellow to slow down, and green if you're good, okay? I'll listen."

Dazai sighed and spread his thighs a little further apart when a slick finger rubbed over his entrance, tracing the puckered muscle lightly.

Chuuya had had the thought before a hundred times, but it would never stop hitting him just how pretty Dazai was. Even on his knees with his back bare and revealing every bullet wound, slash, and… and whip mark that had scarred his pale complexion, cruel remnants of his past that Chuuya wished he could tear away with every scrape of his nails and soft rubbing, he was still so devastatingly handsome. His face, his eyes, his smile, his laugh (as ugly as Chuuya claimed it to be), his tears- he was, both objectively and not, an incredibly attractive person. The only flaw any passerby could potentially pick out would be his eye bags, chronic and dark. Even then….

Chuuya's eye twitched. How the hell did that dumb mackerel make something like eyebags look good?

Dazai's head turned questioningly, so Chuuya slipped the first finger in. They hadn't f*cked in a few days, so even with his interest in moving things along he couldn't skip to two without making Dazai uncomfortable. He leaned over and mouthed over his skin, pressing kisses down the harsh protrusion of his spine.

He'd gained a bit of weight since they were on that plane heading to Russia, but every pound was precious for someone as thin as him. Dazai deserved to have his body worshiped, every bit of fat he'd put on lavished over properly. Dazai trembled under his touch. Chuuya had noticed before, but no matter how often he did this, running his lips over each scar and tonguing at the divots in his spine, Dazai seemed so unused to physical affection.

….he really did do this often.

How the f*ck did he not realize his f-feelingsbefore? He’d never tried so hard with any of his other hookups, and even if they were some kind of friends when Chuuya first pinned Dazai onto his sheets, this was definitely more affection than their arrangement called for.

(Did Dazai think they were just f*ckbuddies?)

As Dazai started rocking back into the finger, Chuuya got the hint and pulled out, circling his hole with two fingers instead, slowly working both of them in. Dazai took it well after reflexively tightening around his fingers. When Chuuya pressed his lips into another bullet-shaped scar a little more firmly, he relaxed well enough for Chuuya to start scissoring them. It wouldn’t long after a third finger for Dazai to be ready for the dild*, so he tapped Dazai’s hand.

“Hm?” He hummed.

Chuuya reached back for the dild* and held it up for his perusal as he carefully avoided Dazai’s prostate. Overstimulating him now would cause the impact the dild* would make to be way less shocking. And even before having it inside of him, Dazai’s reaction was delicious. His eyelids fluttered in surprise and his mouth parted the slightest bit.

“I….”

“I can just f*ck you, if you want,” Chuuya assured him. “If this isn’t something you want, we can do something else.” And then, with a twist of his fingers that got close enough to his prostate that Dazai groaned, “You’re so f*cking sensitive I can get you to cum on anything, anyway,” he smirked, his voice dripping with molten-hot egotism. If Dazai seemed genuinely upset or distressed over something, Chuuya had no qualms over stopping, but for now he wanted to maintain the air of power he'd crafted.

The power that Dazai had never denied him in an intimate setting. He just seemed so happy getting f*cked out of his mind that Chuuya, especially after sitting on his co*ck, didn't think Dazai would everwantthe reigns to rail him. He was so perfectly submissive that the thought of him trying to take control seemed pitiful; imagined that even if he were balls-deep in Chuuya he'd roll over any minute if he told him to.

That was just fine with Chuuya. He liked having control. He liked making Dazai feel so numb with pleasure that the only thought in his mind was Chuuya's name and anticipation for the next org*sm. He liked wringing Dazai dry until he was so drunk on endorphins that he needed to be carried. It really was too perfect that Dazai liked being on the receiving end of all of it.

“Ngh- it's fine,” Dazai moaned when Chuuya's fingers scissored apart again, never stopping his steady pace and adding a third a moment later. “Just a- just a dild*, so s’whatever.”

He pumped his fingers a few more times and took them out. “Okay,” he pressed one more kiss to his spine, glad that Dazai was facing away from him and couldn't see the smirk on his face. Dazai was saying that now, but he wouldn't be saying that once Chuuya turned it on. It was heavier than he originally thought it'd be, too, so it would definitely press into his prostate the entire time.

Chuuya slathered the silicone toy with lube, then pressed the weight to his hole and gently eased it in, keeping a hand on it to help with the weight and keep Dazai from guessing just how heavy it would feel once it was inside of him, pressing in deliciously. Still, Dazai was squirming around it. The initial intrusion was probably weird; weirder than his co*ck or the butt plug.

“You could’ve warmed it up a bit,” Dazai complained.

Chuuya smacked his ass, making Dazai fall forward with it, the sensation likely feeling a lot different with something inside of him and it showed in the fluttering of his stretched hole. Because he’d fallen forward with the toy more than halfway in, Chuuya lost his hold on it and it sank into the base.

“Hah-Chu- ah, mmph- it-” Dazai moaned loudly, the weight of it settling into his prostate and staying there, applying a constant pressure that pulsated with his every movement.

Well, he’d hoped to take his time with how little stretching there had been, but this worked just as well.

“Feel good, baby?” Chuuya murmured teasingly, tapping the base just to make it jostle inside of him. Dazai moaned. “Feels like a lot, huh?”

It definitely would, considering Chuuya had hardly spent any time f*cking him open on three fingers. Dazai hummed nonsensically, a weird stutter in pitch. A glance between his legs confirmed he was hard again.

“Gonna move it now,” he warned, holding onto the base again. Dazai whimpered. “Can you give me your color?”

“Just-”smack.“Green!” He yelled out, whatever he was going to say in response dying on the tip of his tongue with the hit. “God, Chuuya, green, I- please-!”

Chuuya obliged, not bothering to wait for Dazai to sort out his thoughts long enough to come up with a response. With a sharp tug, he pulled the toy out halfway and let go, letting it sink back into his ass. It wasn’t fast or satisfying, but Dazai seemed happy just to have the motion of being f*cked, because he let out a little moan anyway.

“That’s it, mackerel,” he praised him, just to feel the way Dazai shuddered around the toy with his hand on it. “You’re taking it so good, yeah?”

“Chuuya,” he said, catching his attention, but Dazai didn't seem like he had anything to say beyond that, so he hummed in acknowledgment and picked up the pace, thrusting the toy in and out, grinding it down further into his prostate to hear his desperate sounds escape him as he was f*cked by a dild*. “Hm- mmh… hah!”

Chuuya could see the way Dazai had gotten worked up from the quick grind of the toy f*cking in and out of his hole. He was probably getting close to halfway, or maybe even a bit more than halfway there from how he was rocking back into the pleasure. He was probably ready for another level of sensation to make him cum. He reached back to grab for the remote and took a second to feel a small amount of almost guilt for not warning Dazai beforehand. Only a second though, because in the next moment he was dialing it up to three.

Dazai shrieked in pleasure, twisting and pulling away in surprise. “What- Chu- hah- I- I-” He cut himself off with a moan when Chuuya didn’t give him a moment to process, gripping the toy and picking up the pace again. “Chuuya- a-ah-!”

“Doing so well, darling,” Chuuya spoke, leaning down to kiss his back again while he adjusted his grip into a quick, deep grind against his prostate, overstimulation at its finest. It paid off when Dazai choked on a sharp little cry that morphed into a long, drawn-out moan. “Gonna cum for me again?”

“I- I’m- ngh- hah-” Dazai tried to speak, but the assault of vibrations and pressure left him overcome with pleasure so sharp and intense that Chuuya could already see him dripping onto the duvet.

He clicked the vibrator up to a five and watched his body seize as he spilled over in an instant, cumming onto the blankets with a gasp.

“Chuuya-!Chuuya, Chuuya, hngh~”He twisted and moaned, shifting away as Chuuya neglected to turn off the vibration, only lowering it to a two. “I’m- I-”

With a firm grip, he pulled Dazai back from where he’d shifted away enough to pull off the vibrator a bit, making him f*ck himself back into the dild*. He cried out.

“I already came!”

Chuuya let out a dark little laugh, because Dazai wasn’t dumb no matter how he acted like it. “You know what we’re doing today, right? I don’t care how many times you cum; you’re gonna do it again, and again, andagain.”

Dazai just whined and, after a minute, relaxed a little bit into the vibrations again, but he couldn’t hide the way his legs trembled and arms shook. It made Chuuya’s plan to f*ck him right after feel a bit…rushed,now. The dild* had ten levels, and Dazai had only cum on five. It would feel like a waste not to at least let him get a bit more of a taste of what he’d be cumming on after he got f*cked, and eaten out, and maybe f*cked again….

He reached around and started jacking off his mostly-soft co*ck. Dazai spasmed violently. Usually, if Chuuya made him deal with more pleasure after already cumming, it was by toying with his prostate, not jacking off his co*ck and rubbing his finger into the sensitive spot just under the head.

“Chuuya!Chuuya, please, don’t, I… hn-I-”

“You know what you have to say if you really want to stop, mackerel,” Chuuya reminded him, tapping the vibrator back up to a five to feel him jerk and shake and his co*ck twitch pathetically in an effort to get hard again in his grip.

Dazai buried his head down into their stupidly expensive sheets to muffle the way he cried out even louder than before, but tellingly didn’t say a word or ask to slow down. He didn’t expect him to use the stoplight system just yet, but it was a real possibility later, once he pushed him past substantial ejacul*tion and didn’t stop after four, five, six org*sms in a row even when he failed to get hard in his hand. His co*ck was still getting harder, close to being full again in his grip, so Chuuya started to f*ck him with the vibrator in tandem with his hand still working on his co*ck.

Chuuya would’ve tapped out at that point, or at the very least been screaming ‘yellow’ until his throat hurt. He could cum a few times in a row, but nothing like Dazai, who handled consecutive org*sms like a champ.

It was a bit quick and choppy, but Chuuya decided he needed Dazai to cum again,now,so that he could f*ck him properly. Dazai seemed pretty tense, though…. He gently let the vibrator sink back in for a moment and, keeping his pace on his co*ck the same, rubbed his hands over Dazai’s scars. The white lines, ridges, burn marks, bony protrusions; he worked his fingers into the muscle and pressed down, making Dazai lower himself down onto his chest forcefully. Chuuya massaged into every tensed-up knot he could feel in his back until he was moaning in relief and in pleasure from the hand on his dick.

And then Chuuya turned the vibe up to a seven.

Dazai shook tremendously as he cried out with loud moans and cries that got loud, louder, even louder when Chuuya grabbed the dild* and started f*cking him with it again, matching pace with his hand working over his co*ck until Dazai was panting and moaning with every exhale until his spine bowed, bowed, again- and he cummed, for the third time that night, with Chuuya’s name on his lips, muffled into the pillow.

Hethrashedwhen the vibrations didn’t stop, and neither did Chuuya’s hand, even when he was no longer actively org*sming. The scream that he let go into the pillow sounded like it was teetering on the edge of too much in a bad way, so Chuuya shushed him and turned off the vibrator, letting go of his co*ck.

“There we go,” Chuuya hummed, running his hand up and down Dazai’s back soothingly as he maneuvered his massage-limp body to lay on his back and, recognizing that Dazai wasn't in a bratty enough headspace to cause problems, untied his hands and threw the tie somewhere else in the room. When he turned back, his eyes were closed and his body was shaking. “Hey,” he murmured, leaning up for a kiss that Dazai tiredly responded to, always so lazy after an org*sm. He sighed in satisfaction, but Chuuya pulled away and waited for those eyes to peek open curiously. “We’re not done yet.”

Dazai shivered, but he seemed pretty dazed after three org*sms, a bit too hazy to respond one way or the other, but he did lean up again for another kiss that he used to catch Chuuya’s bottom lip between his teeth and tug lightly.

Cheeky bastard,Chuuya groaned internally when his dick throbbed in response.

He was f*cked loose with the dild* just enough that while Chuuya would be a bit of a stretch, it wouldn’t be much more than usual after a long fingering session with three fingers. He pulled away for a minute to shed his clothes, groaning in relief once he took his pants off and stripped away his underwear.

Chuuya breathed in a long, settling breath and tried to ignore how good his hand felt on his co*ck already as he stroked himself once, twice, three times to get the edge off. He tapped Dazai’s thighs.

“Spread them for me, beautiful,” he encouraged him, the pink blush on Dazai’s face deepening like it almost always did with that particular compliment.

Nonetheless, he obediently opened his legs without another thought, seemingly f*cked stupid enough not to care for the position he once complained about being embarrassing. When Chuuya’s hands went to palm over his chest and stomach, he arched his back into the touch with a soft moan that accompanied his sigh. The bow of Dazai's spine was absolute perfection, a beautiful curve that begged for attention.

He was listening to Chuuya's every word now, a wholly conscious decision judging by the submissive but present glint in his irises. He'd given in, submitted to Chuuya's hands, and by the heavy stare Dazai weighed into him with, he was daring him to break that trust, to prove him right and shatter him for anyone else.

And Chuuya wanted to. He wanted to make Dazai his, wholly and undeniably. But he wouldn’t do it by betraying him.

Chuuya really did like(love,he supposed with a tired, self-deprecating internal laugh at himself for the cosmic irony that was falling in love with Dazai Osamu) his bare skin. Dazai kept it hidden for reasons he knew didn’t end at the scars littering his body; whether it was self-hatred, dysmorphia, or any number of psychological inflictions set upon him by a too-dark life, the insistence that his blood ran mafia black (he’d only heard Dazai refer to himself like that once, when he was drugged up on too-many pills and medicines from a failed overdose that Chuuya stayed with him through).

It felt special in a way that Chuuya shouldn’t let his heart believe, that he was the only one who got to see Dazaiwillinglyundress every layer that tightly bound him together.

It takes a diamond to polish a diamond after all,Chuuya thought with reluctant amusem*nt. Dazai was shining brilliantly like this.

He dribbled lube over his co*ck and lined himself up, pressing teasingly against Dazai's hole. Despite having had three org*sms, he was whining for it, pushing back as his co*ck managed to twitch with hardness. Chuuya reached down to stroke him in his still-slick fist. Dazai jolted violently, his thighs trying to twitch closed as he let out a wail from the oversensitivity, but with Chuuya in between his legs, all he managed to do was get the head of Chuuya's co*ck to slip into him. He hissed at the tight sensation, gripping him with deliciously wet pressure while Dazai bucked into it. Chuuya stroked him while he pushed in, groaning at the way Dazai squeezed him- which would be fine, normally, but he clearly underestimated how much stretch there would be even after being f*cked with the dild*, because Dazai was wincing a bit even as he moaned.

He reached up with his other hand and tapped at Dazai's fingers curled into the sheets. Dazai's eyes fluttered open and, with a quick, steadying breath, uncurled his fingers and intertwined them with Chuuya's.

Oh,Chuuya lost his breath. Dazai was an absolutevision.Those wine-brown eyes sparkling, his face flushed, his body littered with bites and hickeys…. Gods, he wasbeautiful.And the best part, he was-

“All mine,” Chuuya murmured softly, softly enough that he hardly would’ve known he said anything at all if not for the way Dazai’s breath hitched and his eyes glazed over with something distinctly pleasured and soft. He brushed away the embarrassment- because even if it was embarrassing, it wastrue-and drew their intertwined fingers to his lips. Making purposeful eye contact, Chuuya kissed his knuckles as he bottomed out.

Whether or not Dazai felt the same, they weremarried.No one else could have him on any level past superficial as long as they had the papers. Maybe Dazai would never fall in love with Chuuya (he winced internally, his heart aching unexpectedly at the thought), but Chuuya had a way to tie him to his side. No one would ever satisfy him, hold him, or take care of him like Chuuya.

Forget Dazai trying to leave- if Chuuya had his way, he’d never evenwantto.

(If he left, Chuuya didn’t know how he would handle it. They were in anothercountry,unable to go back to their homeland for the foreseeable future, and the only thing keeping him tethered was having his mackerel there with him. If he left too…. well, Chuuya would have no qualms over killing him and destroying Paris, ending himself in the process.)

Dazai was fully hard and choking on air when he pulled out and f*cked back into him quickly. It would probably end up being the last time he’d get fully hard for the night; with more org*sms, it would stop being about the ejacul*tion and more about the crest of sensation and pleasure. He was impressed Dazai managed to get fully hard after three org*sms, but he also knew that his mackerel didn’t masturbat* often and they hadn’t had sex in a week, so it wasn’t exactly surprising.

He worked his hand over Dazai’s co*ck faster. It was definitely way too much pleasure, and it showed in the way he squirmed ceaselessly like he could barely control his body. He didn’t have to control it for tonight, Chuuya smirked a little bit, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips as he worked his hips in and felt the knot of pleasure tighten a bit more inside of him.

Dazai tried to kiss back, he really did, but when his lips parted in panting moans, Chuuya answered in kind,“f*ck,mackerel.”

“Mnh,”he responded in some vague agreement to Chuuya’s pleasure.

Chuuya moved down his neck, nipping and sucking hickeys into his neck while he f*cked into him. He trailed down, leaving marks across his chest before latching on to a nipple and sucking. Dazai’s body jolted and he let out another moan, and with them so pressed together, Chuuya felt his co*ck brush against his stomach, smearing precum across his abs while he jerked him off quickly.

With every thrust, he burned just a little bit hotter, and when Dazai opened his mouth on a wail, he didn’t give him a chance to beg for more. Dazai’s legs wrapped around his hips weakly, his ankles digging into his back with his increased pace, and Chuuya just snapped his hips harder, quicker, not pulling out more than halfway as he worked into him.

Finally, like he was possessed by the moment, Dazai’s other arm came around to loop around Chuuya’s back, the blunt of his nails managing to skitter down his spine and leaving a trail of slightly-aching marks. He noticed a small moment where Dazai seemed to realize he’d just tried to scratch the sh*t out of Chuuya, but he didn’t let the thought persist, leaning down for another hot, nipping kiss.

f*ck, he’d had the thought before that he wanted Dazai to lose control like that, legs twitching and aching for and from pleasure that he finally put some real marks on Chuuya’s body, but the real thing was so much better than he thought. It was a claim, a reminder, a substantial mark left behind and the sting of it drove him closer to org*sm.

“Gods, Osamu-”he groaned out, hardly hearing what he was saying and definitely not lucid enough in his pleasure to realize it in that moment.

(But he would, eventually, and the events that followed because he’d used Dazai’s given name would give him a bit too much to think about for his own good.)

The knot was tightening to an unbearable degree, but that was fine, because in the next two thrusts Dazai’s spine was arching out of nowhere like his org*sm had caught him by surprise, a loud wail that drowned out his own inner dialogue. He clenched down hard enough to make Chuuya hiss as he filled suit right after, shallowing working them both through it and lightening his grip on Dazai’s co*ck.

It was only when he pulled out a bit too quickly in the aftermath of his org*sm, not giving himself time to bask in the afterglow in his efforts to make Dazai slip into subspace that he noticed Dazai staring upwards, pupils blown out and glazed over and-

Oh.

Oh f*ck, that was-

Chuuya carefully pulled his fingers out of Dazai’s loosened grip and examined him. Psychological subspace could be nervewracking for people first going into it, but- he rubbed his hand up and down Dazai’s torso, eliciting the softest, most content and melting sigh he’d ever heard from his mackerel- Dazai’s seemed pretty euphoric all things considered.

His breath had been pretty quick and deep, but it was approaching something more regulated as a minute went by. Dazai’s eyes blinked so slow and the little smile that edged his lips once he turned to look at Chuuya was so giddy and soft that he would’ve mistaken him for being drunk if he didn’t know better.

But Dazaiwasdrunk, Chuuya snickered once he calmed down, at least, on endorphins.

“Hey beautiful,” Chuuya gently called to him, watching in real time as Dazai’s expression brightened in a daze, so open and free with his reactions that it took his breath away. “Few more minutes and we’ll be done, okay?” His feet shuffled against the sheets and nothing else, but that was about as much as Chuuya expected from him.

He wouldn’t hit Dazai right now, or even f*ck him again- honestly, he thought they would be going at this for a while longer before Dazai even approached subspace- but he didn’t think eating him out would make Dazai upset. It’d make the cleanup easier once he let Dazai come down.

Subspace was supposed to take someone out of their head, and from the looks of it, it’d done the job more than well enough. Chuuya figured that this was one of the first times ever that Dazai had been so completely detached, so he’d let him enjoy it. Apparently continuing play was normal during subspace, but it was all about getting Dazai out of his head, not a bdsm scene.

“Can you spread your legs for me?” He asked, rubbing his left thigh. Dazai obediently shuffled them apart without another thought, his eyes locking onto Chuuya with something akin to wonder and… and something that felt like worship but definitely couldn’t be.

Chuuya put Dazai’s legs over his shoulders and pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh, getting a soft little laugh and moan. Dazai’s dick wasn’t likely to get hard, but again, that wasn’t really the point. It was about feeling good and letting him float.

He ate him out methodically, tonguing the rim gently and working it inside. Dazai was letting out soft sounds, but the slightly louder reactions came from Chuuya just touching him, sexually or not, on his stomach, his chest, and his hips… he just seemed happy to have physical contact.

Chuuya sucked on his rim once, twice, three times just to feel him squirm and finished cleaning him, feeling his hole relax with every thrust of his tongue. He was relaxing into it beautifully, letting Chuuya do whatever he liked.

“Mmh, so good for me, huh, mackerel,” Chuuya murmured, pulling away from his hole and laying down beside him to pull him in. Dazai went easily, a little hum of acknowledgment leaving his throat as he curled in, letting his head of fluffy curls rest on Chuuya’s shoulder. He ran his hand up and down his back, tracing over scars and just taking a moment to enjoy the moment. Dazai was so pliant like this, so easy and happy to be owned, like a dog. Maybe he should get him a collar to match if they were going to keep doing this-

.

Huh.

He’d been thinking about it jokingly, but…. well, that was a thought to explore later. Dazai, with a pretty leather collar withmackerelstitched into it, along with Chuuya’s name on the tags right next to Dazai’s.

As he worked his hand over Dazai’s back, he noticed him slowly coming back to some semblance of awareness. It showed in his movements, a little faster, a little more coordinated. It didn’t last for long, as the longer he stayed pressed into Chuuya’s shoulder, the slower his breathing became, until he slumped that tiniest bit into him and….

And he fell asleep.

It took Chuuya a second to notice, but when he did he felt grateful for his past self making them shower beforehand, along with a healthy amount of exasperation towards his mackerel’s post-sex laziness. He reached over to their nightstand for one of their soft handtowels and worked it over his sleeping form.

There was definitely some things to unpack about tonight, but Chuuya didn’t feel the need to think about any of it until later. It was only nine in the evening, but he felt exhausted. He had one last damning thought before he drifted off to sleep after turning off the lamp, getting them under the blankets, tossing the spare one to the floor, and pulling Dazai even closer.

‘Did I really call him by his given name?’

Dazai sleeps like the dead when the room is completely dark.

Chuuya didn’t realize that (well, he sort of did when they first slept together, but Dazai was still on-guard on mafia territory so it wasn’t anything close to this), so when he woke up to Dazai lying nearly completely still, face entirely slack and his limbs heavy and grounded, he might have panicked just a little bit.

“Dazai?” Chuuya murmured, a little bit of concern churning in his gut. Dazai didn’t answer- didn’t even twitch. “Mackerel?” He sat up a little more and shook him, but still Dazai didn’t stir. He reached over and put his finger under Dazai’s nose and- he sighed.

Okay, still breathing, just… sleeping very deeply.

Dazai had obviously managed to sleep with Chuuya a few times even without the blackout curtains, but nothing like this. He looked so…relaxed.To the point of looking like a corpse if it weren’t for the slight up and down of his back with his breathing, which Chuuya noticed now that his eyes were adjusted to the darkness.

It was barely five in the morning, so he closed his eyes to try to go back to sleep, but found that the momentary panic had woken him up more than intended. He sighed, looking over at Dazai’s peacefully sleeping face, so warm and relaxed with trust, and briefly considered pulling him back over to sleep on top of Chuuya like a weighted blanket. That never failed to put him to sleep, but… no, he wouldn’t. Dazai needed the rest, and if he accidentally woke him up he wouldn’t manage to fall asleep again.

He might as well get on with his day if he wasn’t going back to sleep. It was a Sunday morning, he had no work, and there was a perfectly good couch to scroll through twitter on. In an hour or two he’d go for a run, shower in the guest room, and make breakfast to wake Dazai up with. His campaign to prevent Dazai from starving was going relatively well.

Chuuya pulled himself out of bed slowly, being as quiet as he could manage. He sighed when he stepped onto a dried stickiness in the blanket he tossed off the bed the night before.

f*ck.

He grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and wiped his foot with it, then grabbed the blanket and headed out of their room, shutting the door softly. Chuuya dumped it into the washer, then with another look down at himself, still naked and… not exactly as wiped down as he’d done for Dazai, decided that he needed a showernow.

They had some clothes in the dryer, so Chuuya just grabbed a pair of boxers, aScooby-Doot-shirt that was definitely Dazai’s judging by the length, and a pair of his own shorts and went to take a shower in the guest bathroom. It didn’t have all of the products he preferred in there, but it had body wash and a scrunchie he left on the counter so he wouldn’t complain. They kept generally the same scent of orange in both bathrooms for hair, but whereas Chuuya preferred lemon body wash Dazai was partial to vanilla. The body wash they kept in the guest bathroom just so happened to also be vanilla.

Whatever, Chuuya shrugged as he cleaned himself, only rinsing his hair and tying it up in a wet, messy bun once he stepped out and moisturized his face. He was walking out of the bedroom when he caught, in the reflection of the mirror next to the door, the TV mount.

He swallowed.

Whether or not Dazai felt the same, they weremarried.No one else could have him on any level past superficial as long as they had the papers. Maybe Dazai would never fall in love with Chuuya (he winced internally, his heart aching unexpectedly at the thought), but Chuuya had a way to tie him to his side. No one would ever satisfy him, hold him, take care of him like Chuuya.

Forget Dazai trying to leave- if Chuuya had his way, he’d never evenwantto.

Right. He did think that.

He couldn’t help himself, pulling the box down and opening it after a cursory glance at the door and a moment where he waited to hear for footsteps. Looking at the rings, he felt his heart beat faster and faster, and, like a wind change, or a small turn of a page, he reconsidered only having Dazai in just a legal sense.

When a smile graced his lips at the thought of Dazai’s ring finger adorned with a ruby band, he realized, a little light-headed, that maybe he’d never wanted ‘just’ anything.

From the first time using corruption, to their first time, to his unknowing defection, to buying the rings in the first place, Chuuya had been subconsciously deferring to the catastrophic disaster that was Dazai Osamu. The Demon Prodigy. His partner. His mackerel.

….

Osamu.

(He really wanted a wedding.)

Chuuya went for a run, made breakfast, and woke Dazai up. They went about their day as normal, watching a show, going for a walk, making lunch and….

And the entire time, all Chuuya could think about was what it would be like if he got down on one knee.

Chapter 6: devoted miscalculations (part one)

Chapter Text

Yokohama, Japan

January 3

5:51 a.m.

Present [one year, ten months prior]

“f*ck,” Chuuya muttered, keeping his pace steady and even while he walked through mafia headquarters.

He was supposed to deliver his report after his latest discovery with the black market he was running with precious gemstones- another instance of a benefactor siphoning money from one of their sources to do with a drug den that worked in tandem with them. Piano Man and Albatross had sent him along- there wasn’t really anything left to do except report his findings and wait for the orders to either handle it with the Flags or foister the job onto Dazai- who would inevitably drag Chuuya out with him. Mori would insist on it regardless, since he’d unfortunately gotten good at dragging that f*cking idiot out of rivers. Only the gods knew how that asshole was anexecutive.

Chuuya knew exactly what he was supposed to be doing, but like with almost everything mafia-related, Dazai threw a wrench into his plans. They were both sixteen, but Dazai acted like he was five years old sometimes, getting himself hurt. Chuuya shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t even bother going to see him, since that idiot would find something to make fun of him about even with a tube stuck down his throat to keep him alive.

“Boss,” Chuuya greeted with a respectful bow, removing his hat in front of Mori, who’d just exited the mafia clinic.

(Maybe the reason he went to see him was because, for once, Dazai wasn’t stuck there because of his own actions. Maybe it was because someone got the jump on him. Maybe it was because he’d heard Dazai had been sent out,alone.Maybe it was because he knew the only reason Dazai really went on solo missions nowadays was when Chuuya was off doing his own sh*t. Maybe he felt a little bit responsible.

He hated hospital equipment, but he hated the thick, heavy lump of misplaced guilt just a little bit more. For now.)

“Ah, Chuuya-kun,” Mori said, sounding hardly surprised. His white coat stood out a bit oddly to Chuuya, who was used to seeing him in almost all black from head to toe. He would’ve nearly passed as a doctor if it weren’t for the bloodstain on the pocket of it. “Rise.”

Chuuya straightened himself out. “Is the mac- is Dazai in there?” He asked, cutting off his usual nickname. He’d gained some sense of professionalism during his time in the mafia, after all. Mostly after endless etiquette lessons with Kouyou.

Mori’s face flickered, but he nodded. “Yes, he is. I’m afraid Dazai-kun is on quite a lot of painkillers at the moment. He was on a solo mission and it went quite poorly.”

The brief tone of disappointment made some amount of sense to Chuuya. Missions didn’t tend to go poorly for Dazai unless he wanted them to- whether to contribute to a larger, more headache-inducing plan or to get himself a painless suicide. Both options weren’t exactly always favorable for the mafia. “I understand.”

“You will be accompanying him in three days’ time to handle another mission,” Mori spoke evenly, stepping away from the door to allow Chuuya to pass. “I trust you will not disappoint me.”

I trust that you will keep him alive,Chuuya heard the unspoken message behind the words. Dazai’s importance to the mafia had been made crystal clear since day one and it still didn’t make a lot of sense to him. He wasn’t an invalid by far, but he wasn’t the best physical fighter. He wasn’t necessarily the smartest, or at least Chuuya assumed, since the boss was apparently some kind of genius.

(He wouldn’t find out until a few months later over casual conversation that Dazai’s IQ was over 215 and, in fact, higher than Mori’s, and was therefore technically smarter than him and considered something of a super-genius. His exact IQ wasn’t known, because he’d supposedly gotten bored with the test towards the end of it.

He wouldn’t know until years later that there was one person alive that topped his mackerel’s intelligence.)

Chuuya just nodded. “Of course, boss.” And that was the end of it, Mori strolling away from the clinic and Chuuya feeling a lot less anxious about Dazai’s condition. Three days meant that Dazai wasn’t nearly as hurt as he’d first assumed.

He was wrong.

Walking into the clinic after that conversation nearly completely blindsided him. Dazai was hooked up to several IVs and tubing, a heart monitor going off beside him and his eyes open but unseeing, staring straight up into the ceiling with a strange distance to them. The amount of needles caught Chuuya’s eye and had him taking in a settling breath. He was swathed in a white shirt and pants, both loose and exposing the thick layers of bandages that convered him from head to toe. It seemed in character for him, but the way the layers seemed so bulky was not. His neck was encased in some kind of thin brace, and his waist was cinched by another one, leaving the impression that there probably weren’t bandages there. His hair, dark and imposing, floofed out around him like a stain spilling over the white.

Dazai lookedsmallthere in a way that he shouldn’t, a jarring juxtaposition between the dark of his blown out pupil and hair and the imposing whiteness of his bandaged eye, body, and stark white sheets.

“How the f*ck are you supposed to go on a mission in a few days?” was the first thing to slip out of Chuuya’s mouth, disguising his horror at the fragility splayed on the white bed with anger.

It shouldn’t have worked, Dazai should’ve seen through him immediately, but somehow it did. “Huh?” Dazai let slip from his pale, cracked lips, only his eye sliding over to Chuuya, who walked over to sit on the elevated chair next to the bed, putting his knees at the bed’s height. His voice was roughed up to all hell, a grating rasp that pulled a wheeze from his throat at the end of it.

He poked at the brace on Dazai’s torso, eliciting a full-body shiver that was interspersed with a delayed twitch away from the touch. Chuuya’s lip curled. “Whaddya mean ‘huh’? Did you break your back or something? The hell was that mission?”

And why didn’t you call me?

Chuuya didn’t particularly like Dazai, but he was always an insufferable asshole when he got sick or injured while on a mission- case in point the broken arm when they first met. He’d deserved it- but Chuuya didnotdeserve having to deal with the annoying numbness of his voice as he whined about it with that blank eye the entire time it took for it to heal. Or the weird little side-eyes the boss gave him whenever the injury was brought up for damaging his ‘demon prodigy’, though he spotted a larger amount of satisfaction in that unnerving gaze. The boss wasn’t too bad all things considered, but he wasweirdabout Dazai.

It was better if Dazai just called him than to let himself get hurt over some mission he and his every-vitamin deficient body couldn’t handle. It was probably the main reason he got hurt so bad half the time.

(As soon as Dazai told him who was responsible, whether it was the mission’s objective or mafia personnel, he would kill them without mercy. Chuuya had a reputation to uphold as the noodle-armed mackerel executive’s partner and to let one thing slide would be sending a message about their partnership. He was a good f*cking partner regardless of who he had to put up with.)

Dazai’s eye fluttered dizzily. “...mmh… wha’ miss’n?”

Chuuya scowled at him with a suspicious poke at his face this time, watching with vague amusem*nt as Dazai slowly lifted his hand to bat away the finger, the movement so slow and uncoordinated that Chuuya didn’t even have to dodge with how badly he missed.

“...gods f*cking- the hell does he have you on?” He huffed out, equal parts amused and- well- maybe a bit weirded out. Dazai usually at least dressed nice- not that Chuuyanoticed-even if he had a sh*t personality, so the pajama-like hospital clothing was definitely weird to see him in. “The mission you just went on, idiot. C’mon, is it classified or something? Just tell me- probably’s got something to do with what we’re doing in a few days anyway.”

“Chu….” Dazai took a second to take in a quick, gasping breath like he’d forgotten to breathe for all of two seconds. “D’int have… a miss’n?” His voice seemed to be getting more hoarse as they went on talking.

Huh. Chuuya frowned at him. “Yeah, you did. How else did you break your f*cking back?” He swallowed a little nervous lump in his throat at just how lost Dazai seemed, more out of his head, panicked, and dazed than he’d ever seen him. He’d either forgotten the whole thing with how drugged up he was or he was faking it to get on Chuuya’s nerves and his injuries only made him fall for it more willingly. Still- “does he have you on too much of this sh*t?” Chuuya poked at the bags from the IV stand, shivering a little at the tubing and trying not to think about it while he read the labels.

He had him on fentanylandmorphine. And it…. it seemed like a high dosage for both. Wasn’t that, like, bad? Mixing opioids- opioids?- was probably not a good idea, and with the way Dazai looked…. Chuuya swallowed again. “What’s the damage, anyway? You f*ck up your back and throat?” How bad was it if Mori was drugging him up on both? And how was he supposed to function for a mission in a few days?

Dazai took a second to answer, a long enough one that Chuuya nearly reasked the question, but eventually he made and held searing eye contact with him. “Wasn’t… wasn’t on a miss’n…. been here, Chuuya…” Chuuya tried to find the words to disagree, but Dazai was moving, his hand waving around and disrupting the needle carefully taped to his arm. Chuuya thought he was reaching for him, but his other hand started scrambling at the IV instead.

“Hey!” Chuuya snipped in alarm, quickly pinning his arms down. “Do youwantto f*cking hurt yourself-” He didn’t expect the way Dazai’s broken and battered body jolted at the touch.

“No!”Dazai yelled suddenly, his voice sounding torn, hoarse and rough and painful. “Letgo-”

“The f*ck is wrong with you?!” Chuuya yelled right back, his arms yanking away like he’d been burned by that pleading tone. He felt like he had been, eyes wide and staring at how panicked his stupid partner looked. Dazai’s eye was searching the room and he was coughing and squirming like he couldn’t quite tell where he was. “Okay, you’re definitely on too much,” he decided, deeply unnerved by the scene. “I’m getting Mori and- and I’m doing the mission myself.”

Dazai whined and hacked out something behind him as he sped out of the room, but he didn’t bother listening, intent on never hearing that f*cking noise- thatwoundedsound- coming from the mackerel ever again.

Mori assured him he’d handle it and inspect the dosage, giving vaguely annoyed permission for him to complete the mission himself- stating high consequences for failure. Chuuya let the warning roll off of his back as he went back to his apartment to sleep the rest of the day’s events off- he hadn’t gone to sleep since the night before, and the sun was already coming up on the next day. Chuuya covered himself with the blanket and tried to forget the way Dazai’s one unbandaged eye had looked at him accusingly like he was trying to hurt him by getting help.

.

And then he jolted upwards with a gasp of breath, the intruding darkness digging into him ceaselessly in his apartment. He should’ve stayed with Dazai in the clinic, not gone back to his apartment, he should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to sleep when he had a mission….

A… a mission….

No- wait- Chuuya blinked, reaching over to his left to turn on the lamp, but his hand landed on a lump of blankets and curly hair. He reached for his gun under his pillow reflexively, but there wasn’t a gun there, only a discarded tie.

Dazai. The mafia. Their defection. Russia. France.

Chuuya didn’t sleep on the left side of the bed anymore. That was Dazai’s side. He knew that, rubbing his face with a sigh that felt too weary for eighteen years old (executives didn’tgoon solo missions. Heknewthat, why didn’t he realize something was wrong sooner?). Chuuya reached over to the right this time after petting Dazai’s hair soothingly for two long moments, a gesture to reassure himself more than to keep his partner sleeping. He grabbed his phone and winced at the bright light and the damning time displayed there. It was way too early to justify not going to sleep for real.

It wasn’t a dream, exactly. Chuuya didn’t dream, and he’d been far too conscious of the events to have been dreaming anyway. He hadn’t rested and his brain hadn’t shut off- it felt more like an intense flashback, an insertion into an event in his memories that he remembered intimately well. He’d had trouble sleeping the night before and let his mind wander too deep into his memories. It was a form of meditation Ane-san had taught him that got him as close to dreaming as he could get- it was likely because of that that he’d been thinking about the mafia at all, including all of the hints at what really happened to Dazai behind closed doors that he simply ignored.

He laid back and, after a moment of exhausted contemplation, reached over to tug Dazai’s limp, snoozing body over him. Chuuya shifted him until his weight settled over his chest and he could hear the gentle inhale-exhale of his breath as he slept in the intrusive darkness of their room, away from the mafia and hospital beds and white clothes and IV drips with two sparkling brown eyes.

Chuuya pressed a kiss to dark brown curls and vowed to try to keep it that way as he drifted off to his usual dreamless sleep.

Paris, France

December 7

5:14 p.m.

“Chuuya!”

He jolted his head up in alarm from where he was in the shower, conditioner sitting in his hair, just having got off of work and about to relax and make dinner. Dazai had been out in the living room by himself, without the gun they kept in the closet.

f*ck-

“Dazai?!” He called, scrambling out of the shower without rinsing his hair, dragging on his boxers as he dashed out of the bathroom, concern building when Dazai didn’t answer.

Did the mafia find them? It’d literally been sixmonthsand Dazai seemed confident no one was actively pursuing them anymore. “f*ck, f*ck, sh*t,” his ability lit up around him,Corruptionswirling under his skin in anticipation. He barely touched the doorknob before his ability was slamming their bedroom door open with a bang and he was running into the living room, feet barely touching the floor with the glow ofFor The Tainted Sorrow-

.

Yeah, okay.

“What thef*ckis the problem?!” He yelled at Dazai, who was sitting on the couch just like when he’d walked in, his feet tucked underneath him with a movie running in front of him. No mafia members, no guns, no threats.

Dazai’s face was contorted into painfully fake shock. “Chuuya, I found yourfamily,”he stressed with wide eyes, pointing to the screen. Chuuya’s lip curled. What thef*ckwas he on about?

The titleHarry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stonewas scrawled in decorative letters on the paused screen, but he could see, standing near a train and a boy with stupid looking glasses, a group of…. gingers….

“I’m not cooking for you,” Chuuya said with a glare as he pivoted right back into their bedroom and into the bathroom.

“I’ll pause the movie and order in!” Dazai chirped behind him.

They ate fast food while watching two of the dumb magic movies, Dazai braiding his wet hair passively as Chuuya managed to pass out at the start of the third. It was a Wednesday night and he had work in the morning, so he was somewhat pleasantly surprised to find himself back in their bedroom when he woke up, albeit with a mostly-healed bruise from where Dazai probably bumped him into the door while carrying him in there.

He still appreciated the sentiment. Sort of.

Paris, France

December 12

8:37 a.m.

They got a noise complaint.

Chuuya had been walking to their penthouse door after work on a Tuesday, in a good mood for the most part as he just started on a new project, and just barely processed the small note taped to their door.

Chuuya Nakahara,

Nous avons reçu des plaintes concernant le bruit provenant de votre appartement de la part des Martin dans l'appartement voisin du vôtre. Nous nous excusons s’il y a une erreur de notre part.

Il est important que tous nos locataires jouissent du droit à un environnement calme tel que couvert par le bail signé lors de l’achat. Veuillez garder cela à l’esprit à l’avenir.

Merci d’avance de votre coopération.

(We have received complaints about the noise coming from your apartment from the Martins in the apartment next to yours. We apologize if there is an error on our part.

It is important that all our tenants enjoy the right to a quiet environment as covered by the lease signed at the time of purchase. Please keep this in mind in the future.

Thank you in advance for your cooperation.)

Louis Blanc

Apartment Manager

Dazai was sitting on the couch watchingPowerpuff Girlswhen Chuuya walked in, staring blankly at the screen with an odd expression on his face. He ignored his quietly called greeting and, blank-faced, hung up his hat, pulled off his gloves, stripped off his jacket, and toed off his shoes.

“Chibi?” Dazai tried again, pausing the show as Chuuya walked closer, but he blinked when Chuuya just walked right past him, straight behind the kitchen island.

He opened up his wine cabinet, grabbed a wine glass, and poured a decadent red long enough that it just barely started to spill over his fingers, the letter clutched in his other hand. Dazai had already followed him into the kitchen, dressed down in the nice light gray sweater and sky blue sweatpants Chuuya got him, the neckline showing off the necklace of hickeys he’d sucked into his skin, but he ignored him blatantly in favor of downing the glass in one go, practically chugging it in a way completely uncharacteristic of him. He preferred to savor wines for the most part, but he needed this.

He set the glass down gently. Normally, he’d break it with how pissed off he was, but…

“Did you have a bad day?” Dazai questioned, his eyes jumping to the letter with a greedy gleam in his eyes but a note of genuine concern on his face.

Yeah.

Chuuya took a deep breath and tugged Dazai down for a searing kiss that had his mackerel flailing, cool relief spreading through him with the passive activation ofNo Longer Humansoothing the surge ofCorruptionin his gut and instilling chilled clarity within him. “What- mmph!” He shoved his tongue into his mouth and, with his other hand, pressed into the hickeys still on his neck from the night before- not from sex, though. Sometimes Chuuya just liked to renew the marks. Dazai’s eyes always looked more present whenever he did.

“We’re going to f*ck against that wall,” Chuuya pulled away to practically growl into Dazai’s mouth, keeping him close to temper his ability and co*cking his head towards the wall adjacent to the door. “You’re going to get railed so hard you scream and then we’re going to kill Thomasf*ckingMartin.”

Dazai was pink with his flush, but he didn’t look surprised, his expression more pleased than anything and telling Chuuya that he was fine with the plan. Still, he wouldn't be Dazai without some level of dramatics and he swooned with a wistful sigh and condescending tone. “You know I don’t kill people anymore, Chibi-”

“Then you’re going tostand there and watch me,”Chuuya hissed.

If it were just the noise complaint, Chuuya would be embarrassed more than angry. He would come up with a fun way to keep Dazai a little quieter than normal, but itwasn’tjust the noise complaint. He was the asshole thatdentedChuuya’s motorcycle after recklessly driving, then parked inhisf*cking spot for aweek,and was overall a nuisance to society.

The noise complaint was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Chuuya knew he was in the complex since he played sh*tty f*cking pop whenever he got back and he could hear it ever so faintly, so he’d give him something toreallycomplain about.

Dazai hummed passively, his thumb rubbing over the edge of Chuuya’s jaw. He knew that, despite whatever savior complex he’d dredged up from Oda’s death, Dazai didn’t actually give a sh*t about killing people. He was never and would never be above murder. He’d abstain from it, but it was as simple as breathing to him. Beyond that, he already suspected that his creepy f*cking partner got off on watching Chuuya fight, and he only confirmed it right then as he watched his pupils dilate.

He did appreciate that, at the very least, Dazai didn’t try to preach borrowed morals at him. “I don’t feel like covering up a murder for Chuuya today,” he pouted. “Let’s just ruin his life instead. I’m tired.”

Marry me,he thought desperately, because maybe he was f*cked up too if the thought of Dazai irreversibly ruining someone’s lifejust for himmade his dick twitch.

Outwardly, Chuuya raised his eyebrow. “Then I guess we don’t need to f*ck-” He was cut off, predictably, by Dazai quickly kissing him. He stumbled back, lifted Dazai to wrap his legs around his hips, and grinned into the kiss.

“I’ll get-” Dazai leaned back from the kiss Chuuya pressed into him to interrupt him with a little grin, buzzing with odd, frantic energy. “I’ll get the lube!” And then he was untangling himself and down the hall in the next moment.

Truthfully, Chuuya would later sit down and wonder how it took six months after defecting- seven in January- for them to get their first noise complaint. Chuuya wasn't exactly quiet during sex, but he was nothing compared to when Dazai was cumming after three consecutive org*sms. When they first f*cked, he didn't expect Dazai to be loud, but after six months of f*cking him he'd gotten used to it.

While Dazai grabbed the lube, Chuuya washed his hands and thought about the rings he had tucked away in the guest bedroom, imagining how it would feel under his gloves, a steady weight on his hand. He also thought about Dazai’s weird zero to one hundred blip of energy from staring blankly at the TV to racing around. It couldn’t be anything good, considering the odd off-and-on pacing was usually indicative of some kind of drop. Dazai clearly wanted to be distracted at the moment, so he’d let him.

He rolled up his sleeves just as Dazai came back in, lube in hand and an annoying little smile on his face. “Come on,” Chuuya urged him closer, tugging him by the wrist when he was close enough to touch and pulling him in for a nipping kiss.

Dazai moaned into it, shuffling closer and biting at Chuuya's lips right back. Chuuya moaned, hissing a bit when Dazai nipped hard enough to cut. He pinched his hips in retaliation, then shifted his hold to squeeze his ass through his sweatpants. It didn't feel like Dazai was wearing underwear through the fabric. Chuuya gripped in and spread his ass cheeks, groping the flesh and huffing out a short laugh at the way Dazai nearly fell over himself to kiss Chuuya more enthusiastically, moaning at the sensation.

Chuuya braced his hands under Dazai's thighs and lifted him up onto the counter instead of the island which was a bit too tall to put Dazai at hip height. The wallside counter was perfect and he took full advantage of it, because despite not being able to easily kiss Dazai at the height, he was at the perfect angle to give the rest of him proper attention. He roved his hands greedily over Dazai's torso, pushing up his sweater and attaching his lips to the nearest set of scars on his stomach.

“Not a bandage day?” Chuuya questioned as he nipped at a few white lines and made his way up Dazai’s stomach until he reached his chest, attaching his lips to one of his nipples and sucking lightly in quick, pulsing motions.

“Ngh- I,” Dazai panted when Chuuya brought his fingers up to pinch at the other nipple harshly, the sensation contrasting the pure pleasure being laved on the other side of his chest. “D-Didn’t feel like it…. hm, ah, didn’t do much toda-ay- ah!”

“I can do them for you later,” he offered as he pulled away from his pinkened, hard nipple, showing off the line of spit that connected his lips to the nub. Dazai looked down and groaned at the sight.

“Sure,” Dazai nodded. “Now comeon-”

Chuuya pulled back from him when he leaned down for a kiss and set his attention lower, letting the sweater fall down as he tugged the waistband of his sweats down. Rolling them down over his legs, he realized that Dazai hadn’t been wearing underwear just as he thought. “You wanted to f*ck that bad, huh?” He smirked up at Dazai teasingly.

Dazai’s eyes shifted away in mild embarrassment, shuffling his thighs together but unable to close them with Chuuya standing between them. “If Chuuya knows, then he should get to it already instead of waiting.” He even reached out to pinch at Chuuya’s shoulders brattily.

“There’s no rush,” Chuuya argued, batting the hands away and pushing at his thighs more to spread them further on the counter. He bent down and licked over the scars on his thighs, nipping at them but never getting too close to his dick or hole. He hummed against now-familiar bite scars and pressed more tender kisses to them, knowing that they were sensitive in an almost-bad way. Dazai’s resounding whine confirmed that assumption.

“Hurry up, slug!” Dazai kicked at him when he continued to work his lips over his skin. He was getting pretty pushy considering how docile he usually was when Chuuya had his mouth on him. It definitely had something to do with the on-and-off restless energy from earlier.

Chuuya nipped harder, digging his teeth in at his hip bone, just barely bordering on painful, leaving behind indents and a bruise that had Dazai whimpering. “I can take as long as I want.”

Unexpectedly, when he went back to sucking hickeys over his skin, Dazai put his hands in his hair and tried to tug him towards his ass or co*ck. “I want itnow,”he demanded, shifting and twitching all over the place. His co*ck was already leaking for him, but the weird energy brimming from him spoke a different story. Even if Chuuya tried to f*ck him, he doubted Dazai would get out of his head enough to org*sm- and even if he did he doubted it would feel as good as usual and would only end up frustrating him more.

He pulled back and yanked Dazai’s hands out of his hair to hold them, contrasting the rough removal with a soft and firm hold. Chuuya rubbed his thumb over Dazai’s hands and stared up at him firmly. “That’s not what we’re doing right now,brat,”the name came out less teasing and more degrading than usual, causing a shiver to run up Dazai’s spine. “Hands to yourself for now, okay?”

“But I-” Dazai cut himself off at the unamused look Chuuya leveled him with. He pouted but tried to stay still, even as he couldn't help the jolting of his hips and uncontrollable twitches of his hands.

“Fine,” Chuuya huffed and rolled his eyes. He was going to leave this for later- it was kinkier than anything they’d done and could have mixed reactions- but hopefully it would keep him more grounded than any pain play or bondage he’d been thinking about trying. “Want something to ground you, baby?”

Dazai blinked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Here,” he would’ve rather done this with something custom made for Dazai, specially branded with his name and the proper tags, but it would work well enough. He unbuckled the back of his choker and held it up for Dazai’s perusal. When it was only met with confusion, Chuuya reached up and, after Dazai’s initial reaction causing him to lean away from it, buckled the choker around his neck, a notch tighter than he’d do it for himself. That way, Dazai could feel the weight of the leather around his neck.

It worked.

Dazai’s eyes were already misting over, and, as though stunned with overarching wonder, he brushed his fingers against the leather and moaned. Another dribble of precum leaked from the tip of his co*ck. The nervous energy dimmed in favor of his misty-eyed, pupil-dilating interest in being collared for the first time.

Chuuya drummed his fingers against a scarred thigh. “Color?” He asked, but his tone was graveled at the sight of his choker around Dazai’s neck. As much of an aphrodisiac as it looked to be for Dazai, it was doingthingsto him too.

Dazai looked beautiful when he was so clearly owned. Whether that came in the form of hickeys, a f*cked-out hole, or watching his cum leak out of him, or even when he had him screaming his name for so long during a lengthier session that his voice was hoarse. This might be his favorite way of branding Dazai as his, right up there with hickeys and clothing he specially designed for his mackerel.

If Dazai looked so f*cking pretty like this, with just Chuuya’s choker around his neck, what would he look like with a matching piece of lingerie? Chuuya liked wearing it himself, enjoying the way a well-fitting piece made him look even hotter than usual, but the thought of Dazai collared and swathed in perfectly-tailored lingerie thatChuuyadesigned just for him…..

Dazai took a second to respond, but when he did it was with a smile bordering on something dopy, so much so that Chuuya wondered if he’d end up approaching subspace while they f*cked.“So green.”

“Tell me if that changes,” Chuuya told him, his voice thick with arousal and receiving an understanding nod.

Lavishing Dazai’s skin in marks was always such an addicting experience. He loved kissing his way down his scars, though this time he took his time sucking bruises into his skin down his entire legs, kneeling down with a hand cupping the back of his heel and kissing the divot of his anklebone. He held firm even as Dazai tried to tug his foot away and made eye contact with him.

Dazai’s face was flushed up to his ears, looking so devastatingly embarrassed that it actually had Chuuya flushing a bit too. He let his hand slip a bit by accident and brushed the bottom of Dazai’s foot, making him jolt with an aborted laugh at the tickling sensation. When he did it again just to tease with a little laugh, his foot kicked out reflexively and jammed into Chuuya’s shoulder.

“Oi,’ Chuuya squawked, not losing balance from it but pinching the tender skin at his heel to reprimand him.

“Don’t tickle me,” Dazai swallowed, then did it again when the choker visibly tightened, distracting him.

Dazai was always good at making Chuuya feel sohumanin moments like this, when he was reveling in his ability to make his partner squirm. Or when they were trying to have sex and managed to laugh during it because one or both of them fumbled something. It all felt so painfully domestic and sweet that it made his heart hammer in his throat and his head feel light.

Chuuya released his right leg in favor of his left, repeating the same ministrations up his leg until he was biting at his right hip and sucking hickeys into the junction between his hip and thigh. He laved his tongue over the sensitive inside of his thighs and listened to Dazai pant from it.

“Chuuya,please,”he breathed out impatiently, spreading his legs a little wider for Chuuya’s perusal, shivering when the collar tightened around his gasping breaths. He was being obedient now, but the squirming energy still lingered behind every movement.

An org*sm would take the edge off, right?

With no warning, Chuuya leaned in and immediately sank his mouth down to the base of Dazai’s co*ck and sucked.

“Ah! Ah- ah, hah, Chu-”

Already, Dazai was tensing and shaking, his legs twitching and hips trying to buck up into Chuuya’s mouth. He held him down on the counter and bobbed his head once, twice, running his tongue under the head of his co*ck and laving it along the veins. Chuuya swirled his tongue around the head, dipping it into the slit and groaning a little at the taste of precum that hit his taste buds.

Helikedgoing down on Dazai and sucking co*ck for all that his partner was weary of oral. It wasn’t for everyone and he respected that, but he personally loved the feeling of a co*ck in his throat, threatening his non-existent gag reflex every time he went down. Dazai’s co*ck wasn’t exactly stretching his lips out to the point of it aching the way he sometimes liked, but it was long enough that when he deepthroated it felt perfect, hitting the back of his throat and teasing his nonexistent gag reflex. Every flex, convulsion, and little bead of precum that dribbled into his mouth had him groaning.

Dazai’s whimpers were growing louder and louder with every bob of his head, and with one more swirl of his tongue, he was tensing and crying out Chuuya’s name as he cummed in his mouth.

Without missing a beat, Chuuya swallowed it down while sinking to the base, teasing Dazai into overstimulation with every contraction of his throat. With how wired up he’d been, Dazai didn’t fully soften even as he jerked and thrashed around as Chuuya refused to let up on the intensity. He only lifted away when Dazai’s fingers curled in his hair to yank him off with more senseless ramblings of his name that peppered out into a relieved sigh as the stimulation ended.

The sharp tugging sensation wasn’t something he could let go so easily. Chuuya didn’t mind if Dazai got handsy, but when he’d made it clear with the choker that he was running the show, he couldn’t just let him get away with being bratty. Chuuya locked his fingers over Dazai’s from where they were still curled in his hair and watched as realization dawned on his face. Dazai tried to tug his fingers away and Chuuya let them slip out of his grip.

He pushed Dazai’s thighs up a bit to palm over his ass, grabbing the lube Dazai set on the counter. “Yeah?”

Chuuya made it as clear as possible what he was asking as he drummed his fingers against his ass. Dazai swallowed, eyes flittering around desperately for all of two seconds before he was nodding. “Yeah.”

“Remember your colors,” Chuuya reminded him quickly, and with little warning he reeled his hand back andslappedthe skin at his thighs. Dazai yelped and twitched, but Chuuya’s face had already shuttered into a composed glaze as he stepped back with the lube. “Off the counter, turn around, and lean over it.”

Dazai had been the one to ask for this. It was surprising to Chuuya, considering that even though they discussed spanking, what Dazai was asking for- more, harder,bruisingimpact- was a little nerve-wracking. He felt like he was dangling at a precipice between what was good for Dazai and what would have him seizing into an episode. He understood Dazai’s awkwardly given explanation for it- that the pain grounded him, made him feel real- but he was hesitant to follow through.

Still, Chuuya was distressingly easy to coax into doing things when it came to Dazai. The first, second, and third real attempts at this kind of play had gone well, so there was some kind of reassurance there.

He circled Dazai’s rim and pushed a single finger in as he massaged his ass in warning. Then, with a deep breath, Chuuya spanked him again, on the meat of his ass. “Baby, I think you might be forgetting who’s in charge here.”

“Ah!But I-”

Smack.

“Did I ask you to speak?” Chuuya lowered his voice, leaning over to nip at Dazai’s shoulder. He slid his finger in and out a few more times before prodding a second at his hole, watching and feeling it twitch around him to accept the intrusion. Dazai took it well with a moan and a desperate shake of his head in response to Chuuya’s question.

Chuuya took a moment to just appreciate how beautiful Dazai looked underneath him. With every begging moan he let slip from him his co*ck throbbed in response, especially as his hand made contact again and again, playing around with the painful sensation in conjunction with every pointed curl of his fingers at his prostate.

He let him have a short reprieve from the constant spanking for a moment as he returned his attention to stretching him. Times like this he really wished he could get a glimpse into what Dazai was thinking- how he imagined the vision he made for Chuuya’s eyes only- face down, ass up, spine curved for Chuuya’s perusal like his body was begging for attention.

The sound of his moans garnered by the pressure set against his prostate broke under the first strike as Chuuya’s hand went down sharp and sudden and picked the pace up again. He hit that same spot three more times in quick succession until Dazai’s skin was hot and he was clearly trying not to squirm with every mewl of Chuuya’s name that he couldn’t quite temper, then did it all over again on the other side. Four sharp cracks echoed through the kitchen. He kept an eye on him and, when Dazai happened to turn his face for a moment, caught a line of drool slipping down his chin.

“Oh, f*ck,” Dazai breathed between a moan, stinging pain more than likely blooming in both cheeks as Chuuya paused to let the feeling set in. He let the words go, since he was pretty sure, judging by his blissed out expression, that Dazai didn’t even know he’d spoken.

When he pressed a third finger to Dazai’s entrance, he saw, in between his mackerel’s spread legs, his co*ck jolt. Just the pressure threatening his hole had him groaning out.

“Yeah?” Chuuya murmured again, just to be sure.

“Yeah, yes, please,” Dazai said quickly, nodding as best he could with his face pressed against the counter and his body already having been put under a fair bit of strain.

Chuuya couldn’t help laughing incredulously, not quite as mean as Dazai was probably used to hearing it, and spanked him again. He really just couldn’t believe it- from Dazai’s willingness to his own carefully taken measures to make it good. How did they go from fistfighting in Chuuya’s living room to such a painstakingly caring atmosphere in less than a year?

Dazai audibly choked on a gasp, digging his nails into his forearms when Chuuya slid the third finger inside right before he hit the other ass cheek. He knew without checking in that Dazai’s whole body was probably burning even as he clenched around Chuuya’s fingers, though he was unsure if the motion was because of the pleasure of the movement or the pain of the strike. Chuuya continued his barrage long before Dazai could decide.

“Breathe,” Chuuya reminded him in between hits, not quite at the point of checking in, but getting there soon. He slowed his scissoring motion to rub his fingers into his prostate, milking it with every drag and getting a shriek in response.

He could see Dazai’s toes curl as the heat started to build, sinking into him layer by layer with every merciless strike of Chuuya’s hand. He shuddered and groaned when he pulled back after a long moment spent massaging his prostate and sliding them in quickly, probing inside him slippery and deep. “Hhnnnhh…”

“There you go, just like that,” Chuuya said, trying for comforting with his voice pitched low and gentle. “It doesn’t have to be a punishment anymore, Dazai. Enjoy it.”

If Dazai enjoyed getting hit during sex, Chuuya only ever wanted to bring that level of play into action for that reason. It would never be because Chuuya lost his temper or felt like going on a power trip. He'd only ever hit Dazai if it made him feel good.

He had no idea what kind of wires were crossed in Dazai's brain to have him moaning with every strike. Hedefinitelydidn't want to know what wires were crossed in hisownbrain to have his co*ck filling out against his pants just from inflicting that pain.

“Oh, oh, oh,Chuuya,”Dazai was gasping, a little breath rushing out of him every time Chuuya hit him.

Chuuya wasn’t using any more force now than he was when he started, but Dazai’s skin was definitely more sensitive; every impact sure to hurt more than the last. It was with that thought in mind that he let up on the impact.

“Uhhhgn, Chuuya~” He drawled out in a searching whine, rocking back into him needily.

“Not yet, mackerel,” Chuuya reassured him. “Need your color before we do anything else.”

Chuuya could tell, judging by the look on his face, that Dazai’s mouth was opening to wail out a resoundinggreen,but when he let his hand rest over a particularly reddened bit of skin, he shuddered violently. His moans melted into little whimpers more pained than pleasured, as though he’d just realized how long they’d been playing for and how tender his skin really was.

He guessed theyelloweven before it slipped out of Dazai’s mouth, riddled with quiet insecurity.

Chuuya let up on the pressure of his hand with a sigh. They'd found out that Dazai liked it rough right up until hedidn't-and there was no way to anticipate when he'd stop enjoying something. The only thing Chuuya could predict- or try to, at least- was that somethingwouldgo awry at some point and there was no stopping it, only mediating the damages.

“I'll be gentle now, princess,” Chuuya teased lightly, injecting just enough affection that Dazai relaxed back into it. “You did so well telling me what you want,” he praised just to hear Dazai’s desperate little whine, firmly pleased at the compliment.

Dazai was closer to an org*sm than Chuuya usually liked him to be when he f*cked him, but his own patience was running thin and he was just as ready to f*ck him as he was to clean up and change out of work clothes. With that thought, he unzipped his pants and pulled his fingers free to dribble more lube over his co*ck. After a few preliminary strokes, he lined himself up. Dazai’s disgruntled little noise at the fingers leaving him quickly turned into begging as he realized what was happening.

“Please, please, please,” Dazai begged loudly, rocking back into the pressure of Chuuya’s co*ckhead against his hole, covered in hickeys with Chuuya's choker on his neck. “Chuuya….please…”

That’s it. That’sit.Chuuya cursed, rocking forward onto his toes for a brief moment to line himself up properly with a shaking hand, and thrusted deep into Dazai’s body, burying himself halfway in one go.

Chuuya filled him up with one more powerful snap of his hips, slapping against his spanked-pink ass when he bottomed out and Dazaiscreamedout, loud enough that they’d be getting noise complaints from the entire floor at the rate they were going. Whether the scream was from the collision of his hips against his spanked-sore ass or from the pleasure of being filled, Chuuya didn't know. Either way, he was pushing back against his co*ck needily.

f*ck, it felt so good to have tight heat around his co*ck like this after so long without. Chuuya almost couldn’t believe he was patient enough to wait after the show Dazai put on, spanked until he bruised while looking so completely owned it was delicious. He drew back and thrusted in again, wishing not for the first time that he were just a bit taller so that he could properly drape himself over Dazai’s back and kiss him even like this.

Chuuya pushed forward, making Dazai leaned further into the counter until it was the only thing keeping him up judging by the way his legs were shaking- there was no way he wasn’t on the verge of org*sm. The angle left Dazai immobile, unable to even move his own hips with how Chuuya grabbed into them with strength just enough to leave bruises. He just had to take it. To let Chuuya take everything from him, leaving only pure, unadulterated ecstasy in his wake.

And Chuuya took, pleasure ripping up and down his spine from every grunt, every groan. He slammed his hips in again, and again, and again, hearing the way Dazai begged and feeling how he writhed against him. He hadn’t reached his climax though, hadn’t cummed like he usually would, and it seemed Chuuya wasn’t the only one to notice.

“No, no, no-”Dazai chanted, an awful, deep flush to the head of his co*ck.

“What?” Chuuya panted, not quite sure exactly what was happening. “You can cum, baby, you’ve- ngh- you’ve been good. Whene- Whenever you’re ready.”

The words, with a well-timed thrust of Chuuya’s hips, ripped a guttural sound from Dazai’s throat. He shook his head, whole body shuddering when Chuuya grinded his co*ck deep.

“What is it?” Chuuya tried to check in, slowing his thrusts in a dirty grind into his prostate that only made Dazai shake viciously.

“Wanna- wanna cum,” he whined out, shivering. “Chuuya-Chuuya, Chuuya, make me cum.”

sh*t. Chuuya had to bite his own lip to stop the cruel words lingering on the tip of his tongue, tortured whispers that Dazai didn’tneedto cum, that Chuuya could do what he wanted, that as long as he was Chuuya's he didn't need to worry about anything. That wasn’t what they were doing, and he hadn’t gotten consent. Dazai was definitely far too focused on the end goal of an org*sm to let himself fall over properly.

“You want to cum on my co*ck, darling? You want to make me come in you?” Chuuya groaned out, getting closer than was comfortable when Dazai hadn’t org*smed yet. Dazai whined out his agreement in quick, jerking nods of his head, beyond words when he was so close yet so far by his own doing. “That’s right. All for me. Just wanna be mine, don’t you?” Chuuya spoke into Dazai’s skin, clenching his teeth as Dazai’s body pulsed around him in response to his words. He wasn’t exactly focusing on what he was saying, or else he might’ve balked and pulled away at the admission of ownership he’d tried to worm out of Dazai.

Not that it mattered when Dazai was practically screaming at the words, so overcome with pleasure that he was dizzy with it.

“But I want to feel you cum around me, mackerel. Can you do that for me, baby?” Chuuya urged, jerking his hips. He would’ve put his hand on Dazai’s co*ck if he didn’t think it’d be more distracting than pleasurable.

“Chu- hah-Chuuya-a-a,”Dazai sobbed, trying so hard to follow Chuuya’s directions that he could see tears spilling down his face- odd, considering he hadn’t done anything to make him cry, but then he noticed the way one of his partner’s hands kept twitching back to the collar, tugging a bit and whining at the pressure. He couldn’t keep the pressure steady on his own with how his fingers kept slipping.

Chuuya just barely kept himself back from an org*sm long enough to take a hand off of Dazai’s hips and curl two fingers under the choker to have the pressure increase. Dazai finally let out a sob of relief, more pleasure mounting with every passing second. He didn’t hold back, not when Dazai’s sounds took on that panicked note they always did when he was about to cum, betraying a wave of oncoming pleasure so powerful it must have been terrifying.

Even as his own pleasure mounted Chuuya kept his eyes open, clocking every delicious little change in Dazai’s expression put partially on display by the fingers braced against the choker. Chuuya waited and kept moving, desperate and overcome, until he felt Dazai tighten, fluttering just that bit more around him.

Then he leaned closer, as close as he could get, andpulled his fingers back,“Come, Osamu. Come for me,now.”

The sound that Dazai made and the way his body rippled around Chuuya’s dick was definitely going to haunt his dreams- not that it didn’t already. Dazai cummed, the high angle of his hips splashing white all the way up to the counter’s edge as he spilled and spilled. Even from Chuuya’s point of view it felt like it went on forever as he f*cked Dazai through it, feeling him rhythmically clench around him, slowly easing up on the pressure of the choker as it was apparently enough to prolong Dazai’s org*sm.

“sh*t, sh*t,Osamu,”Chuuya breathed, suddenly hurdling over the edge after keeping himself from cumming for so long. The way Dazai cummed just from being choked by Chuuya’s collar had him so close he could taste the infinitely satisfying org*sm before he even reached it. He pressed his forehead to Dazai’s shoulder blades as he spilled into him with a loud groan, time seeming to freeze for a moment as overwhelming heat washed through his body.

He came back to himself slowly, only to quickly snap out of his post-org*smic haze when Dazai’s knees wobbled more aggressively with every passing moment until he was nearly collapsing. Chuuya laughed a little bit at the sight.

“Alright,” he said soothingly, running his hand up and down Dazai’s hickey covered back. “Let’s get you into a bath, yeah?”

“Mnnh,” Dazai agreed halfheartedly, letting Chuuya maneuver him into facing him and obediently wrapping his legs around his waist when Chuuya encouraged him to. He just dropped his forehead to Chuuya’s shoulder. “Take one with me,” he said, pressing a kiss into Chuuya’s neck. A kiss that turned into a gentle sucking sensation interspersed with lazy little nibbles as he did his best to put a hickey on his neck.

Chuuya moaned a little at the unexpected sensation. “Sure, you leech,” he said, heart beating wildly at the feeling as he walked them both into the bathroom.

He set Dazai down on the counter, realizing a second too late that it would get cum all over the bathroom sink. Whatever, he sighed, turning on the shower and turning back to see Dazai admiring the hickeys and bruises that littered his skin. He was also shifting around incessantly, hands on the counter to lift some of the pressure off of his ass.

“sh*t, sorry,” Chuuya said, helping him off the counter. “I’ll grab some ibuprofin and cream after the bath, ‘kay?”

Dazai let Chuuya haul him into the shower. “Mmh, it’s fine. I liked it.”

“I could tell,” he rolled his eyes, his gaze going to the choker next, still wrapping around Dazai's neck. “Oh, right-”

When his fingers brushed the back of the choker to take it off, Dazai backed away. Chuuya blinked at him, wide-eyed. “....can I?” Dazai asked, some kind of nerves bleeding into his tone, his face morphed into a distressingly sweet doe-eyed expression. It looked sosadthat Chuuya conceded easily, letting him wear it. It was waterproof, anyway.

After getting Dazai into the shower, Chuuya went about cleaning them both quickly. A bath soundedincrediblethe more he thought about it. A bath, and then maybe a movie- he didn’t really feel like cooking, but he could always put the lasagna he’d premade and frozen into the oven. He’d made a lot of food like that for nights when he had to stay at the office late so that Dazai could heat it up himself and they could eat together right when he got home. He stepped out to fill the bath with plenty of expensive bubble soap and tied his hair up. “How does lasagna sound?”

“The one you made earlier?” Chuuya nodded. “Good,” Dazai said reflexively, but after a moment where Chuuya almost believed that was it, he peeked his head out of the shower, “....m’not that hungry. I’ll just have some off your plate.”

Chuuya tilted his head back to look at him. “You had lunch today?”

Dazai nodded eagerly, letting the conditioner rinse off of his hair. “Half of the chicken.”

It hadn’t been a very large portion to begin with, but he made Dazai sit with him for a light breakfast that morning too. He knew how to pick his battles. “We can have the rest for lunch tomorrow, then,” he said in lieu of agreement.

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Chuuya helped Dazai into the bath, turning off the faucet and sinking into the hot water behind him. “I have the day off.”

Dazai tilted his head back. “You didn’t say anything.”

He pinched his thigh. “I would’ve if Thomasf*ckingMartin could mind his own godsdamned business for once in his miserable- mph!”

In the middle of his rant, Dazai leaned in to press their lips together in a slow, easy press. He felt his irritation melt away as they stayed connected, Dazai keeping up the contact until he relented. They traded lazy kisses until the hot water cooled and their skin pruned up.

Paris, France

December 13

Sometimes, Dazai acted like he would die if Chuuya didn't keep his hands on him, but there were also days when Dazai didn't want to be touched at all.

On those days, it was more likely that Dazai would end up spiraling pretty deep into his own head, locking himself away in the emptiness of his skin and letting his thoughts drill him deeper into the depressive hole he’d dug for himself. When Chuuya woke up to Dazai on the far side of the bed, awake but not reactive, he figured it was one of those days. He flinched away when he touched him questioningly, so Chuuya let him be and got ready for work. Judging by how jumpy he seemed, it might do more harm than good to call out sick and make Dazai be around another person when he felt so unreal in his body.

It was pretty obvious that even after putting his collar on Dazai and firmly grounding him with hickeys and pleasure, nothing could’ve stopped him from spiraling. Chuuya knew that moods like this could sweep Dazai off his feet and put him into painful relapses. If Dazai drifted too much like this so soon it usually meant he was having a bad day.

Bad days were…. admittedly, a bit scary. Chuuya knew Dazai was still suicidal, though he'd cut back on his ‘attempts’ since leaving Japan. Little comments here and there persisted- like how he could hang himself on the new leather belt Chuuya got him, or how easy it would be to jump off of the balcony. Usually it was subtle things; he'd stare too long at the ground when they were out on the balcony or he'd look a little too longingly at a kitchen knife.

Chuuya was certain most of his lack of attempts were for his sake, but sometimes he could see the way old scars were decorated with new, shallow and thin red lines that were just barely bleeding. The look in his eyes likely meant it was one of those days. He'd looked like that all day, since they first woke up and he just laid there blankly, but he'd hoped he was wrong. There were two ways Dazai’s bad days could go; either he’d be too listless and empty to do anything but lay there and breathe, or he’d still be listless and empty with bursts of loathing that gave him enough energy to hurt himself.

He’d come home early after work (really only staying for half the time he was meant to, citing an emergency on his way out of the office when he was struck with sudden, overwhelming dread) and set his stuff down to find Dazai in the kitchen, staring at the wall. Alarm bells went off when he noticed the little specks of blood on the bandages by his wrist, indicating that he’d gone from having a ‘nothing’ day to cutting himself.

“Dazai,” Chuuya swallowed heavily, walking closer slowly to stand in front of him, lifting up the wrist for closer inspection. When Dazai tried tugging it away, some panicked clarity seeping into his eyes, Chuuya let him. “Did you at least wrap it with new bandages?”

He wasn't going to ask about the injury itself- not yet, at least. Dazai was easier to manage a conversation with when he wasn't wearing old bandages.

“They're clean,” Dazai said simply, not making eye contact.

Chuuya's lips pursed. Right. “Reusing bandages is how you get infections, mackerel. Sit on the counter.”

Dazai stared at him for a long moment. Chuuya hadn't been ordering him; it was more of a light suggestion than anything else, because when Dazai hurt himself, a too-firm hand would make him spiral or run, just like he used to in the mafia when Chuuya was basically a glorified suicide watch more than he was his partner. It was why he knew that even if Dazai swore up and down that the bandages were clean, it was better to nag him into changing them than wait for the inevitable infection. Taking care of him would always somehow end up being Chuuya’s problem, something he now assumed was probably a punishment for not making him change them in the first place.

While he thought about what he wanted to do, Chuuya rummaged for antiseptic, bandages, and tissues. If he decided not to let Chuuya touch him- which seemed likely considering the morning’s events- then he’d foister all of the supplies onto him and supervise him doing it himself.

When he turned back, Dazai had maneuvered himself onto the edge of the counter, looking ready to bolt. He seemed so restless and, well,nervousup there. Chuuya's eye twitched at how it put him even taller than before, but he reached out with a gentle hand and very carefully let Dazai flinch out of the hold, waiting with his hand outstretched until he relaxed back into it himself. He unwrapped the old bandages slowly until his entire arm was bare and the injury was revealed to him.

It wasn't…. it wasn't actually that bad, Chuuya sighed a little bit in relief. He hadn't cut very deep, but the four shallow lines he could see were long. The fourth one was half as long as the others and the deepest, like he'd realized what he was doing halfway through and let the knife slip too deep. The cuts were still bleeding sluggishly, a drool of blood that began to drip down slowly with the bandage’s removal.

“I'm gonna disinfect it, okay?” Chuuya narrated to Dazai, and, with a moment’s consideration, he pressed his lips to his knuckles. “Colors are good here too. Let me know how you're feeling. If you don't want to talk, just tap my arm and I'll check in.”

Dazai was staring at him, nodding numbly like he was so deeply surprised that it was all he could do. Chuuya knew that on some levels the easy out without saying too much was relieving for his partner. He hadn’t always been so gentle when handling Dazai’s episodes, so he didn’t bother feeling offended at the surprise.

When Chuuya reached for his arm, Dazai croaked out a soft, “red.”

Chuuya dropped his hands and took a step back immediately, his eyes snapping up in concern.What made him….?

But Dazai was watching him with eyes wide and looking more clear than they had all day.

“Are you okay?” Chuuya asked, still scanning him, still worried. He wondered, briefly, if it was because the last time they’d patched up something this bad during their mafia days, Chuuya had gotten mean and dug his fingers into the wound when Dazai made jokes that he now knew were only made to hide how defensive and vulnerable he felt.

“Mhm,” Dazai hummed. “Green.”

Huh?Chuuya looked back up at him, feeling a little confused. “....you're sure?” Because usually he wouldn't question Dazai's consent, but….

“Yeah,” he affirmed, his toes wiggling.

“....okay,” Chuuya reached forward carefully and held his arm as he reached for the antiseptic.

“Red.”

He dropped his hand again with the same step back as before.What was going on?Did he hurt himself somewhere else? He knew Dazai’s thighs had the same self-inflicted lines of scars, though less than his arms, so maybe he was apprehensive about Chuuya seeing the extent of the damage. He’d have to inspect it later just in case. “Mackerel, are you sure you're-”

“Green,” Dazai interrupted him, looking so deeply transfixed by whatever Chuuya was doing. With a raised brow, Chuuya slowly stepped forward again and touched him, though he didn't reach for the antiseptic. “Red,” he said, and when Chuuya, curious but not willing to ignore the color system regardless of how Dazai chose to use it, backed away and dropped his hands, he swallowed heavily.

“Green.”

He stepped forward. “Hey-”

“Red.”

He backed away.

Dazai's lip was trembling but he looked so painfully present and aware, the haze that had been building over the course of the day fading away like it had never been there. When he let out a softly whispered“green”Chuuya finally understood what was happening.

And it had him feeling like something else was crumbling in his carefully built walls that hissed to him that loving Dazai was a bad idea.

With his hands on Dazai, Chuuya rubbed his thumb into the softness of his skin and said, voice shaking a little bit, “I'm never going to touch you if you don't want me to.” He paused, then remedied the statement, “unless you’re lying on the ground dying, I’m going to listen to what you want.”

It seemed so simple in his mind. They'd been having sex for months and had been so intimate and tactile that Chuuya assumed Dazai was just okay with it. And he probably was by now, but even with the color system… Dazai hadn't really believed in Chuuya's word that he'd listen to whatever he decided. It had him feeling a little nauseous to think about all of the moments where Dazai definitely could’ve asked to stop but didn’t.

He felt like he'd proven something, just then. Like Chuuya had delivered Dazai a monumental amount of proof, and he couldn't quite grasp the gravity of it. But Dazai clearly felt it, his breath hitching and eyes watering the tiniest amount.

“Chuuya can clean it,” Dazai said simply, letting his arm lay limp in Chuuya's hold.

Okay,he breathed. Okay. Chuuya gently disinfected each line, inspecting them for severity and cleaning away the excess blood. He spent an extra moment on the fourth before shrugging decisively, “you don’t need any stitches.”

It was a good thing for both of them. Dazai could stitch himself up with one hand easily and used to do it for Chuuya (who knew how to stitch a wound in theory but couldn’t stand needles), but it was always best if he didn’t. He remembered a few wounds marked in familiar scars on Dazai’s skin where he’d gotten impatient with it halfway through, did a half-assed job, and ended up tearing them open before the day was done. Dazai used to tear stitches a lot.

Dazai hummed in acknowledgment as he worked quickly, rebandaging the arm with a tender kiss to the skin that made his mackerel squirm.

Chuuya finished wrapping it quickly, drumming his fingers against the back of his hand as he stepped away with Dazai’s gaze weighing on his back. He hid these so that Dazai wouldn’t fall back into bad habits, but a cheat day here and there wouldn’t hurt. He grabbed down a can of crab and opened it with a quick glow of his ability, using it to get a bowl and a fork down too. Chopsticks weren’t easy to find in France, and their apartment already had enough sets of the Western-style cutlery that he figured they might as well get used to it.

“Sit on a chair,” Chuuya nudged him as he walked past and set the bowl in front of one of their island chairs on the other side of the counter. Dazai, his eyes flitting between the bowl and Chuuya, followed him quickly after carefully getting down while using his uninjured arm- probably, and accurately, guessing that Chuuya would give him an earful for using it if he even tried.

He walked around him as he started eating and started to clear up the mess. There was blood on the counter, bandages scattered around, and supplies that needed to be put away. Chuuya started gathering together the bandages and wrappers to toss in their trash can, walking back to put up the antiseptic and bandage rolls. It was as he was grabbing wet wipes to clear away the blood that he noticed Dazai staring at him.

“What is it?” Chuuya eyed him briefly before appraising the amount of dishes in the sink to decide whether or not he should just do them.

“I had a lot of canned crab,” Dazai spoke distantly, his hand pausing halfway to bringing the crab up to his mouth.

“Mmh, yeah I know,” Chuuya wiped down the counter with a wrinkle to his nose at the thought of all the canned crab he’d caught Dazai eating over the years. “It’s all you’d eat.”

Dazai sat quietly for a minute while he finally decided to start working at the dishes, figuring it would be better to just clean the kitchen while he was there so he didn’t have to do it later. “Not ‘cause I liked it, not at first anyway,” he shared eventually, speaking softly, “it just didn’t spoil.”

Chuuya froze, lips pinching and quivering a bit. “The shipping container?”

“...yeah.”

When Chuuya first found out that Dazai lived in a shipping container when they were seventeen (Dazai might have still been sixteen- he didn’t quite remember), it instigated a lot of confused arguments. Why did Dazai live there? Where was the container even at? What if it got shipped off while he was sleeping?

And then he found out where the container was: an illegal dumping site for toxic waste. Not even rats would go near it with how utterly radioactive and unhealthy it was to even be in the vicinity. Housing complexes were closed nearby for that very reason, which meant that it was perfect for keeping Dazai as isolated as possible. It didn’t hit him until recently that it was an easy way for Mori to keep anyone from coming near Dazai lest they realized the atrocities being committed against him, and it partially explained how half-dead Dazai constantly looked back then. He was probably quiteliterallyconstantly half-dead.

He wondered if the reason Mori had been so hell-bent on hiding the abuse was because there were limits to what even the‘darkest corners of Yokohama’would allow. Dazai had been friends with an ex-assassin, and regardless of Kouyou’s feelings about him surely she would’ve been just as angry at the evils he’d endured.

In any case, it explained a lot about Dazai. He wore expensive suits- always perfectly tailored no matter how quickly he grew with commissioned lapel pins, and yet he sometimes smelled like he hadn’t showered for days. His hair would be greasy and sometimes look almost matted, definitely badly tangled almost constantly. He would ride in an expensive car with a chauffeur but would eat canned crab over a fancy meal if given the choice.

There were a lot of hints that something was going on, but as the most eccentric executive from age to attitude, he never got a lot of questions about it.

Hindsight was key, Chuuya thought disdainfully. It made him more grateful for Dazai’s decision to leave and take him along for the unwilling ride. Even with his continued struggles with depression, they were doing a lot better than they were in the mafia.

Chuuya sighed as he tossed a paper towel after mopping up water that spilled onto the counter. It had him feeling a certain amount of aching in his chest just for thinking it, but at least this (the cutting, the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the ptsd) was better than the days when Dazai would pop pills like candy.

Yokohama Japan

February 30

Ten months prior

“Dazai, what'd you take?!” Chuuya screamed at him, falling to his knees and gripping at bony shoulders, shaking him violently until he groaned and opened his eye a sliver. He had just walked into his apartment looking to relax after his mission only to find his sh*tty excuse for a partner on his kitchen floor surrounded by pill bottles.

“....Chu,” he mumbled out vaguely, hazy and distant and likely with a foot in the grave, judging by the number of bottles on the floor.

“Tell me what you took!” He yelled again, digging his fingers into his skin until it bruised under his fingers, probably hurting him for real, but he didn’t care at the moment. When Dazai’s eyes threatened to close, Chuuya slapped his face. “Dazai, Dazai look at me, what did you take?!”

But Dazai wasn’t answering anymore. Chuuya swore and let him drop to the floor, not bothering to lower him gently as he dropped him and grabbed at the bottles scattered around them haphazardly. Those weren’t as empty, but…

sh*t,Chuuya swore internally again at the sight of one of his pill bottles on the counter. Unlike Dazai, Chuuya had an increased metabolism and burned through over the counter painkillers like nothing, so he had to get the strong, borderline illegal (or maybe just plain illegal) sh*t for it to even put a dent in the pain. Apparently, Dazai decided to take a few of those. Chuuya couldn’t even accurately tell how many had been in the bottle because he didn’t touch them very often and thus didn’t really keep track of how much was left.

“f*ck, f*ck, f*ck,” he combed a hand through his hair and dragged Dazai up to sitting and slapped him again until he whined, somewhat aware now. He needed to get him onto his couch or into the bathroom- he’d decide once he got him up. “Come on, dipsh*t.”

Dazai’s eye finally fluttered underneath his visible eyelid, roving quickly before he actually opened his eye with a hiss and squint. “Ngh, Chu… n’ho’tals… ori…. no…”

Chuuya glared at him viciously for all of two seconds. “You don’t get to have a f*cking say in where I take you right now, jackass. Don’t pretend like you even care anyway-obviouslyyou don’t if you’re trying to die. If I want to lug you to a hospital and make you their problem then Iwill.”

The audacity he had to act like his opinion mattered in the middle of a suicide attempt was almost on brand with the stupidity he thought he should expect from the dumbass. It still surprised him every time.

Then Dazai’s lip was trembling something awful and Chuuya felt even more weirded out than before. He was mumbling something, over and over, some mantra repeated with what he thought sounded like ‘no’ interspersed throughout. Finally, he managed one clear, concise, “....Mori…”

Right. The boss and Dazai were kind of sort of close, right? He’d been the one to recruit Dazai, and he showed his partner a weird amount of favoritism. Dazai asking for him was the first thing he said that made sense all night.

Chuuya scowled and looked around for his phone. “You want me to call the boss?” Dazai whined, a sort of wail building in his throat. Impatient sh*tfaced bastard.… “f*ck, okay, I’ll just take you to him- oi! What the actual f*ck?!”

As soon as he said that, Dazaibit himand started flailing, fighting and pushing to get away sluggishly with his drugged-up body. Chuuya put his hands around him and slammed him back into the ground, yanking his slightly bleeding arm out of Dazai's mouth and staring wide-eyed at the scrape he'd put on Chuuya's arm.

“Ngh,” Dazai groaned, forcing his bloodshot, dilated eyes open to pierce Chuuya with his gaze. He dug his fingers into the scrape and held on when Chuuya tried to shake him off. “Nnn- no Mori,” he finally choked out, clenching his eyes shut like the words were painful.

And that just didn't make sense. Well- no, it would make sense for anyone else, because Mori was the boss of the entire Port Mafia and with that title came a certain level of intimidation. But Chuuya had assumed that the mentor-student relationship Dazai apparently had with Mori would make him more inclined to go to him. Though if he was interested in garnering the man’s approval it might make sense for Dazai to not want to show weakness. The fear in his eyes didn't make the amount of sense the rest of Chuuya's assumption did, but Dazai wascomplicatedeven on the best of days.

Either way, Dazai was probably going to throw a tantrum if Chuuya tried to get him out the door, so he'd just have to deal with it in his apartment.

“Alright, fine, no Mori,” Chuuya conceded, watching with rapt confusion as Dazai immediately relaxed. “But I'm not letting you die from an overdose. Come on.”

He tugged Dazai up, ignoring his unintelligible babbling as he slung him over his shoulder. “If you throw up on me I'll kill you.”

Chuuya carried him to the bathroom like that, dumping him unceremoniously on the floor and grabbing him by his hair to put him in front of the toilet. “Throw up,” he urged. Dazai just whined, a pitchy, confused sound. “Put your f*cking fingers down your throat or I'll make you puke myself.”

Even at the threat, Dazai was clearly becoming more and more affected by the drugs and wasn't really listening to anything he was saying. If he was, he definitely couldn't follow through on anything Chuuya told him to do even if he tried.

He shuddered, already feeling grossed out over what he was about to do.

“If you bite my fingers I'm going to let you die,” he warned briefly before prying Dazai's jaw open and shoving his pointer and middle fingers down his throat.

It took fourteen minutes and twenty six seconds for Dazai to puke up all or at least the majority of the pills in his stomach. Chuuya counted all of it, so intensely grossed out he had half dissociated from the experience.

As much as he wanted to kick Dazai out for the night and get some sleep, Chuuya knew it just wasn't going to happen. If he let Dazai go, chances were he'd either overdose again on purpose or unthinkingly take pain pills for the impending headache he’d probably end up getting and be dead before sunrise.

He dragged him back to the kitchen and threw him down to sit against the refrigerator before going to the cabinets for a water bottle. When he walked back over, Dazai looked a little more alert than before, but still pretty out of it all things considered. He couldn't muster up much sympathy- walking someone through the aftermath of a suicide attempt alone was f*cking traumatizing and Dazai deserved to look miserable for all he was putting Chuuya through.

Chuuya must have let something show on his face, because when he forced Dazai's fingers to curl around the opened bottle, his dull eye managed to make contact with him. As per usual, he managed to somewhat guess what he was thinking in that creepy way of his.

“Could've…. put a bullet in my head instead,” Dazai slurred, looking up at Chuuya with an eye that insisted overdosing was better than shooting himself.

It was. Sort of. An overdose gave him time, whereas a bullet between his eyes would've killed him immediately. Still, Chuuya didn't like the idea of putting two suicide methods on a scale and tipping it one way or another; it was too grim, too morbid, too Dazai.

“Shut up,” Chuuya hissed, pressing the water to his lips again. “Aphone callis better than both of those, you f*cking idiot. Next time maybe think about calling someone, jackass.”

“Do you mean you?” Dazai spat with a sparking glare that darkened venomously, a moment of anger-fueled clarity spiking through. Then, as though realizing that was too much, his tone softened to something more bland and disinterested, “my dog’s worried about his master dying?”

His words were still coming out sluggishly like his tongue felt thick in his mouth, but it was enough to piss off Chuuya with little effort.

Chuuya glared fiercely at him and tipped the bottle back to force him to drink. “Everyone thinks your gods-awful personality and craziness rubbed off on me, so thanks to you I probably couldn't find another partner if I wanted to.” He blinked. “Which I do, instead of being your babysitter.”

Dazai hummed like he didn’t believe him, leaning away from the bottle without drinking and letting water splash onto him. Chuuya glared, “I will hold you down and make you drink this, so help me-!”

“Can you just go already?” Dazai finally groaned out tiredly, voice slurring and eye drifting around the room a little more aimlessly than before, his faux attempt at patience having worn off with Chuuya’s persistence. “You’ve made your point.”

Chuuya seethed, pushing him down fully and sneering at the sound his body made at impact with the floor, definitely too rough for an overdose patient- though Dazai never had been a stellar one if Mori’s scattered complaints about his ‘rebellious phase’ were any indication. “Oh yeah? And what’s mypoint,jackass?”

Dazai’s answering hiss at the impact swam into a curdling stare that sent warning bells blaring at full volume in Chuuya’s brain, dark and imposing and so shockingly defensive and angry that he eased up on the pressure for all of two moments. “Congratulations- you got to stroke your pathetic little hero complex for the day. You got what you wanted, Chuuya, so leave me alone.”

He tried to push himself up, and for a second Chuuya let him, but in the next moment he was swinging him to his feet entirely, taking advantage of his drug-induced haze andslamminghim against the wall. Dazai gasped in pain. “Hero complex?” He snarled into his face, leaning up to grab his jacket and slam him into the wall one more time to see the way his eyes crossed and legs trembled from effort to stay standing. “Even if I did have one, this wouldn’t do anything for me,” he leaned in even closer with a glare of his own pressing into dark, dead fish eyes. “There’snothingin you to save.”

He knew it wasn’t the right thing to say. He knew he crossed a line. He knew that Dazai had been holding himself back when he started yapping about complexes- saw the gleam in his eye, the yawning hunger for blood and self-destruction, the reminder of the Sheep and Flags that lingered there, waiting to cut into him and goad Chuuya into finally killing him.

Sometimes Chuuya’s words aimed for the jugular with the intent to kill, even as Dazai’s sank into a non-vital point, bringing pain but not the death of their relationship.

Sometimes Dazai wasn’t the monster between the two of them.

In lieu of an apology for the lines long crossed, Chuuya dragged his body over to the couch and pushed him down to lay there. He could see the way he was drifting off, so he grabbed the abandoned cup and tossed the remaining water at him to see his disgruntled shiver. “Don’t fall the f*ck asleep.” He refilled another cup with a straw scrounged out of some gift bag shoved into the back of a cabinet- either from Mori or his drinking friends. “Come on, dumbass, you’re not surviving an overdose just to die choking.”

When Dazai didn’t move, Chuuya shoved at him until he sat up with a petulant sneer lingering on his lips. “Is the muttdeafnow too? I told you to leave.”

“It’s either me or a psychiatric hospital,” Chuuya ignored him except to pinch him until it hurt right on the back of his hand. He’d thrown up the pills, but he wouldn’t cough up the details like the time he took the pills or if he’d had any of the piss-poor whiskey he liked for whatever reason. “I swear to the gods I’ll get you admitted if you don’t cooperate and let me get out of here sooner than later.”

The answering hold Dazai managed to latch onto his wrist was impressive- almost enough to break a bone if he weren’t drugged up to all hell, albeit no longer enough to kill himself. Still, he managed to convey his threat even before he opened his mouth.

“Do your best and you'll see my worst,” Dazai intoned lowly, pure vitriol lingering on his tongue.

Chuuya rolled his eyes to hide the cold wave that washed over him at the demonic fury sitting frozen in those dull eyes. “Then drink the f*cking water and stay awake for an hour or two so I can make sure you won’t drop dead.” A tense moment passed before Dazai finally brought the straw to his lips and took a slow, small sip, swallowing pointedly with a raised brow that screamed ‘are you happy now?’ Chuuya pushed it towards him again. “I don’t care how much you whine. If you don’t drink whatever the hell I give you we’re going to Mori to get your stomach pumped. Again.”

“Hmph,” Dazai pouted, taking a longer sip. “Maybe Chuuya put something in this and he’s trying to poison me.”

The lighter, more typical dialogue relaxed Chuuya just a bit. He was looking a bit more lucid too and despite how slurred his speech still was it was clear he wasn’t on a one-way trip to hell anymore. It helped that he’d caught Dazai before he went to take more pills. “Why the f*ck would I do that aftersavingyou, you freakshow?!”

Dazai tsked at him. “You’re always talking…” he paused for a moment with a small, almost imperceptible wince. A migraine, probably. It would serve him right to get a headache after all the ones he’d caused Chuuya, he thought vindictively. “...about how you want to be the one to kill me. This could be your master plan. It’s just as simple as I’d expect from a slug like you.”

Chuuya scrunched his nose up at him. “Like I’d even bother with that. Unlike you, I have better things to do, gods…”

Better things that he was putting off just to babysit his annoying leach of a freakshow partner.

“Mmh, I guess Chuuya isn’t smart enough to think that far ahead anyway.”

“Hah?!”

“I’m sorry for putting my Chuuya through this,” Dazai said ever so quietly as he finished nearly the whole bowl of food set before him, breaking Chuuya out of his thoughts.

He’d gotten better at apologies, but this wasn’t one that Chuuya ever wanted to hear. Dazai had no right apologizing for anything Chuuya did of his own accord. He walked around the counter, drying his hands with a rag as he went. “Don’t apologize. For once you don’t have anything to say sorry for.”

“But-”

“If you feel guilty then let me do what I want tonight,” Chuuya said softly, the words a caress against Dazai’s ear with his fingers dancing against his wrist.

And, as he almost expected, Dazai’s body tensed before it collapsed back into his hold like a puppet with cut strings. He tilted his head up and, with eyes that suddenly glittered like glass shards crudely glued together, he bit his lip. “I don’t think I can get….”hard,he didn’t say. Chuuya still kind of heard it anyway. “...but Chuuya can have me.”

“Anything I want?” Dazai’s nod was slow and hesitant. “Okay,” Chuuya grinned, soft and sad becausesexshould not be the first thing Dazai thought Chuuya wanted after an almost-real suicide attempt. “Then I want you to get in the bath after I prepare it, with your arm over the side to keep your arm’s bandages dry.”

He found a certain amount of joy in watching the way his eyes widened. “Huh-”

“Mmh, you’re right,” he hummed teasingly, tapping his lips faux thoughtfully as he injected just enough sarcastic drawl to offset the reflexive gag at admitting to Dazai being right about anything, “if you can’t get your bandages wet then I guess you’ll have to let me wash you without lifting a finger. After…. I want you to lay down and let me hold you. I want you to stay in bed all night, and I want you to eat breakfast with me tomorrow.”

Even after stopping the first attempt, there was no guarantee that Dazai wouldn’t try again during an episode. Usually, his attempts were simple and fleeting, but during his worst days, he was a persistent motherf*cker if nothing else.

It was scary. It would never stop being scary. But Chuuya would choose this, again and again and again, over any semblance of normality offered to him.

“Okay,”Dazai breathed, sounding choked.

Making Dazai sit still long enough to let Chuuya pamper him was a battle usually, but it was one he was always willing to fight just to lavish him in affection. Love hit him with a stupid stick just hard enough that he didn’t even mind when his mackerel splashed him with soapy water and complained about not being tired.

It was all worth it to make the emptiness that curled in his irises look a little less daunting.

Paris, France

December 22

6:15 p.m.

“It’s right f*cking there?!”

Chuuya’s half-empty second glass of wine sloshed around, dangerously close to spilling on their couch as he screamed atDora The Explorer.“Dora the f*cking dumbass idiot… f*cking idiot,” he grumbled to himself as he sipped on his wine.

Dazai, who’d had one glass of whiskey, looked less interested in the show than he was in Chuuya’s meltdown over stupid melon-headed toddlers who couldn’t even read a map.

“Swiper should’ve f*cking swiped her f*cking…” he hiccuped briefly. “Her f*ckingwig,mack’rel.”

“Think so?” Dazai asked, looking like he was biting back a laugh.

Chuuya stared at him, wondering if he really was stupid… if he’d leeched out all of his smart brain cells. “Duh?!Lookat her- she can’t see the giant ass red barn?! Like- like get some glasses!” He yelled at the screen. When Dora asked again where the huge barn literally off to her right was, he felt a little flicker of his ability-

“And that’s enough Dora for now!” Dazai chirped, putting his hand over Chuuya’s and guiding him to set down his wine. “You wanted to make your little hair thing, right Chuuya?”

Chuuya blinked at him, nodding slightly. His hair mask, right…. “For the party tomorrow,” he mumbled, walking to the kitchen and using his ability to get the Vitamix down. He’d already cut up the ingredients- avocado, lemon juice and peel, olive oil, and lavender extract- so he, again, used his ability to dump them into the blender and flicked it on medium. On his left, Dazai pushed a cup of water into his hands so he drank it, realizing just how thirsty he was as he downed it, then refilled it to drink another cup.

“Needs more lemon,” he decided, staring at the blending mixture.

Dazai squinted at it. “Does it?”

“It makes it look and smell better, and it didn’t say the ingredient proportions were that important, so it’s probably fine,” he explained, grabbing a whole lemon from the fridge and dropping it in after crushing it in the blender withTainted.

When Dazai stared at him, he bristled. “Shut up.”

“I didn't say anything,” he held his hands up defensively.

Chuuya scrunched his nose at him. “I can hear your brain smoking from here.”

“If anyone's brain is failing it's Chuuya’s,” Dazai snarked back.

“Okay, well it's my Vitamix, I bought it with my designer money, so I can do whatever I want with it,” he huffed.

“Well if you bought it with yourdesignermoney-” Dazai drawled sarcastically with a brow raised in amusem*nt. Chuuya grabbed a bottle off the counter and waved it at him.

“I make- I makehatsfor a living. I get paid rich- so I can- I'm f*ckingloaded.I can buyfiveblenders.” He tried to take a drink of the wine only to find it empty.

He didn't feel too disappointed about the lack of wine, because Dazai was finally nodding along in agreement (though he didn't quite register the teasing curl to his solemn expression). “With how much you make, maybe even six.”

Chuuya didn't eventhinkabout that. “I can…. I can buysix blenders!”

(Four weeks later:

“Dazai why the f*ck do we have six custom made blenders outside our door?”

“Maybe Chuuya wanted to buy them with hisdesignermoney.”

“What the hell are you talking about? And we don't evenneeda blender. We alreadyhaveone!”)

“Maybe focus on what you’re making in this one first,” Dazai suggested with a pointed eye on the mixture that was getting beaten to a pulp.

Chuuya let it run for a bit longer before deeming it done and poured it into a cup. With his hair over the sink, he put the mush into it, combing his fingers through and saturating it to the root with more on the ends. He wrapped it up into a bun on top of his head and when he turned around, Dazai’s phone was up and- probably- recording him with avocado lemon mask on his hands and a green paste in his hair.

“Dazai-!”

“My slug looks good,” Dazai interrupted him, a mischievous smile curling on his lips.

Chuuya blinked. “Really?”

(Dazai had to bite his tongue to stop the reflexive“as if”that lingered on his tongue. Drunk Chuuya was unpredictable, butangrydrunk Chuuya was destructive. Not that he’d really care if he destroyed the kitchen, but he knew that the blame would be put on him for provoking his dog, and then Chuuya would get evenmoreunreasonable about making him eat three times a day and changing his bandages, so it was in his best interests to bepleasant.)

“Yeah,” he nodded with a little snicker. “Green looks good on Chuuya.”

And…. well, Chuuya didn’t know what anyone else would’ve gotten from that statement, but to him it soundedvery muchlike Dazai was telling him to throw out everything he had that wasn’t green because that was the only color he really ever needed to wear.

“I know it does,” Chuuya puffed, lying through his teeth because he hated the way green looked on him (but maybe he should wear it more often…. but not because of what Dazai said!). “Maybe there would be a color that looks good on you if you weren’t so slimy,” he added just in case Dazai was waiting for a compliment back.

Dazai’s eye twitched a little bit and his smile tightened. “Ah, really? You’re probably too short to see what I’m wearing from down there, slug.”

“You’re too desperate to be on your knees for me to not,” Chuuya bit back.

After a few more minutes spent arguing, they ended up on the sofa with Chuuya’s hair under a shower cap, resting his head on Dazai’s thighs,Pokemonrunning on the TV while his mackerel read a book. Usually, they spent nights the other way around, with Dazai’s fluffy, overgrown hair splayed across his legs, but it was nice to lay like this too.

“Can I see my suit for tomorrow?” Dazai asked out of the blue just as Ash was getting zapped by his yellow rat.

Chuuya leveled him with an exasperated look. Dazai had been trying to wheedle the suit from him ever since he brought it home two days prior. “I told you that you have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Such a stingy dog,” Dazai sniffed.

The suit was a struggle to make. Not because of any assembly or tailoring issues- Chuuya was good at what he did, after all- but because of the color scheme. He felt guilty for seriously considering it, but for a moment he’d had a white fabric in mind, with a wedding-like lace to the lining. Dazai would’ve looked beautiful in it… but the sight of him would’ve been too much for Chuuya’s heart if he went through with it.

“We should dance,” he said suddenly, the thought lighting up his brain like a matchstick.

Dazai lowered his book again to look at him properly. “....why?”

Chuuya shrugged, the movement making the plastic cap crinkle. “Just want to. You like to.”

Or, at the very least, he thought Dazai liked dancing. He looked a little more relaxed than usual even with the required skin-to-skin contact that came from the activity. It was one of the fewlikeshe could assign to the entity known as Dazai Osamu.

Supporting that thought, Dazai didn’t disagree. “Maybe when you’re sober. I don’t want a slug like you stomping on my toes.”

“Rude,” Chuuya scowled. And then, because he could, he grabbed at Dazai’s book and chucked it across the room. When Dazai shifted to get up, he wrapped his arms around his legs to keep him there. “If you won’t dance with me, you have to watch the show.” Ash was meeting some girl and stealing her bike.

Dazai made some kind of sound that might have been amusem*nt or assent, but he stayed there for the next two hours as they finished almost ten episodes of Pokemon, as Chuuya’s hair mask dried and his scalp started feeling a bit itchy.

“Shouldn’t you wash that out now?” Dazai asked as the eleventh episode started playing.

Chuuya touched the plastic cap. “Oh… yeah,” he set down the glass of wine he’d been drinking slowly and got up.

Dazai followed him to the bathroom as Chuuya stripped his shirt off and, after a little bit of time spent touching the hardened helmet he’d made out of his hair, dunked under the shower spray to rinse out the hair mask. It felt…. really rough, actually. He couldn’t quite get his fingers through the mess and it felt almost gummy in texture.

He could feel Dazai hanging over his shoulder.

“Longer is better for hair masks?” Dazai questioned from behind him, and without looking he could already see the teasing smirk on his face as he quoted Chuuya’s earlier statement from an hour into theirPokemonbinge.

“Shutup,”Chuuya grouched, feeling a little bit of panic as he pulled his hand away with more than a few detached strands of red wrapped around it.

The mask said forty five minutes, but longer usuallywasbetter for hair masks. What went wrong?

He wrang out his hair and turned to inspect the damage.

.

“Maybe it’s better dry,”he squeaked out at the sight of his reflection, grabbing the hair dryer.

“Chuuya-” Dazai hedged, looking between him and the dryer, but there was a little shaking to his shoulder and a smile curling on his lips so infuriating that Chuuya silenced him with a glare.

He put the heat on high and worked around his hair, watching as it dried slowly, looking more and more frizzy and split and-

.

..

…

For the Tainted Sorrowactivated and cut out in a moment, flickering between activation and cancellation.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he might have screamed when he saw what actually happened to his hair.

“What the hell happened?!” He yelled at his reflection, begging himself for answers and finding none.

“Chuuya,” Dazai snickered, his phone out and his thumb scrolling, “the internet says it was the lemon. You shouldn’t have left it that long or used lemon juice since it’s a bleaching agent. And then you put heat on it- every single site says not to do that for a day after.”

A bleaching agent. A bleaching agent he put on hisnatural red hair.f*ck. f*ck, f*ck,f*ckity f*ck f*ck sh*t-

“I should just cut it,” Chuuya stared blankly at himself into the mirror, so mind-numbingly panicked that he moved right along to being calm, holding the kitchen scissors so tightly his fist had become a white-knuckled grip.

Dazai finally managed to stifle his laughter at that, a sort of alarm dawning on his face instead. “Ah, okay, slug, I think that’s enough.” He wrestled the scissors out of Chuuya’s hand, while the man himself just stared at the hair he didn’t think he’d gotten so attached to but hedidand he kind of felt like crying or grabbing another glass of wine.

The lemonbleachedthe ends of his hair. They were so split and frizzy that they looked wholly unsalvageable.

Yeah, okay, crying it is,he decided when the tears started budding in the corners of his eyes, a little sob worming its way to sit just behind his lips, waiting to escape.It isn’t even that big of a deal,he tried to convince himself, but Dazai was rubbing his hip and petting his hair- his poor,ruinedhair- and he couldn’t stop himself from blubbering because that feltniceand Dazai had no right being like that when he screwed up hishair-

Clothes were being tugged onto his body, a soft t-shirt and pair of sweatpants pulled on over boxers as Dazai dressed him with all the gentleness he never would have expected Dazai capable of three years ago.

“There, there, chibi,” Dazai soothed him on the couch after forcefully maneuvering Chuuya into his lap and leaning him against his chest. “It’s okay-”

“No, i-it’snot!”He choked out, desperately trying not to get emotional but the whole situation felt like the end of the world. “I’mugly,”something that didn’t mean much to him before, but would Dazai marry him if he couldn’t even keep his hair intact? The thought made his lip tremble and he hated how it had the tears falling a little more viciously.

With that, Dazai put a hand on his chin and tilted it up, then sandwiched his face between his hands. “Chuuya isalwayspretty,” he said, with all the seriousness he usually kept under wraps for far more severe matters.

And then, with a quick little side glance and a bite to his lip, Dazai leaned in and started peppering kisses all over his face. Each peck was barely a second long moment of contact, dancing from his temple to his jawline, but he kept doing it until Chuuya was laughing more than he was crying, the corners of his eyes scrunching and he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

It was…. nice, if not wholly unexpected.

He fortified his emotions and grabbed a hat.

.

“Okay! Ready to go,” Chuuya announced after pulling on his shoes, aPowerpuff Girlshoodie he’d snagged off of Dazai, and his leather jacket.

Thirty minutes and three glasses of water forced onto him by his frustratingly caring mackerel later, Chuuya had revised his decision to cut all of his hair off and instead, with mild encouragement from Dazai, decided they needed to head to the store instead to grab some emergency supplies to fix the mess he’d made of his hair before the party the next night. Because he was definitely very rational and hadn’t just drunk-cried over his hair badly enough to need emergency cuddles. Absolutely not.

(Normally Dazai would be all for Chuuya’s decisions. Truthfully, Chuuya could be bald and he wouldn’t care any less. He’d support him later if he then wanted to cut his hair more drastically, when he hadn’t had two large glasses of wine in one sitting and nursed a third over an hour- plus a few sips of whiskey he’d decided he needed to have- and wasn’t riled up from watchingDora the Explorerand getting one too many‘who’s that Pokemon?’quizzes wrong.

For now, though, he’d settle for glaring at anyone who dared to look twice at his distressed partner while they were out shopping for whatever he wanted to get to soothe him.)

Dazai looked down at the keys in Chuuya’s hand with a raised eyebrow. “As much fun as drunk driving with Chuuya is, it’s not exactly a peaceful way to die. Let’s just walk.”

Chuuya scowled. “M’not drunk.”

“Then I’m not suicidal,” Dazai stared at him flatly. “Unless you wantmeto drive, which in that case-”

“Walking it is.”

“Thought so,” he chirped, plucking the keys out of Chuuya’s hand.

Chuuya had tucked all of his hair into his hat to hide the damage, but it ended up looking weird with the fedora-style of it. He grabbed a puffed beanie instead and hoped it didn’t look too weird. Dazai didn’t seem to mind, at the very least, though that really wasn’t saying much considering Dazai was very likely colorblind along with being half blind and he definitely had no fashion sense.

For all his insistence that he wasn’t drunk, Chuuya, still tipsy after nursing a large glass of wine after his initial drinking, knew he’d later insist his meltdown had been a result of the wine to keep Dazai from teasing him for it. Not that that would stop him, of course.

They walked into the supermarket a few minutes later after a long walk where Dazai basically hovered over him the entire time. He kept staring at every single person who walked past, which was beyond embarrassing since it drew even more attention to them.

He grabbed a deep repair hair mask- then grabbed ten more after some more consideration- and, with a wobble to his lower lip that made Dazai’s smile tighten hilariously with nervousness, a pair of haircutting scissors. Dazai would have to trim the ends of his hair to get rid of the fried duck-yellow tinge and damage.

Twenty minutes and another glass of wine later (he wasnotan alcoholic), Dazai actually did okay at trimming his hair. Chuuya was just grateful his hair was curly so even if there were a few mistakes it wouldn’t be obvious and he could wait it out until salons opened again the day after Christmas. After washing his hair and putting in a hair mask- this time with good ingredients recommended to leave overnight for repair- he tied his hair up into a bun and looked at his partner, sprawled out on the couch.

“I can cut your hair too,” he offered Dazai as he sat down beside him to press play on the show again. It was an offhand comment, but Dazai tilted his head consideringly.

“Sure,” he responded immediately, absolutely no hesitation.

Chuuya whipped his head around. “Really?”

Dazai blinked, “yes? Do you want to?”

Tufts of brown quickly joined red clippings on their bathroom floor until his hair was back to chin length instead of being around his shoulders. Just long enough for Chuuya to run his fingers through when they relaxed on the couch, but short enough to not get into his eyes anymore.

They fell asleep on the couch with Dazai rubbing his hand up and down Chuuya’s back while they watched Ash challenge another gym leader with his electric rat despite having other, better-suited pets.

Paris, France

December 23

4:32 p.m.

Just as Chuuya thought, Dazai looked gorgeous in the suit, perfectly tailored to his trim waist and elegant legs. Though, Dazai did always look incredibly natural in expensive clothing- the effects of growing up rich, he supposed. He looked like sin in a tapered waistcoat- in fact, the only thing Chuuya could possibly criticize would be-

“Did you get taller?” Chuuya seethed with an eye twitch at the way the perfectly fitting suit fell just short of expectations- literally.

Dazai blinked. “Maybe?”

The hem of the pants was just a bit too short, falling above his ankle bone. The last time Chuuya measured Dazai was five weeks earlier, so he figured he wouldn’t grow too much in that time frame, but apparently he was wrong. Luckily, the lining, rise, cut, and trim were all nice still. He’d done well to make the seams slimmer on the laurel mist dress shirt to compliment his narrower shoulders. Having the sleeves three-quarters would be more comfortable for Dazai and would naturalize the outfit to something more semi than formal when he took off that damned trench coat. The single-breasted vest in a darker, moonbeam-esque tone was a good idea, and the cinched waist was a natural choice.

So really, the only problem was that Dazai’s legs couldn’t help not ruining his plans for five godsdamned seconds.

“f*cking stay still,” he bit out, grabbing his sewing kit from the closet and dropping to his knees in front of Dazai. He popped the seam, thankful for his foresight to add extra fabric to the ends so it was only a matter of letting it out of bit to add the missing length. It wouldn’t take him too long- it was lucky that he’d made Dazai get dressed early just in case. They still had around an hour to be out the door in time for the office party.

Careful, slowly, using the seam ripper… right to left… move to the hem… small stitch, horizontal, keeping right to left… stab Dazai with the needle once as punishment-

“Ow!”

-and pin the hem…. no time for the iron so he’d have to do it while Dazai had the pants on. He quickly basted the hem, removed the pins, and went back in with a blind stitch. Repeat on the other pant leg, stabbing Dazai on his other ankle for good measure-

“You’re doing this on purpose chibi!”

-and tie off the stitch.

Fifteen minutes and counting, Chuuya sighed in relief, rocking back on his heels. It wasn’t the neatest job in the world what with the lack of ironing, but he doubted even the older designers would notice something was off during the party. If nothing else, it was even and better than letting Dazai go in with ill-fitting pants.

“Fix your hair,” he grouched at Dazai, debating the likelihood of being able to drive them if he had a few sips of wine beforehand to cool off his nerves from the panic of Dazai growing a few centimeters.

He decided against it a moment later. Dazai had been harping on him for drinking ‘irresponsibly’ as retaliation for Chuuya making him eat at least two meals a day. Threatening each other with healthy habits was annoying, if only because Chuuya couldn’t properly complain about it since he was the one who started it.

While Dazai fiddled with his hair in front of their vanity, Chuuya pulled on his own outfit, tying the jade corset off and messing with the hem of his black dress shirt until it laid right. It wasn’t the corset he had planned to wear, and since it was the only formal item he owned that was green he wasn’t sure it would go with the rest of the outfit, but he’d been struck by the inexplicable urge to wear more green. He decided that it looked good on him after a quick moment spent examining the way the dark jewel tone complimented his hair. He felt more confident in his choice to switch corsets by how nicely it matched Dazai’s. The black dress shirt looked a little stark next to laurel mist but it helped offset the shock his hair color would’ve made.

“Ne, Chuuya, wanna make a bet?” Dazai asked, still bent over the mirror and squinting at his reflection with hairpins in hand.

“What kind of bet?” Chuuya asked, trying not to seem too distracted by the way Dazai was pinning part of his hair back, leaving his right eye partly covered and his left sparkling in their bedroom’s fluorescents. He pulled his red hair back into a high ponytail, dragging his bangs out for an artfully messy look.

Dazai’s responding smirk curled mischievously at him from his reflection. “I bet Chuuya will drag me off to have sex before the party’s over.”

Chuuya’s eye twitched as he tied off the ponytail and inspected it in the mirror. “What the f*ck?! No, mackerel, it’s a f*ckingoffice party,why would I-”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Dazai tutted, holding up his pointer finger. “That’s my bet- between the two of us, Chuuya will drag me off for sex before we leave.”

“Oh my gods-” Chuuya groaned, because ofcoursethat was the bet Dazai came up with. What did he expect? “You’re the one who can’t go five minutes without my f*cking hands on you,brat.”

Dazai’s little blush did not go unnoticed from the insulting pet name, but his grin sang with victory. “Chuuya’s already planning on winning then, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chuuya smirked as he turned around, deciding that an easy bet was well deserved. They hadn’t bet on anything in a while, despite it having been a pastime between them before their defection, so it might be fun. He actually kind of sort of liked his co-workers despite how the next youngest among them was twenty-five and sometimes that affected the way they spoke to him. In other words, he wasn't trying to cause an office scandal by f*cking his-partner, mackerel, husband-in the bathroom. “What do I get when I win?”

“If Chuuya cheats-”

“Hah?!”

“-then I guess I’ll do all of your paperwork for a day,” Dazai sighed like it was a massive ordeal.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “Hell no. A week.” Because if it was for a bet, Dazai would end upactuallydoing it without just making a bigger mess. Chuuya was coming up on a busy week, and having Dazai’s stupid genius brain handle all of his paperwork in half the time it would take Chuuya to do it would give him more time to focus on his spring designs.

After a moment spent pouting, Dazai huffed. “Fine, since you’re definitely not winning. When I win, Chuuya has to buy me everything I want for an entire day.”

“What?” Chuuya’s brow scrunched. “I basically do that anyway.”

“No questions asked!” Dazai chirped. “And Chuuya has to do what I say that whole day too.”

No questions askedmeant it was going to be something weird or flat out embarrassing- and doing whatever Dazai said would definitely end up being damning for his reputation. “Fine,” Chuuya decided, a smirk curling on his lips, “but only if you do whatever I want for a day when I win too.”

“I already agreed to the paperwork!”

“And now you have to do this too,” Chuuya rolled his eyes. “You want two things, so I do too.”

Dazai sighed like it was a major inconvenience, but nodded. “Fine.”

“Good. Now put your shoes on before we’re late.”

Mafia parties had always been stuffy, tense affairs. Even among those who'd consider themselves partners and friends there was always a lingering suspicion behind every pleasantry and business deal, so they'd been something to tolerate rather than enjoy.

This party was….different.

For one, it was in an actual ballroom, apparently. Chuuya read the details and put the address into his phone, but he didn’t think it was in one of the company’s fancier delegation locations. There were more designers than he thought were in the actual building, too, so he assumed that they’d invited some of the company’s contracted models and associates as well.

The second they walked in, Chuuya knew he was lucky he’d gotten Dazai to agree to go. Normally, Dazai avoided parties like the plague. He was good at keeping unwanted attention off of himself, but the Demon Prodigy had always been a spectacle at every event, so he’d eventually gotten used to coming up with excuses to get out of things. Chuuya hoped that this party, at the very least, wouldn’t be a mafia-grade disaster.

“Small office party?” Dazai asked from beside him.

Chuuya winced, hiding it before it was too obvious and smirking instead as he started walking ahead towards a group of coworkers. “What do you mean? Thisissmall, comparatively.”

“Comparatively,he says,” Dazai muttered behind him.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around.”

Chuuya reflexively turned his head at the sound of a nearby voice speaking in French, only to see the back of a suit jacket separating him from seeing Dazai.

“You’re rather handsome compared to some of the models I work with. What’s your name? What department are you usually in?”Emil?He’d recognize that stuffy drawl and annoying red-dyed hair anywhere.

He stepped around and spotted Dazai standing there a bit like a deer in headlights from being mistaken for a model. He tried to stifle his laugh and very pointedly ignored his gaze, which begged for mercy. Dazai opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off again.

“Ah!” Emil- Chuuya confirmed after a discreet glance at the man’s face- perked up. “How about this, I’ll give you my information and the next time you’re around we can discuss poaching you from your current project to model lingerie-”

That’s enough of that,Chuuya decided with a tight smile as he stepped into the conversation, wrapping an arm around Dazai’s waist. “Emil, how are you?”

Dazai’s smile teetered into something more natural than the fake one he’d plastered on. Emil glanced between them with a contemplative eye before his smile brightened. “Good, good. Is this man one of your hat models, Chuuya?”

Chuuya had, at first, thought that Emil was just being as flirty as usual, having done the same thing to Chuuya when he first arrived, but the twenty-seven-year-old man genuinely thought Dazai was a model. He laughed a bit. “Dazai’sdefinitelynot a model.”

“Hey!” Dazai pouted.

Emil’s eyes widened and he examined Dazai once more. Chuuya saw the moment he saw the bandages and considered them as more than a fashion accessory, the furrow of his brow and question lingering on his lips. He aimed a warning look at the man that, luckily, he took in stride. “Has he considered it?” He asked Chuuya before looking at Dazai, “have you considered it?”

Dazai grinned, and it was only because Chuuya had been spoiled with his real smile that it felt so nauseating. “No, the hatrack here is the one interested in fashion. I think he’d get jealous if I stole his trademark look,” he tipped Chuuya’s hat off of his head and plopped onto his own.

Chuuya used the hand around his waist to pull him around and grab the hat off of his head. He grumbled as he rearranged it to sit nicely over his hair with his ponytail again, elbowing Dazai when he just laughed at his expense.

Emil watched them with a slightly softened smile. “Well, I hope the two of you have a good night. I might catch up with you later, but I need to talk about the delay on the bralettes with Katya.”

“Good luck getting her to talk about work at a party,” Chuuya waved him off.

“Chuuya’s popular,” Dazai mused as they were left to their own devices in the meantime.

Chuuya glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

His mackerel hummed, fingering a stray curl from Chuuya’s ponytail. “We’ve only been here for a minute and people are already swarming you.”

“I think that’s your fault more than mine,” Chuuya rolled his eyes. Emil had kept the conversation pretty centered on Dazai- though it made sense. Chuuya brought a beautiful man to a party full of designers desperate for models and more than willing to poach them from other departments. He’d have to keep his guard up to keep Dazai- flighty, indecisive, ‘go with the wind’ Dazai- from agreeing to become anyone’s model, especially since Dazai had probably already figured out that people asking got on Chuuya’s nerves. He’d definitely agree to a modeling gig just to mess with him.

Chuuya would be able to keep from killing anyone if he did. Unless he agreed to modellingerie, which in that case all bets would be off and he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt someone. The only lingerie Dazai would ever get to wear would be a piece Chuuya designed himself.

A few more people came their way, though as if trying to prove Chuuya’s point, they all seemed interested in Dazai in particular. If he had to sit through one more playful sigh and half-serious wistful statements of ‘if only I was twenty years younger’ then he might actually commit a felony.Whichfelony that would be was still up for debate.

“And who is this handsome man with you, Chuuya?”

Chuuya internally groaned as he turned around, only to find a slightly more tolerable face than before. He blinked at Mael, who’d walked up behind them with a grin. “Dazai Osamu,” he introduced, gesturing for Dazai to step forward. He shook hands with Mael with a short exchange of pleasantries.

Mael looked between them. “You’re here together? Is he….?” he left the question open suggestively, an eye on Chuuya.

Ah.

Other people had clearly been curious about who Dazai was exactly, but none were close enough to him to hedge the question so obviously. Chuuya side-eyed Dazai, but his mackerel already had his eyes on him, wine-brown twinkling expectantly. Friend? Roommate? Partner? What should he say? What did Dazaiwanthim to say?

“My husband,” Chuuya blurted out, because he didn’t know how to not shoot himself in the foot. He tried not to look at Dazai.

Mael’s eyes widened, a surprised smile lifting his face. “Ah, really? I was under the impression that you were eighteen, Chuuya.”

“We both are,” Dazai answered in his cutely accented French, not missing a beat even though Chuuya definitely just threw him for some kind of loop with his admission of their marriage.

“Oh wow,” Mael looked between the two of them. “Well, I suppose young love has its perks, yes? When did the two of you meet?”

Chuuya’s smile was strained but present. “A few years ago, in Japan.” He snagged a glass of champagne off of the plate a waiter was carrying through the ballroom. He really needed a drink.

“Chuuya proposed in Russia,” Dazai supplied easily, a pretty shine to his eyes, more lively and pleased than Chuuya had seen it all evening. “It was so romantic that unfortunately I decided to marry him.”

“Oi, the hell do you meanunfortunately?”Chuuya elbowed him lightly, but there was a little grin playing on his own lips that he pretended was put there by the champagne. Speaking of the champagne, he needed an excuse to put it down because not only was he the one driving them back home, but he was reminded by the taste of why exactly he didn’t drink champagne regularly.

“The two of you must travel a lot, then,” Elyna smiled as she stepped into the conversation, her dress twirling lightly. “Sorry to eavesdrop, I just wasn’t aware you were married, and to such a beautiful man.”

Chuuya’s smile twinged into something a little more genuine. Mael could be annoying at times, but Elyna was the one who’d shown him the ropes so to speak. She was, to his knowledge, in her late fifties with no sign of retirement in sight. He’d never gotten the impression that she hated any project she was handed. “Heisbeautiful, isn’t he?” Chuuya teased Dazai with a raised brow and a smirking once-over that had his mackerel’s ears tipping red. “It really just never came up,” he assured Elyna with a shrug.

“Mmh, Chuuya’s the beautiful one,” Dazai said right back, a calculated little squint of his eyes letting Chuuya know that he knew he was trying to fluster him.

Itworked,unfortunately.

Dazai was easy to embarrass with excessive compliments and praise in their home with just the two of them, but he was usually frustratingly composed in public. The reddened tint to his ears had already faded, while Chuuya could feel his face heating up a little more obviously. Elyna and Mael laughed a little bit. The whole thing was likely just a scheme to make Chuuya’s blunder more believable, but Dazai played the part frustratingly well.

“Shut up,” he muttered, but having Dazai call him beautiful made his heart flip dangerously and he couldn’t help tugging him closer by his waist, rubbing his thumb into the skin at his hip just to feel the way relaxed into it.

“Do you not wear rings?” Elyna asked curiously, sipping on her champagne elegantly.

Rings.

Chuuya almost choked, causing Dazai to look over at him in mild confusion. He lifted up the champagne glass in explanation and placed it on a waiter’s tray as she walked by. Dazai was still eyeing him suspiciously, but answered for both of them while Chuuya wasdying.“We don’t really care for formalities,” he supplied.

“I’d think both of you would want to put a ring on the other’s hand,” Mael mused. “After all, Chuuya is very beautiful. If he were my husband I’d parade him around- ah, but I guess you do too,” he teased with an eye drawn to where they stood close to each other.

And, listen, Mael wasjoking.It wasn’t funny, but Chuuya knew he had a fiance- only the gods knew how, but he supposed if he was housing agodthen saints weren’t unreasonable to believe in- who he was very faithful to. A pregnant one, at that, who he very pointedly and very openly shared pictures of daily. It was one of the reasons why he wasn’t especially fond of the man.

Chuuya knew that. Dazai did not.

His mackerel pulled away from Chuuya to sling his arms over his shoulders instead, pillowing his chin on Chuuya’s hat-covered head. “Iwouldparade him around if he let me,” he sighed like it was some travesty, like he’d ever hinted to Chuuya that he wanted to show him off.

Still, the positioning, the way his arms folded over Chuuya’s chest, the way Mael was looking at Dazai with a bit of surprise at the glare he didn’t doubt was there…. “Possessive bitch,” Chuuya complained quietly with an eye roll and pinch to Dazai’s side.

He earned a small, quiet whine for his trouble. Chuuya was reminded of their bet.

“Ah, it looks like some people are dancing,” Elyna said with a small, secretive smile as she changed the subject. “Mael, would you do me the honor of a dance?”

Elyna was simultaneously a sweet woman and one of the department supervisors, so it was no surprise that Mael immediately took her hand and agreed. It was sort of the fashion designer equivalent to being asked to dance by a mafia executive, Chuuya decided- refusal wasn’t really an option. Not that he thought there would be any real consequences for saying no- he didn’t exactly think she’d be threatening to murder anyone anytime soon. Normal people didn’t really do that.

With the distraction of the start of the dancing came more than a few people walking their way. Chuuya didn’t doubt that if he let them, they’d ask Dazai to dance. He felt confident that Dazai would probably say no, but Dazai was so incredibly hard to predict that Chuuya decided to cut out the middle man of anxiety and dragged him out to the floor himself.

“Are we dancing, slug?” Dazai asked after a short yelp at the sudden tugging.

Chuuya looked back and raised an eyebrow. “Is that a no?”

Dazai just grinned, using their conjoined hands to twirl him without warning once they were out on the floor. “As long as Chuuya’s ready for me to take revenge.”

Before Chuuya could properly register and figure out what he was referring to, Dazai twirled him again, and then one more time, and-

Oh f*ck.

Learning to dance wasn’t an uncommon lesson mafia members learned. It became more likely the higher up the chain of command one got. As a newly appointed executive, Dazai was expected to learn every style of dance that might ever come up during an event.

That was fine. Entertaining, even- in fact, Chuuya would’ve pulled up a chair, made a snack, and watched Dazai get his feet trampled on for all of his inexperience. Except he was reminded by Kouyou that despite not being an executive, he was still Dazai’s partner and thus would be expected to attend half or more of the events Dazai had to go to.

Their first dancing lesson was together at fifteen years old. Chuuya had been fitted into heeled dress shoes to match Dazai’s height just a bit better so they could take turns leading with ease.

“You can’t still be caught up from that, right?” Chuuya hissed as Dazai finally stopped twirling him long enough for them to fall into some kind of step, working together easily with all the familiarity dance lessons with Kouyou beat into them.

Dazai blinked innocently, but there was a twist of annoyance to his brow while he fell into the position of lead. “Caught up from what,Chuuya?”

“A good lead is soft but not subtle; clearly stating his intentions by moving himself, inviting his partner to follow along,” Kouyou lectured as she tapped at their feet with what was best described as a riding crop, filling Chuuya with a certain amount of trepidation.

She turned again, pacing the floor and shooing away curious subordinates who’d peeked through the door to the gym’s ballet studio. “He is alert, eyes scanning the floor ahead of him, watching traffic, but is constantly aware of what is happening right in his arms. He treats his partner with respect, never forcing movement from them, but following them through their every movement. If he leads a step or a pattern and they interpret the movement differently than he had intended, he adapts to them rather than forcing change. The partner should have a sense of security and safety, knowing they can fully depend on the lead.”

Dazai had never been amazing at leading, but he did it well now, with a hand to Chuuya’s back and firm placements of his feet. Maybe the problem back then wasn’t either of their skills, but their unwillingness to mesh the way they did now.

If only he would stop spinning Chuuya every other second.

He tried to go along with it, managing well to keep every step flourishing and elegant,but he was getting dizzy, godsdammit!“Will you stop already? I get it!”

“You made methrow up,”Dazai tossed back with a little, pointed smile that promised bloodshed on the dancefloor for past grievances.

Becauseof coursehe’d keep a three year long grudge.

“An ideal partner puts their mass into their movement, allowing their lead to feel exactly where they are and what they are doing,” Kouyou spoke firmly as they moved in slow, awkward steps together, eyes firmly on the floor between them. “They adapt quickly to changes in direction, allowing their lead to take command, and trusting him explicitly with their safety and well-being on the dance floor. They savor the movements, taking the time to complete each one before moving on to the next. They embellish their steps, with a wave of the arm or a toss of the head, but does not interfere with what their partner is leading.”

Kouyou’s smile turned into something bloody and sharp as she dragged her eyes across the two of them. “They will make things difficult if the lead is not treating them well. They demand respect.”

As Dazai attempted to pull him into another spin, Chuuya crossed his foot over and pivoted into an improvised dip instead, forcing his partner to support him instead.

“Hey,” Dazai blinked at him, still holding Chuuya up.

“Hey,” Chuuya snorted. He used their joined hands to lift himself back up and, with another pivot of his foot, took control. He wasn’t tall enough to spin Dazai until he puked anymore, but he could still use the same move Dazai used against him all those years ago to nearly give him a concussion.

With a hand tightening on Dazai’s waist, he shifted his hand dominantly and swayed him faster into a practiced motion that made Dazai’s eyes widen and throat bob anxiously.

“Chuuya,” Dazai spoke warningly, following his lead easily but glancing behind him with trepidation.“Chuuya.Chuuya, Chuuya, don’t-”

When the music reached another crescendo, Chuuya grinned viciously and lowered Dazai into a dangerously low dip, low enough that he had to engage his core for it to keep them both steady through the embellished transition into it. Dazai’s eyes were half-shut in dread as his scalp was barely an inch from brushing the floor.

“Doesn’t feel great on the other end, does it?” Chuuya snarked, remembering a time when his head slammed to the floor from an aggressive dip a smaller and more insufferable mackerel had forced him into.

Dazai just huffed as he tapped Chuuya’s arm to signal him to bring them both up. “Chuuya started it with the spinning.”

“Today or three years ago?” He bit back. “Can’t you let it go by now?”

“I would,” Dazai offered. “But that wouldn’t be as fun.”

He couldn’t stop the answering, playful grin from edging his lips.

(Dancing was always more fun when they had something to bicker over, like with most things that involved both of them.)

Kouyou stood in front of them from where they were panting, Dazai on the floor, dazed and dizzy, and Chuuya leaning heavily over his knees with a hand pressed to the back of his tender skull.

“At the end of the day, you are both there for a reason,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “Whether for leisure, seduction, assassination, or what have you, both of you must coordinate your purposes for being there into a single dance that satisfies the self and the audience. Because,” and she said this solidly with all the rigidity of a long-planted tree, “there willalwaysbe an audience.”

“Again!”

Back then, Dazai had already known the basics of dancing, and sometimes his foot would fall into perfect step before Kouyou could call the instruction as though it were reflexive. His eyes would get hazy, almost like he was dreaming of a different time and place, a different instructor, a different partner.

Chuuya would consider the movements more elegant than clumsy if he wouldn’t stop continuing even after he stopped for instruction. His toeshurtfrom the stupid mackerel’s half-done dance.

Now, rather than annoyance, Chuuya felt more curious about where he learned to dance as they walked off the dance floor after the song ended. He wondered if Dazai would tell him, in the dark of their room under the cover of sinfully soft sheets, where no one but Chuuya would hear the words he confessed under his breath.

As they sat together with a cup of water Chuuya had retrieved for himself and pressed into Dazai’s hands every once in a while, a low, impressed whistle paired with slow clapping interrupted them.

“Jean,” Chuuya nodded to him in greeting, the twenty-five-year-old pulling up a chair to the table and sitting down with them.

“That was a show if I’ve ever seen one,” Jean smiled at the two of them, though it paused on Dazai with an interested edge to it. “How long have you known such a talented dancer, Chuuya?”

Ah, right. Dazai had been raised in posh, as opposed to Chuuya who’d had to learn it, so his dancing was always going to be a bit more refined and natural than his would ever be without practice. He’d bet his life savings that the curve of Dazai’s spine during that last dip had been gorgeous, a perfect bend just like the ones he saw when his mackerel was begging for-

“Too long,” he answered quickly, feeling his cheeks warm as he grabbed for Dazai’s hand, not quite liking the way Jean was looking at him (it wasn’t like he didn’t understand the allure others were bound to feel towards Dazai, he just didn’t enjoy it). “This is my husband, Dazai Osamu.”

The words dribbled from his lips naturally now after the first time saying them, too natural for his peace of mind.

“Really?” Jean asked, surprised clear as day on his face. “You’re rather young for that-”

Ah. There was the reminder of why exactly he didn’t chat with Jean often. Despite reminding him that Chuuya was an adult, he was one of the few that treated him like a child running with scissors.

“We’re both eighteen,” Dazai interjected quickly before Chuuya could get the chance to, a tight smile on his lips. “And that’s not really your business.”

Chuuya reached out to tug on the loose, defined brown curls of his hair absently while he let Dazai handle the conversation. If he wanted to argue with Jean, he’d enjoy the front row seats without objection. Dazai’s eyes flitted to him distractedly.

“I’m just saying-”

“So am I.”

Chuuya had to take a moment to examine Dazai’s expression, the nuance of that particular smile, to determine whether he was in the mood to humiliate or murder someone. He wouldn’t deny part of him would always want to watch, because he could tell that this time, if he did kill someone, it wouldn’t be with emptiness in his eyes but the blazing light he’d only seen a few times before. Chuuya didn’t enjoy watching him murder blankly, but sometimes he just looked so-so-

In any case, Jean’s annoyance was always a treat to see. He clearly didn’t know what to do in the face of Dazai’s patented Nice Smile and it showed as he quickly excused himself moments later. Chuuya could tell he was leaning more towards humiliation than murderous, but he still felt compelled to take his hand and lift it to press a kiss to his knuckles.

“Chuuya, what-” Dazai cut himself off, and the light that shimmered in his eyes as he did was so painfully beautiful that it had Chuuya sucking in a steadying breath too, eyes widening right back. He didn’t know what made Dazai look at him like that, but he wanted to know, wanted toask-

Before he could, he noticed Elyna and Mael chatting nearby and slowly drifting closer to their table. Chuuya sat up to greet them when they came by, but when he pulled his hand from Dazai’s hair, his partner was scooting back too.

“I’ll be in the bathroom,” he said, very pointedly looking at Chuuya, a suggestive twinkle to his eye.

Really?Chuuya thought, though he wasn’t upset about winning the bet.What had done it?He watched Dazai for a few moments with a squint.No, really,he wondered after replaying the evening's events and coming up with nothing that might’ve tempted Dazai into deciding the bet wasn’t worth not begging for sex for another hour or two. He didn’t even get to tease Dazai properly like he’d been planning.

(He wouldn’t realize until much later, but that was the first time he’d ever been openly affectionate in a romantic sense around people he knew and, to an extent, cared about. It was different from kisses on a bridge in the middle of the night, different from dancing, different from a hand to his waist or a hand in his hair. There was no mistaking the reason behind why Chuuya kissed his hand in that moment, and it had been so overwhelmingly honest that Dazai craved to covet it for himself.)

“Chuuya! We saw you and Osamu dancing, and it was…”

Chuuya let Dazai stew in the bathroom in his defeat for a few more minutes before following after him, reflecting on his own irrational denial from earlier that night.

They hadn’t bet on anything in a while, despite it having been a pastime between them before their defection, so it might be fun. He actually kind of sort of liked his co-workers despite how the next youngest among them was twenty five and sometimes that affected the way they spoke to him. In other words, he wasn't trying to cause an office scandal by f*cking his- partner, mackerel, husband- in the bathroom.

He tried to feel a bit of shame when he ended up sucking Dazai off in the bathroom and received a handjob they kissed throughout in return, but he couldn’t quite muster up enough to even feel properly embarrassed during their semi-obvious walk of shame out the door twenty minutes later, trading messy kisses against his motorcycle and breathless laughter left over from the high of the first dance they’d shared in months.

Chapter 7: devoted miscalculations (part two)

Chapter Text

Christmas morning had to be celebratedin the morningbefore the clock hit seven. It was necessary, a tradition he'd used as an excuse to annoy Dazai for once instead of the other way around for three years in a row.

Still, he felt a sliver of guilt for how Dazai had immediately gone from the bedroom to the couch, flopping down and closing his eyes.

It was just a little too light in there for him to really fall asleep, but when Chuuya walked in with two mugs- coffee for himself and tea for Dazai- it was clear he'd managed to doze off if nothing else.

With a smile that felt too fond for them, Chuuya set the mugs down on the table and leaned down over Dazai to brush his hair away from his face. When Dazai sleepily opened one eye a sliver before closing it like even that had taken too much energy, Chuuya leaned down to press his lips against his mackerel's. The kiss was soft and slow, syrupy sweet and tender. After a minute spent sighing contentedly into it, Dazai finally responded, putting in the effort to make it just a bit more real and full. He even smiled into the kiss, lazy and warm.

After moments spent just kissing for the sake of intimacy, Dazai pulled away and tilted his nose to rub against Chuuya's before dropping his forehead to rest against his collarbone. Then, with a long-suffering sigh, he sat up and reached forward for his tea.

“I guess Chuuya wants to open his gifts now,” he said after taking a long sip to quench his throat.

Right. Dazai got something for him. Two things, actually, both wrapped weirdly nicely with corners so neat they looked factory-done. They weren't, since Dazai's old hobby of origami had been mastered and cycled through with the intensity of a hurricane.

Chuuya's wrapping skills were….. less than neat. He'd gone through an embarrassing amount of wrapping paper just to wrap the three presents stacked together on their coffee table. It soothed his irritation at Dazai's skills to see the fish-covered wrapping paper he specially ordered for the occasion. Dazai's wrapping paper of choice was littered with snails, causing his eye to twitch a bit.

He reached for the larger of the two boxes and, with a nod from Dazai, pulled at the wrapping paper. Underneath it was another box that he opened, his eye catching on the label marking it as an LED product-

Of f*cking course.

Chuuya's eye twitched the longer he stared at the boots. They were actually exactly his style and he couldn't tell if that made them more or less likable to him. If he didn't know they lit up, he would've mistaken them for a tasteful and perhaps somewhat boring gift.

But he did know they lit up.

“I even made sure they had a heel like your usual shoes,” Dazai told him brightly, apparently fully awake now. “Y’know, since you use them to make yourself seem taller!”

“You really had to be insufferable on Christmas?” Chuuya groaned, but he curiously tapped at the heels and, as expected, they lit up in a bright display. Arainbowone.“Really?”

The longer he looked at them, the more he realized that he actually kind of loved them, even if the dog print on the inside of the shoe was annoying, He’d rather keel over and die than admit that, though. The gods knew it’d only encourage his unbearable mackerel.

Dazai grinned teasingly. “They had to be custom made, so I had to make sure Chuuya wouldn’t accidentally swap shoes with a little kid while I was at it. You have to be able to tell which shoes are yours, of course.”

“Of course,” Chuuya’s eye twitched violently, because he heard the unspoken taunt of‘because you’re child-size, chibi!’sing-songing through his head without Dazai having to say as much. “Let’s just get the other one over with,” he sighed heavily, grabbing the other package and tearing at the wrapping paper, taking a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose once he did. “I’m going to smother you in your f*cking sleep.”

Red pajama shorts with french poodles printed all over them, photoshopped to have Chuuya’s favorite hat perched on their heads. The loose pajama top was white with a large cartoon slug wearing the same hat as the dogs. The fabric was as sinfully soft as the stuff they usually purchased nowadays and he could tell they’d feel amazing to sleep in. He’d even gotten shorts instead of pants, knowing that Chuuya didn’t like the extra fabric around his calves when he was under the covers.

“I represented my slimy little slug-dog all in two presents,” Dazai announced proudly, still wearing his mackerel pajamas and making Chuuya wonder if these were meant to be his way of matching clothes with him. In a screwed-up, annoying way.

“Are you that proud of yourself?”

“Why, it’s my magnum opus, chibi,” Dazai smiled. “I don’t know how I’ll outdo myself next year, so don’t get your hopes up!”

Next year.

The fact that even in passing, even as unthinking as the comment might have been, Dazai was considering sticking around for another year…. Chuuya swallowed heavily. “Too late,” he said with a pointed stare. “You’d better get me somethingnormalnext year.”

Dazai’s curls were just long enough still to flop over when he lifted his head suddenly, something unreadable swirling in his eyes as he clearly just processed what he’d said too. He didn’t refute the statement, didn’t talk about suicide or bring up his wish to be dead soon, and Chuuya genuinely couldn’t quite tell if it was for his sake or if it was for some other unfathomable reason.

Deciding that it definitely wasn’t the time to unpack anything emotionally, he let it go and reached out to pinch Dazai’s wrist to startle that expression off of his face. “Open your gifts now.”

Trying to decide what to get Dazai for Christmas wasn’t easy. It was a line between the practical and the personal- what did he want, what did he need, what would he be happy to see? There was never an easy answer to any of those questions, and even after years and months of knowing each other and being so desperately intimate, Dazai still kept his interests close to his chest. So close that Chuuya wondered if Dazai even knew what he liked anymore.

He decided to get three presents to avoid having to juggle which side of gift-giving he wanted to venture into. Something practical, something self-indulgent on Chuuya’s end, and something personal that he’d seen Dazai looking at in a store once for only a moment.

Grabbing the first and largest present, Dazai treated the wrapping paper a little more nicely than Chuuya, who’d ripped through it haphazardly. He let the gift box lay on the table since it was heavy and, for a moment, just stared at it.

“Thanks?”

Chuuya rolled his eyes and tore through more of the wrapping paper to show off the box of assorted teabags. “Yes, we have a Keurig,” he said, already anticipating where Dazai’s thoughts went. “But since you’re always complaining about me hogging it for coffee, I got you your own for tea.”

Just like with the first outfit he made for Dazai, his eyes widened and the way he looked at the Keurig changed entirely. Chuuya watched, greedily taking in his reactions even as they tempered the moment he noticed he was being watched. “Chuuya should’ve just stopped hogging the Keurig.”

“Oi,” Chuuya elbowed him, but he didn’t take it to heart. Dazai was notoriously bad at accepting gifts, so he’d let the deflecting insults go. “Just open the next one, asshole.”

Sticking his tongue out, Dazai opened the next gift, again on the table for its weight. “If Chuuya’s trying to butter me up, it’s not working,” he tittered with disappointment, before, once again, he just stared at the item on the table.

And this time it made sense, since Dazai was not interested in photography and hated being photographed. There, on the table, was a very expensive camera set with nice portrait lenses.

“I was going to ask anyway,” Chuuya sniffed, trying to appear unphased by Dazai’s less-than-stellar reaction, “but I want pictures of you. Us, maybe, but…. Yeah.”

Dazai didn’t look at him. “I don’t like-”

“-being photographed, I know,” Chuuya cut him off, reaching out to touch him. “But I just… want a few photos. For myself, I guess. No one else ever has to see them if you don’t want them to, I just don’t have any of you.”

They had smartphone cameras, obviously. Chuuya took photos of himself and they texted back and forth various little things. Dazai sometimes sent pictures of the things around him, but never of himself. He definitely could’ve just asked to take photos with his phone camera, but he wanted them to be as good as possible so that Dazai only ever saw the best of himself if Chuuya decided to frame them and put them around the apartment. Chuuya was good at taking photos with the camera, but professional photos of Dazai would be more than priceless.

And maybe, if he got used to having his picture taken with a camera like that, he’d be more open in the future to casual little selfies and little photos of the two of them together.

Dazai still didn’t seem keen on the idea, but he finally looked at Chuuya. “I’ll think about it,” he decided.

Chuuya nodded and set the camera aside, knowing that was the best he’d get until Dazai made up his mind. He was sure Dazai would say yes eventually, but it was definitely too much to hope he’d agree to it at that moment. “Open the last one,” he nudged Dazai encouragingly.

This gift had been hastily modified the night before thanks to express shipping and a chunk of money thrown at the seller. As Dazai tore away the wrapping paper, Chuuya watched with bated breath for his reaction.

Dazai’s fingers dug into the edges of the personalized collar, less than an inch wide and in the same leather as the choker Chuuya let him wear, lined with a criminally soft fabric in the same light blue as his ability’s effect. Chuuya’s name was written in elegant script on the tags with ‘Mackerel’ etched into the other, the other side of it reading ‘Osamu’. There was a customary loop for a leash that Chuuya would only use to tug him by with his finger. It was tasteful and didn’t look like a bdsm collar, so if Dazai wanted, he could remove the tags and wear the collar itself. It would still be branding, as the blue lining hadNakahara Chuuyastitched into it in royal blue thread.

Underneath the collar was a sweater, oversized and the same color as the collar’s lining. The sweater was made especially to be long and thick enough that Dazai could wear it on its own and feel swamped in the fabric the way Chuuya knew he liked, since it should go down to just below his upper thighs, a few inches below where the bandages ended. The sleeves would be long enough to cover his hands if he wanted, too, and the whole thing was meant to be criminally soft so that it wouldn’t mess with Dazai’s fabric sensitivity.

The best part of the sweater was the back, which was embroidered with ‘Mackerel’ across the shoulder blades in royal blue thread.

The collar was a presumptuous addition that was made sort of last-minute to go with the sweater, which he already bought and customized a few weeks in advance. Chuuya only really decided to go through with the collar idea after seeing how attached Dazai was to his choker and how his eyes lingered on a rack of them in a store during their last shopping excursion. He’d thought briefly about getting Dazai lingerie to match it, but that seemed like a bit too much without a conversation beforehand.

(Did Chuuya hope the sweater being a convenient length to wear without anything underneath would ease Dazai into the idea? Maybe. Did he hope Dazai would see how pretty he looked in blue and wear it more often as a result? Definitely.)

He watched, enraptured, as Dazai inspected his gift with a high flush on his cheeks. Dazai was touching the sweater with curious fingers splayed over the soft fabric, but he kept going back to the collar as it easily divided his attention.

Chuuya smirked. He didn’t know why he thought for a minute that Dazai wouldn’t want his own collar. His mackerel was reading the tags over and over, running his hand over the lining and tracing Chuuya’s name. Dazai hadn’t said anything, but Chuuya knew gifts were overwhelming for him. “D’you wanna try it on?” He asked instead of pressing about whether or not he liked it- that much was pretty obvious.

Dazai’s eyes snapped up to him and his mouth worked around words that never left his throat. He settled for nodding, pressing the collar into Chuuya’s hands and flitting his eyes around like he wasn’t sure what to look at.

Chuuya shifted closer and unbuckled the collar, but before he latched it on, he fingered over the bandages on his neck, looking into Dazai’s eyes questioningly. He received a quick shake of his head as Dazai swallowed anxiously, and his eyes softened because heunderstoodthe feeling of fraying at the edges from too much. Chuuya slipped his hand from the bandages without another word and buckled the collar around Dazai’s neck, settling the leather there and leaning away.

Oh.

Dazai’s eyes were blown wide and his lip was trembling, prompting Chuuya to brush the back of his hand with his fingers. At the touch, Dazai swayed closer like he didn’t know what to do about what he was feeling, but when his other hand drifted up to dance his fingertips across it, hewhined.

Chuuya’s eyes shifted over his figure to the half-hard bulge in Dazai’s pajama pants. Huh. With a teasing grin, he leaned in to settle a hand on Dazai’s chin to turn his face towards him again. “You like having my name on you?” He asked, to which Dazai let out another pathetically hot noise and dropped his head to Chuuya’s shoulder, hands coming up to latch onto his shirt. Chuuya huffed a short laugh and held the back on his neck with one hand while the other danced towards his half-hard co*ck, feeling lust stirring in his gut in response. When he brushed a finger over it, though, Dazai’s whine bordered on something pained and he shifted away. “...too much?” Chuuya asked, because he’d seen how overwhelmed Dazai had been from the presents even before the collar was brought out.

Dazai’s sad, embarrassed little snuffle into his shoulder confirmed it. “Mmh,” he hummed in agreement.

“S’okay,” Chuuya reassured him, tossing the wrapping paper behind him off of the couch and maneuvering Dazai into laying on top of him, collared and encompassed by Chuuya as much as he could manage with their size difference. He threw a blanket over him for extra measure. “Do you want to keep it on?” His mackerel nodded quickly. “Okay,” Chuuya responded easily, bringing the blanket up further to cover almost all of Dazai’s face as he fumbled for the remote to put on some show in the background for him to wind down to.

Sometimes Chuuya felt weird about being given things, too. The presents Dazai gifted him with were both joking and personal, a good balance between awkward and infuriating just enough to keep him from feeling raw like Dazai seemed to. Maybe he should’ve thrown something annoying in with the rest of it, something random enough to offset the vulnerability he knew Dazai would feel from everything else.

Not that he didn’t enjoy this, though, Chuuya remedied, keeping a hand out of Dazai’s hair so that he wouldn’t be sobbing from the intimacy- the last time he pushed too much onto him, he’d shut down into an episode. This much contact was enough. He flipped to their library and queued up theScooby Dooholiday collection and let it play on low volume, adjusting the blanket one more time so that Dazia could duck under it and nap for a few more hours if he wanted to.

Later on, they’d get into the kitchen together and make dinner as a combined effort. Dazai would keep the collar around his neck and Chuuya would change into his annoyingly comfortable new pajama set afteraccidentallyspilling wine on the ones he was wearing. Chuuya would rib into Dazai about being the dog now while his mackerel would inevitably make one too many short jokes and instigate a light-hearted argument.

They’d never end up finishing those first cups of coffee and tea, still set on the coffee table side by side as they cooled to the backdrop of too many cartoon Christmas specials.

Paris, France

December 28

6:02 p.m.

Sometimes it wasn’t just Dazai that had off days and reminders of traumatic experiences. It was easier to focus on Dazai and pour all of his efforts into making his mackerel happy as a way to avoid having to think about how f*cked up he himself was, but sometimes that wasn’t enough.

Sometimes he spiraled too, or the people around him made comments that just got to him even if they weren’t necessarily pointed at him. And, for whatever reason, it seemed like‘human’was the word of the day around the office because of some new f*ck-all theme from the women’s department and they were playing around with new lines and color schemes that got everyone chatting about it. Usually, that word didn’t get to him so badly without any other external factors, but itdidtoday and he couldn’t help himself from slipping up and making mistakes, cutting his hands on a seam ripper since he’d removed his gloves to flex his fingers for a bit. If that weren’t enough, someone walked in, and before he could explain he was getting told off for the mess until someone noticed the blood, and then it was a whole f*cking disaster that kept snowballing into a bigger one, and, and,and-

Chuuya nearly slammed the penthouse door open, then decided he didn’t care enough to catch it before it hit the wall halfway through throwing his work bag to the couch. His hands hurt, he was tired, and hereallywanted to hit something.

Which was why he put all of his self-restraint into ignoring Dazai, who emerged from their bedroom at the sound of the door slamming back closed.

“Chuuya~!” Dazai trilled, walking closer without bothering to take in the mess.

He grit his teeth as he threw open the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of Petrus, which was usually reserved for special occasions but heneededit. That, and a cigarette maybe- a habit he’d never gotten particularly addicted to, but indulged in every once in a while on a monthly basis at most.

Unfortunately, Dazai didn’t take his hint, still walking around the island with his arms outstretched, wearing the blue sweater he’d gotten for Christmas. “Chibi should come and-”

Despite not knowing what Dazai was going to request, Chuuya decided he very much was not in the mood for it. Closing the refrigerator with a slam, he brushed past Dazai on his way to the balcony, snatching theTreasurercigarettes tucked into their bookshelf where his favorite poetry was displayed.

“Just- f*ck off for a while, Dazai,” he spat, not bothering to reign in the vitriol. It wasn’t Dazai’s fault and he shouldn’t be snapping at him, but he was so pissed off from how tired the whole day made him that he really couldn’t care less.

Still, he could feel eyes on him as he slid the door open and stepped out onto the balcony, setting his wine down onto their small outdoor table and lighting a cigarette before taking a long drag. He closed his eyes into it, trying to make his muscles relax into the familiar sensations as he exhaled sharply, using his ability to pop the top of the wine bottle before taking a sip, not bothering with a proper wine glass.

After a few more indulgent inhales, he could feel the familiar itch building in his throat and flicked the ashes onto the ground of the balcony, knowing he’d have to clean them up later. Keywordlater,he pinched his eyes shut tightly with another swig of wine. They didn’t have an ashtray on the balcony since he didn’t smoke often enough for it to be necessary.

At least Dazai was leaving him alone, Chuuya sighed, leaning onto the railing and swirling the bottle of wine. He didn’t drink enough to bat away the irritation, but at least his headache was subsiding in exchange for a sweet buzz as he could feel himself edging on tipsy. It was funny in a cynical way that he harped on Dazai for all of his habits and then went smoking and drinking because awordgot to him.

It would take a few more sips to get a quarter through the bottle, which was where he usually started to really feel the dissociation from his problems, but thinking about Dazai hit him with a sudden wave of apathy towards aiming to be wasted.

Drinking to forget wasn’t exactly a foreign concept for him, especially back in their mafia days when the consequences for mistakes weren’t simply needle pokes or a slash from a seam ripper, when a mistake meant peopledied.

Now, he usually drank if he wanted to destress or have a fun night with alcohol. Both of those scenarios generally involved Dazai right beside him, drinking a single glass of whiskey on the rocks and keeping Chuuya from throwing his clothes off their balcony or buying something too ridiculous to justify the next morning or making bad decisions (like nearly cutting all of his hair off).

The longer he stared at the bottle of wine and pack of cigarettes the less inviting they looked. He felt less pissed and more empty, so he figured it was safe to head inside now that the temptation to hit another person had fizzled out to a dull ache. He stomped out the cigarette and headed inside.

A glance at his phone confirmed that it only took twenty minutes and he was already exchanging his vices for the simple, intrusive comfort just bickering with Dazai provided. Chuuya used his ability to put the cigarette pack and bottle on the island counter as he strolled past the couch where Dazai was (oddly enough) poorly pretending to not have been watching him.

At the counter, Chuuya peeled off his gloves and set his hat down, taking out his hair tie for good measure to get the tension off of his scalp. He poured a cup of water, gulped it down, took a second to steady himself, then marched over to the couch, tossing off his vest and toeing off his shoes, leaving all of it in the middle of the floor to deal with later. Then he paused, stared at his mackerel’s lounge clothes, and pivoted to the bedroom instead.

Chuuya stripped quickly and tugged on the ever-annoying but begrudgingly comfortable pajamas Dazai got him instead of his work clothes, not bothering to look in the mirror. He didn’t have the patience for a shower or a comb, so he stalked back into the living room as soon as he was done changing, tossing away his choker to somewhere in the bedroom.

Ignoring Dazai’s shift to get out of his way, he walked to the couch and bent down, latching onto him to keep him in place as he climbed on top of him and wormed himself in between his legs, wrapping his arms around his torso and flopping his head down onto the soft sweater, sighing contentedly as the ever-present roar ofTaintedwas cut out completely, leaving his head just a little more empty than before.

Thisdid more for Chuuya than the wine and cigarettes ever had and he could already feel more of the tension just draining from him. And then Dazai’s hand was in his hair and he couldn’t have stopped the pleasured, relieved moan if he had the motivation to try as it combed through his bangs and pinned them back in repeated strokes.

With how good it felt, he should have guessed that it was only a set up for questions he didn’t want to answer.

“What happened?” Dazai asked, so simply, either not realizing or not caring that there were too many and not enough answers for it.

“Bad day,” Chuuya grumbled into his chest after a moment, deciding a simple question didn’t deserve a better answer than that.

Ever so mechanically as he always was when it came to comforting words, Dazai kept digging. “Why was it bad?”

If Chuuya knew he’d have to exchange information for cuddles, he might’ve thought about his decision to flop on top of Dazai for a bit longer. He probably would’ve still done it, but he would’ve been more prepared for it to be likethis.If Dazai was asking though, a vague answer would only make him more curious. It was easier to just offer up the truth even if it tangled in his lungs and cut up his heart.

“New line of clothing,” he said slowly, lifting his head a bit to at least sort of look at Dazai. “It was… it was centered around the theme of humanity- earth tones and a textured color scheme- and I guess I got tired of hearingthat wordall day.”

Even thinking about it made him feel antsy, a gross crawling sensation that spread from his chest outwards.

Dazai hummed, the reverberations so unexpectedly nice that Chuuya melted into him a little bit more. “Why did it bother you?” He asked again, the unspokenit usually doesn’tlingering in the air.

“I don’t know….” Chuuya admitted grievously, his head falling back down onto Dazai’s collarbone and staying there. “I just spiraled out of nowhere. It just kept bugging me, and I had a headache, and…."

“And?” Dazai prompted, his nails scraping against Chuuya’s scalp and making his eyes cross pleasurably.

He wormed himself further into Dazai’s lap and sighed, knowing there was no way Dazai was letting him get away without unpacking every uncomfortable little detail. “I started thinking about how I’m bad at… at being normal. Because- because that’s not what I was….” his lip trembled. “It’s not what I wasdesignedto do. To be, I guess.”

The admission made him feel heavier and lighter all at once, lifting an old weight and settling a new one in its place as he sank into Dazai.

“Why do you have to be good at it?”

Chuuya blinked. “What?”

Dazai hummed contemplatively. “I just don’t get why you have to be good at being some arbitrary definition of normality. You’re good at other stuff that being normal wouldn’t help with at all.” He dropped a kiss into Chuuya’s hair mindlessly as he resumed raking his fingers through it. “The idea of statistically normal people is equal to people who are in vicinity of one sigma around the average score of a trait. Yeah, it exists, but it doesn’t mean anything but the majority.”

He felt a little off-kilter, the matter-of-fact way Dazai was so casually deconstructing his thought process sending him for a loop. “But…. I mean, we’re not exactly average, mackerel.”

“Well,duh.Most people have a social need to belong to a group, to feel identity,” Dazai said airily, his tone bland and disinterested but not mean. “That means defining something asusand something else asthem.It also means that the group ofusare normal, and the others not. And if the group ofushave the power, they can elevate whatever they decide is the standard to a social and even a societal or legislative norm, thus making themselves normal and legitimizing any decision they make regarding those who are not.”

Chuuya blinked, trying to follow the train of logic, but unable to offer anything but a hum of acknowledgment before Dazai was talking again, rambling like he didn’t know how to stop. He had no clue what the point was or what it would be, or why Dazai was even trying to make a point at all.

“Normal as a social construct has nothing to do with average, but if we're defining normal by who has the power here, thenyouare normal and everyone else fails to meet the conditions,” he said simply with another scrape of his nails against Chuuya's scalp. “No one will ever be more normal than you. It’s just a way for people to justify themselves as part of a conglomeration of traits in order to identify themselves as members of something, just like they do by pretending to believe in religion or buying into the idea of a soul.”

“….right….”

Thanks for the free existential crisis,he thought privately.

With that said, Dazai then tugged on Chuuya’s hair, prompting a disgruntled noise from him. “If being normal did mean being average, I wouldn’t want Chuuya to be normal anyway.”

Oh.

Thathe understood.

(Why was Dazai trying to reassure him?)

Chuuya swallowed thickly, blinking away the budding wetness on his lashline. “Yeah?”

“A normal person wouldn’t be across the world as a fashion designer with a falsified degree,” Dazai said in lieu of agreement.

“Or laying here with you,” Chuuya huffed, resting his head fully onto Dazai’s chest to hear the ever-steady beating of his heart.

“....yeah,” he said quietly, fingers pausing for a brief moment before continuing when Chuuya let out a small whine of discontent. It was embarrassing and way too open, but it was hard to put up walls when his genius idiot went on and on about his version of- basically- saying that he liked Chuuya for who he was.

“Let’s watch a show now,” Chuuya requested quietly, the panicky edge creeping at his brain fading fully with Dazai’s reassurances. He probably didn’t mean to be comforting, since he was just listing off whatever facts and statistics were held in his vast memory, the reasoning and logic he defined himself by, but considering he could’ve said nothing at all, it had his heart fluttering sweetly.

(Whydidhe say anything, anyway? That didn’t match his impression of Dazai, as stupid as he was to think he had any accurate or solid impressions of Dazai.)

“Cats and Dogs?”Dazai asked as he carefully reached back for the remote without jostling Chuuya, who tugged down their throw blanket and curled in just a little more to get it over the majority of their bodies.

“The Disney movie?” Dazai nodded. “If you know then don’t ask,” Chuuya sighed, settling in again as the movie started playing after a moment of fiddling with the controls.

“I had to check. Chuuya would’ve thrown a fit if I put onOld Yelleragain,” Dazai defended himself quietly.

“And you would’ve deserved it,” he pouted (glad that Dazai probably couldn’t see it from the angle they were in) at the reminder of the heartbreakingly sad movie.

Dazai just hummed noncommittedly.

Chuuya would’ve left it at that. He would’ve let Dazai just hold him, let the movie play, and let himself fall asleep and forget the day’s events. But, as previously stated, Chuuya was getting greedy when it came to Dazai and didn’t know how to not shoot himself in the foot. The burning question sat on his tongue, and when Dazai pressed on the movie, he couldn’t help blurting it out.

“Why did you do this?”

Dazai stilled underneath him. They sat in silence for a few seconds that felt like tiny, painful eternities to Chuuya. “Do what?” he settled on finally.

Chuuya kind of wanted to take it back, but he surged onwards anyway.“This.The- I mean, you….” he didn’t have the words to express it. The cuddling, the reassuring words, the sweetness, all of the things he lavished Dazai in without a second thought but never thought he’d get as much in return. Chuuya laid down on him first, sure, but Dazai never needed to stay there and let him if he didn’t want to.

Five, ten, fifteen seconds, a minute, then two passed by as Dazai stayed silent and Chuuya couldn’t quite find the words to describe what was happening. And then he relaxed his entire body, one limb at a time, with Chuuya resting on him enough that he felt every release of tension. He still didn’t speak, and Chuuya was too nervous to make eye contact after almost ruining the moment entirely, but he wondered, for a moment, if maybe Dazai didn’t know either.

He went back to carding his fingers through Chuuya’s hair and took a deep breath. “....I-” a pause, another spasm of his fingers against his scalp. “I guess… Icare?”His tone lilted upwards at the end, a question more than a statement, like he didn’t know how to identify what he was feeling, like he was asking Chuuya for confirmation.

Chuuya couldn’t tell him that that was what he was feeling, but hecouldbe nice and pretend the burning pressure in his eyes wasn’t tears as he let his body relax bonelessly into Dazai’s, exchanging vulnerability in return for what Dazai admitted. “Okay.”

(Marry me,he didn’t say.)

It was with a ridiculous dog versus cat movie on the screen and Dazai’s body underneath him that Chuuya decided that he was going to propose-soon,probably.

The idea of being willingly glued to Dazai romantically was horrible in some ways- he was moody, flighty, reserved, picky, rude, suicidal, and…. and a lot of other things Chuuya couldn’t quite put his finger on anymore. But he was also reliable when he needed to be, soft when the moment called for it, sweet when Chuuya needed it, and open to being cared for the way Chuuya so deeply craved to take care of another person. And,apparently,he gave just as good as he got.

He wanted to be able to call Dazai his husband without it feeling like a half-truth. He wanted to parade him around the office every other week with their matching rings on their fingers just to show him off to his coworkers- especially the ones that’d been eyeing him with a budding romantic interest. He wanted to be shown off in return, because they were both pretty and he knew it and while he loved having Dazai on his arm, he wanted to feel like Dazai’s eye candy. He wanted dates that they could both call as such, anniversary dinners and nights where they went out just to dance without having to pretend it wasn’t romantic.

He wanted to add teasing threats of divorce to his arsenal of insults, biting little snips of‘you're lucky I married you’just to hear Dazai agree.

When Dazai put his arms around Chuuya and kissed him, cuddled with him, and stared a little too long at his empty ring finger, he felt some kind of certainty that Dazai wanted it just as bad. He knew his mackerel would never propose, so he’d save them some time and do it.

Because, normal or not, average or not,humanor not, Chuuya loved Dazai.

That was enough.

He tilted his head up for a kiss, and Dazai indulged him without a thought.

Paris, France

December 31

11:04 p.m.

“Trust me,” Chuuya said, one skate on the ice and the other planted on the ground, holding his hand out.

It was nearly freezing out and, as expected, hardly anyone was crazy enough to go ice skating. There was a distant, wild bustle of energy a bit aways from the outdoor rink and a few spectators on the sides sipping their hot chocolate as the clock ticked closer to midnight, only an hour off. Only a handful of other people were on the ice with them- or, rather, with Chuuya, since Dazai had put on the skates and abruptly realized that, as gifted as he was with stabbing knives, knifeshoeswere not the same thing.

Dazai's smile was a bit more wobbly than he probably meant it to be. “Chuuya asks for too much.” Then he sighed, looked back once, and then, like he was trying to get it over with- “don't let me fall,” he spoke as he lurched into Chuuya's hand and skidded out onto the ice.

Despite his dramatics, Dazai was a natural at ice skating, like he was at almost everything but basic life skills.

“Careful, Chuuya!” Dazai sang as he did a little twirl not even ten minutes later despite it being his first time on the ice. “Someone might mistake you for a slug and skate right over you!”

“Why, you!” Chuuya tried to kick out at him as he skated past, but, as he started slipping, Dazai grabbed onto his skate and ducked under it, using it to drag Chuuya closer so he could grab his hand and twirl him, startling a yelp from him as he was twirled again like they were dancing. “Stop! Stop!”

“Chuuya asked to dance, remember?” Dazai teased, the demure curl to his lips and softened edges of his eyes making his chest flutter, pulling Chuuya in to steady him.

(He was reminded of the rings in his pocket.)

“At the party?”

Dazai huffed a little laugh. “Sure, at the party too.”

Chuuya’s brow furrowed. “That’s the only time I asked you to dance, though?”

“Wow,” his expression turned to the frustrating teasing smirk he knew all too well. “I knew Chuuya was tiny, but I didn’t realize his brain was snail-sized too!”

“Oi, shut up! Get some new jokes, already!”

“Only if I can buy them with yourdesignermoney!”

“What does thatmean?!”

Dazai had been saying that since before the party and Chuuya still didn’t know what it meant over a week later. Knowing him it would be incredibly inconvenient and/or annoying. As Dazai did a little twizzle to the slightly enthused cheers of the crowd, Chuuya noticed him shivering just a little more than before.

“Oi, mackerel!” He called over just as he was twirling around again so painfully childishly that it actually hurt to remember he was a genius and this was how he chose to utilize his intelligence. “We’re getting off the ice in twenty minutes max.”

“Does the mutt have aschedulenow?” Dazai’s eyes widened fakely. “You’re so advanced for your breed~” When Chuuya bent down, half-tempted to pull off his shoe and fling it at him with his ability, spectators be damned, Dazai backed off. “Why?”

“So you don’t f*cking freeze your ass off and complain to me about it later,” Chuuya griped at him as he skated to the edges of the rink and leaned against the boards.

“Is chibi not skating anymore?” Dazai asked curiously, skating around with random flourishes just to be annoying. “Hm, I guess it makes sense. It must be tough for an old dog to learn new tricks- eep!”

Chuuya flung out his leg to trip Dazai on his next turn, but the f*cker jumped over it, landing almost steadily on his feet. “Can you- like- stop being so f*ckingsmartfor two f*cking seconds and fall on your face?!”

“Unfortunately for you, my genius knows no bounds!” Dazai tittered as he skated around for a few more minutes before getting bored enough to whine to Chuuya about being cold.

If Dazai wanted to, he could probably start skating and be an Olympic-bound athlete within two or three years. But knowing him, he’d already gotten bored of the whole thing and despite his glaring talent would never put on ice skates again unless thoroughly bothered into it. That amount of genius talent was so godsdamned obnoxious sometimes when he was teasing Chuuya with it, but it could be funny, if only to see the reactions of other people who hadn’t been exposed to Dazai Osamu when he was trying something out for the first time.

They wasted about ten minutes wandering around getting hot chocolate and mapping out where the New Year’s fireworks would be going off. The Christmas tree was still up, towering and glittering from the reflections of store lights in the square. Couples, families, and groups of friends were milling about, taking pictures that Dazai and Chuuya very carefully avoided being in the background of just in case.

“It’s almost time,” Chuuya nudged Dazai, his phone displaying11:39.

Dazai’s grin was sharp and bloody. “Let’s go.”

They weaved away from the square, milling about at an average place but slowly working their way away from the public, continuing as the crowds got thinner and thinner. They passed by shops they’d visited over the months they’d spent in France, bakeries still open to reap revenue from the New Year's rush, but they didn’t stop.

Finally, after looping around a few shops, they made it to the other side of the bustling crowds, the ten minute walk ending in front of a jewelry store still open and lit as groups passed by. They just barely got through the door when Dazai suddenly looked around himself.

“Chuuya~” he whined, tugging on his arm and drawing the attention of the attendants and patrons. “I need to go back to the rink, I think I left my wallet!”

“Did you even bring it?” Chuuya scowled at him, but when Dazai just kept his doe-eyed gaze on him, he rolled his eyes. “Fine, I was going to look around anyway. Just hurry the f*ck up so we don’t miss the main fireworks.”

Dazai practically skipped out of the store as he pinched the bridge of his nose, yet again, trying to muster some kind of patience. Chuuya turned on his heel and, with a cursory glance back just in case, leaned over the main display case with a careful eye.

“What do you think?” Chuuya tilted his head, towards a display case featuring bright, sparkling diamond rings, each one a copy of the other with slight discrepancies. He looked to the man beside him, with dark hair and green eyes and a scraggly beard.

The man squinted at him, then down at the display case. “That one?” He pointed to a celtic style ring in silver with a large diamond in the center. Chuuya nodded. “Does he like large gems?”

“He?” Chuuya blinked.

“The man you were with,” he supplied with an amused smile. “He seems demanding.”

Chuuya nodded consideringly. “Only in good ways.” He glanced over at the box an attendant set in front of the older man. “Are you proposing too?”

“To my Emilia,” he said with a fond softness to his eyes. “I’ve wanted to marry her for a long time, you know. She’s absolutely stunning. I want a ring to match her locket since she wears it so often. I can’t wait to see her in-” his phone rang, interrupting his tirade. “Ah! Sorry,” he apologized to the attendant. “Just a moment.”

Chuuya went back to scanning the selection of rings, blinking boredly after a while. They’d suit anyone buthim.

“What?! I’m on my way- call an ambulance next, yes?”

The store’s bell chimed as the man rushed out. Chuuya smiled.

“I think I’ll be back another day,” he said to the woman behind the counter. He left the store, an eye to his watch as the time ticked closer to midnight, tugging the blonde wig from his head in the alleyway nearby and crushing it to nothing with gravity.

Blonde didn’t suit him, but it had the benefit of making him unrecognizable.

He walked down a back street into a secluded dumpster lot just behind a line of stores closed for the night, too far from the bustle of celebration for anyone to be nearby. Chuuya kicked at a trash bag as he turned a corner.

“What did you do to Emilia, you bastard!”

The man was on his knees in front of Dazai, who held a gun to his head (a gun only Chuuya knew had not been loaded). In Dazai’s other hand was a locket, a pearl-set antique that was so outdated Chuuya wouldn’t be caught dead wearing it. It was the exact locket that the man was staring at with a heartwrenching expression as though his world fell out beneath him.

In other words, it was perfect for a fake online personality to attract an asshole likeThomas Martin.

Thomas turned his head in panic at the sound of footsteps, only for his eyes to widen at what Chuuya could only imagine, to him, looked like a demon. He was no stranger to the way his ability looked lighting up the oppressive darkness in intrusive red.

“Thomas Martin,”he growled lowly, hand outstretched.“Do you know what it’s like to be crushed by gravity?”

His screams for mercy were drowned out by the fireworks as the New Year began.

It took ten minutes to skew the evidence that they were there. To some, that was an incredibly short amount of time, but considering they used to be able to do it in five, it was an exercise in old talents long traded for a semblance of normalcy.

As they made their way back to the penthouse, Chuuya stared at Dazai consideringly. He’d said that he wasn’t interested in murder anymore- and he technically didn’t kill anyone, he was just complicit in it- and yet he stuck around and helped. Chuuya would've been happy with Dazai's original plan to catfish him, demanding more and more until he fell into bankruptcy by posing as his beloved 'Emilia', using a voice changer, and carefully avoiding any video chats. He wasn't as happy with the blonde wig Dazai shoved onto his head a few minutes before walking into the jewelry store, but that could be overlooked.

The switch from deciding to simply ruin his life to just murdering him was made as, in Dazai’s words, a ‘late Christmas present’. It was an incredibly morbid gift, but Chuuya couldn’t really complain. Dazai looked hot when he was holding a gun to someone’s head, even when they both knew it wasn’t loaded.

They’d be holding hands if Chuuya’s gloves didn’t have blood on them. He could’ve slipped them off, but the blood had already seeped through the leather so there wasn’t much point until they were back in their penthouse. It was easy to hide the blood after years spent mastering the craft- while he was never exactly discreet, he did know the basics- so they walked through the streets without it triggering any alarm bells from people walking around them. Even if the employees in their penthouse's lobby saw anything strange, they wouldn't comment on it if Chuuya threw enough bribes at them (or killed them too, but it was trashy to murder everyone he saw).

“I’m taking the first shower,” Chuuya announced when they were inside, his eyes not leaving any room for debate. He needed time to hide the ring box that was never given a chance to come out during the night, and he desperately wanted to get the blood off of his hands. It was such a health hazard it wasn’t even funny, and he wasn’t interested in having either of them contract a blood-borne illness.

Dazai was already flopping on the couch, waving him off as he smothered his face into the soft throw blanket. “I’ll get in with you in a minute.”

With a shrug, Chuuya headed into their bathroom and quickly shoved the ring box into the discreet false backing of the shelving behind their largest wall mirror to be dealt with at a later date. After it was securely hidden again, he stripped, tossing his clothes and gloves into the laundry basket and tugging his ponytail out, cringing at the dried flecks of blood left behind in his hair from his hands.

It wasn't that he didn't want to propose- there were moments scattered throughout the night where he'd thought'now, right now',like when Dazai was twirling elegantly on the ice with his hair floppingjust soand his eyes danced with the short-lived excitement of a new talent- but... it just didn't feel right. They had plans, for one, and then he had blood on him that he didn't want to get on the rings, and proposing on New Years was cheesy and if heweregoing to propose then, then it had to be at midnight, but again the fireworks were planned to go off just as they went through with the murder to cover up any screams. There just wasn't a good moment.

He stepped into the shower and put the water up as hot as it would go. Chuuya was about to start cleaning his hands when Dazai, fully naked without bandages, peeked his head in. He jumped.

“Gah-! f*ckingsay something,creepy bastard!” He screeched. Usually, he was good at telling where Dazai was even with his quiet footsteps, but when hetriedto be stealthy he doubted anyone would be able to track him.

Dazai stepped into the shower. “It’s not my fault Chuuya’s ears are as tiny as the rest of him.”

“Oh f*ck off with that,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his hands. He was about to start scrubbing at them when Dazai stepped in front of him and took them into his own hands. “What are you- huh?”

Dazai stepped in front of him, holding Chuuya’s right hand only now. “I didn’t know Chuuya got his hands messy.”

Chuuya blinked rapidly. “Yeah- the blood got through my gloves… what are you doing?”

Without a word, Dazai grabbed the washcloth he’d apparently brought with him and started meticulously cleaning Chuuya’s hands. He scrubbed in between his fingers, under his nails, and then ran the cloth over it once, twice, three times more as if savoring every scrap of skin. "It got under your nails," his brow scrunched with a note of annoyance.

Chuuya wasso confused,but also apparently insanely turned on because it kind of, sort of, felt like Dazai wasworshipinghim with how thorough he was about cleaning his hands, gentle and slow. "Duh, it got through my gloves."

Dazai just hummed, something more twisted and dark shadowing his face, looking at Chuuya through his eyelashes. "It shouldn't have."

Chuuya scowled at him, more from confusion than annoyance. It was almost like he was mad that Chuuya got his hands dirty, even though that definitely wasn’t(couldn’t be)what was happening, because that implied that Dazai cared about something so trivial.

Dazai didn’t spare an eye to Chuuya's obvious erection between his legs at the thought of being so cared for, taking his left hand and repeating the process, so thorough and focused that Chuuya didn’t, couldn’t, interrupt him. He just seemed so enraptured by his self-appointed task that he let him be. Dazai’s hair was soaked, hanging over his eyes with the way the spray hit the back of his head, so Chuuya, eyes lidded and so past aroused by the devotion he read in Dazai’s movements, pushed it out of his face. He wasn’t the only one affected. Dazai’s face was flushed from more than the hot water.

After a certain amount of time spent cleaning each hand, Dazai apparently decided they were cleaned to his satisfaction, dropping the washcloth. He thought they'd go about finishing their shower, but instead Dazai laid his hands on Chuuya’s hips and looked up, eyes blown and glittering with lust.

“Chuuya’s beautiful,”Dazai intoned lowly, like it was an immutable truth that he needed Chuuya to believe- and how could he not when Dazai was looking at him like that?

And then, prompting a gasp from Chuuya, he dropped to his knees in the same breath as he licked the head of his co*ck, laving his tongue over him desperately like there was nothing else he’d rather be doing.

They spent the first day of the new year f*cking.

(Dazai’s second, third, fourth, andfifthattempts at oral proved just how much he’d learned by example as he wrung Chuuya dry again and again like he could never get enough.)

Paris, France

January 11

5:30 p.m.

“I’m taking you out to dinner,” Chuuya announced, walking into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around Dazai’s waist from behind, leaning up on his tiptoes to kiss a sliver of uncovered skin at the base of his neck.

“Hm?” Dazai tilted his head around from where he was focused on his cup of tea, then looked down at the arms around his torso. “Why?”

Chuuya huffed, hiding the way his hands shook at the questioning by tightening his hands around Dazai's waist. “Just feel like it. I left your clothes on the bed so get changed.”

But Dazai didn’t move even when Chuuya let his arms drop. He turned around with a slight furrow to his brow. “I thought you didn’t want to go out to eat as much.”

….he did say that, didn’t he? Right, okay, “it’s been a while and I want to go somewhere nice and have a good night. You can stay here if you want,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, though he very much didnotwant Dazai to stay behind as that would ruin his plans. “I can always ask someone from work to get drinks-” a bluff since none of them could hold their liquor any better than he could.

“I’ll go!” Dazai chirped despite the way his smile turned smug, definitely seeing through his bluff. Still, his hands went to Chuuya’s waist now with an interested hum. “Are we celebrating your weird tiny feather hats?”

“Fascinator collection,”Chuuya’s eye twitched. “...but yeah, I guess we’re doing that too. Just get dressed.”

Dazai’s eyes twinkled curiously, a greedy search for information lighting them up like Chuuya expected them to the second he implied a second reason for going out to a nice dinner. “You should wear one tonight. I think they suit Chuuya really well,” Dazai said next, rubbing his thumbs into Chuuya’s hips.

He couldn’t hide his surprise (and slight apprehension- he'd realized after the green incident that he'd gotten too easy when it came to compliments. There was no way Dazai didn't know the reason why he started wearing more green and he would not let himself fall into his trap with the hats). “Really? You think so?”

“Mmh,” Dazai hummed, stepping back to walk toward the bedroom. “You’re so tiny that you make them look normal-sized!”

“You-!”

It took more pushing and shoving, but he finally got Dazai into the bedroom, leaving him alone in the kitchen for the next few minutes. For a moment he pulled out his phone to find something to distract himself, but decided his time was better spent devoted to the planned events of the night. He was already dressed, but it didn’t hurt to touch up, right? With a fortifying breath, he walked into the guest bedroom’s bathroom and stared at his reflection. He looked good, and he knew that, but still…

Chuuya pulled the ring box out of his jacket one more time and considered leaving it behind for the umpteenth time before shoving it back in his pocket with a steadying breath.

We live together,he told himself again.We cook, eat, cuddle, and go on dates all the time. We’re legally married so this is just… putting a label on it. And a ring.

It felt less convincing when he rememberedwhoexactly he was proposing to, in all of his indecisive, flighty spontaneity.

Did it even count as a proposal if they were already married? They weren't just married on paper, either, which had been an insane revelation. They did a million little things that any normal couple would. Hell, they'd turnedgrocery shoppinginto a ritual between the two of them. Dazai even got upset if he forgot to invite him- that definitely said things about how his mackerel felt about their relationship. He was offering a label, not a new routine.

“Chuuya!” Dazai called from the living room.

Now or never, Chuuya told himself with one last look at himself.

(He kind of wished he could let himself pickneveras he ended up pinning a fascinator to his hair in the place of his usual porkpie hat, feeling the weight of the ring box bringing him down as much as his weakness to compliments from Dazai.)

Dazai looked so pretty in blue that it was distracting. So distracting that it made him wish he’d picked out any other dress shirt for him to wear.

“Chuuya?” Dazai called out for the fifth time that night to get his attention back on him (he knew it was the fifth time because he counted). His brow furrowed and Chuuya justknewthat he was finally going to address the weird energy he figured was wafting off of him despite his best efforts to hide it. “Should I take you to a veterinarian after this?”

“A vet-?” Chuuya squinted, then the joke dawned on him. “Oh mygods-”

“Who else could treat a dog’s illness better?” Dazai asked cheerily, but even as Chuuya groaned in annoyance, he could see the burning edge of morbid curiosity creeping up on Dazai’s expression as the night went on. He wouldn't stop staring at him like he was a particularly annoying puzzle with a missing piece, trying to fill in the blanks at random.

It wasn’t like he didn’t getwhy,either. Chuuya, despite telling himself that he’d given nothing away about his plans for the night, had definitely been acting weird. Weirder than he wanted to act when he was about to ask something so permanent in a way that even their legal binding couldn’t match. This was aromantictie, the kind of thing that could do irreparable damage if either one of them toed one too many lines. Not that it made that much of a difference, he reminded himself, butstill.

The idea of screwing it all up was terrifying. The idea that Dazai might one day get bored enough to do so onpurposemade him want to chuck the rings off the nearest bridge never to be seen again.

But he was already here, and Chuuya was bad at throwing in the towel, so he grit his teeth and, when the waiter came around, ordered water.

That, more than anything else, got him an almost disbelieving stare from his mackerel. “You’re not drinking?" He asked with a deep furrow to his brow yet again, his mind visibly whirling a mile a minute. "Has Chuuya decided to quit?”

“Huh?” Chuuya blinked, just then realizing how suspicious his drink choice was. “I don’t always order wine when we go out to dinner-”

“Yes you do.”

“-just a lot of the time,”he defended himself with a pouting glare, taking a sip of the water as it was placed in front of him with a nod to the waiter, trying to stop himself from fidgeting too much with the cup because Dazai would zero in on it easily. “Maybe I’m not in the mood for drinking.”

Dazai stared at him for a long moment, something like concern on his face now. “Are youactuallysick? We can go back-”

Chuuya huffed, giving in to the urge to tap his fingers against the cold glass. “I’m not sick! Just- order, okay?” It came out in a snapping tone instead of the casual suggestion he meant it to be.

Smooth,he winced internally when Dazai raised his hands with pure skepticism written plainly on his face, put there purposefully for Chuuya to read. He kind of did order wine often, but tonight he figured it was probably a better idea not to. Being wasted for his marriage proposal would result in endless teasing from Dazai for years to come and he couldn’t risk that. He was proposing to make things easier between them, not to go through the rest of his life (or the rest of Dazai's) getting teased for being drunk when he finally put a ring on his finger.

On that note, the restaurant Chuuya had set a reservation for was fancier than the places they usually went to- not because they couldn’t afford it, obviously, but because Chuuya liked the smaller diners and the charm of it all.That, paired with the awkward way he’d been behaving, had Dazai looking clearly suspicious, getting more so as the night went on. The entire night, from the announcement of their dinner plans to finding out where their dinner plans were, he’d been looking at him in a way that made him feel like he’d been pinned under a magnifying glass for Dazai to dissect in his entirety. He brushed it off- if Dazai hadn’t figured it out yet, it was because he didn’t consider Chuuya proposing a possibility. It definitely put a bit of a damper on his proposal, but it also made things more convenient if he wasn’t seconds from being figured out.

(Or maybe Dazai did know and was pretending not to- a much more likely thought. Maybe Dazai was just letting Chuuya do it his way, which would be unexpectedly thoughtful of him.)

As expected, Dazai ordered some kind of crab pasta on the menu. Chuuya went for a beef dish and they struck up a conversation over Chuuya’s hat collection. While they talked, their food came, easily distracting Dazai from the matter at hand. With the distraction came a new dilemma;

Should he propose in the restaurant?

It was a fleeting idea he entertained for a moment when they were half-finished with their plates. Dazai was going on about some show he watched where a character had a hat that- apparently- looked like Chuuya’s. It only lasted for a moment before he switched the topic around toJohnny Test,a show Chuuya refused to watch with Dazai after one too many comparisons to the older, redheaded sisters and the talking dog the kid kept around.

Dazai would absolutely hate that,Chuuya decided, rolling his eyes and making comments about his partner’s taste in shows.

Unless Dazai knew about it and had a hand in planning it beforehand, he hated public surprises. Proposing to him in a restaurant was an awful idea and Chuuya would be a horrible partner for even trying. Not that Dazai would be surprised about the proposal- at that point, Chuuya was certain there was no way Dazai didn't know.

Even if the proposal itself wouldn't be much of a surprise, Chuuya hoped the place he planned to take Dazai to would be.

The sky was twinkling with stars. Not as brightly or clearly as Yokohama’s port’s view, but close enough that Chuuya was able to make out some of the shapes he’d memorized. He snuck a quick glance at Dazai and felt his breath catch.

Maybe it was the reflection of the sky or the residual buzz of wine in his system, but Chuuya was speechless on that bridge, perched on the railing when he turned to look at Dazai. For the first time since he could remember, there was light in those eyes as he turned to face the sky with Chuuya, holding his hand a little tighter when his eyes roved greedily over the inky expanse littered with stars.

Chuuya loved watching the stars and would say they were his favorite sight, but he might like watching their reflection in Dazai’s warm brown eyes more. Or maybe he hated it, and he was completely misinterpreting the weird warmth filling his chest. Either way, the sight was well and truly addicting.

Dazai looked up at the stars, but all Chuuya could look at was his mackerel, drinking in his reactions, every minuscule twitch, and the way those fascinated, intelligent eyes cataloged every constellation to build a galaxy in his memories. It was breathtaking.

“Ever gone stargazing?” He asked with a little nudge at Dazai’s shoulder.

His mackerel didn’t even blink. “No,” he murmured quietly with a weird little twist to his brow that Chuuya wanted to kiss away. He didn’t, if only because he didn’t want to interrupt the view that was Dazai stargazing for the first time, but he wanted to.

They hadn’t been in their home country in months, but Chuuya didn’t feel the slightest bit homesick. He realized that attachments like that weren’t a big deal; if he could keep Dazai around for as long as his partner could stand with wanting to run, he wanted to have a front-row view of every first Dazai experienced.

Being with Dazai had become more important than his apartment, his things, the mafia, and the promises that he made to other people. That was….

Chuuya took in a deep breath and tilted Dazai’s chin towards him, the galaxy reflected in his eyes and making them shine like jewels. There was a fascination lingering there that Chuuya wanted to taste on his lips. And this time, he gave in to the temptation.

It was a soft, languid kiss that amounted to a firm but gentle caress of the lips. Chuuya leaned in just a little more when Dazai hummed into it.

“Beautiful,” he sighed into Dazai’s lips with a soft breath, nearly inaudible but still there. It hung in the air without expectation or heat behind it.

For a long moment, Dazai didn’t acknowledge it, but then he did. “Chuuya is too,” he breathed into the space between them with such a soft tone that it would’ve been buried if Chuuya had been breathing even a little bit louder.

They didn’t order dessert, since Dazai wasn’t hungry anymore after finishing over half of his plate and Chuuya wasn’t patient enough to spend more time in the restaurant. The rings had him wired up too much to properly enjoy it all. His eyes kept traveling to Dazai's empty ring finger, imagining a ruby gem there as they talked, the cold of the metal touching his hand when he went to hold Dazai's, the feeling of it on his lips when he kissed his hand...

“Where is chibi whisking me off to now?” Dazai tilted his head expectantly, apparently having gotten the memo that the night wasn’t ending there.

The willingness to follow along made Chuuya grin a little bit, acutely feeling the box in his pocket. “You’ll see,” he said, tangling their hands together as they walked on the sidewalk.

Dazai huffed. “Are you trying to be mysterious?”

“And succeeding,” Chuuya agreed with a soft elbow to Dazai’s torso, tugging him back in by their hands when he stumbled. The easy banter was nice, knowing that they were both on the same page. It calmed his nerves a bit.

“Such a bully,” he pouted, but let Chuuya guide them to a familiar boutique, then just past it. It was when they walked down to the sidewalks that lined the River Seine that his eyes lit up with realization. “Chuuya’s taking me stargazing!” He chirped victoriously. “Such a silly dog, keeping something like that a secret.”

Chuuya just smiled. “Uh-huh.”

Dazai paused at that, another note of suspicion bringing his expression down again. “....that’s what we’re doing.”

“Mmh.”

“...but notallwe’re doing,” Dazai decided with a sour tang to his voice. “Chuuya wouldn’t make a big deal over something we’ve done before.”

He’d feel nervous about the line of questioning, but, for some reason, it didn’t seem like Dazai was joking around while knowing what Chuuya was doing anymore. It almost sounded like he really didn’t know what was happening and wasn’t getting it even after half the night passed. Even though there was no way the proposal was a complete surprise, it was starting to feel like it.

Chuuya led Dazai out onto the same bridge with the lights shut off, flicking on his phone’s flashlight just as he did nearly two months before. They walked on with their shoulders pressed together, Dazai digging his elbow into Chuuya and avoiding all of Chuuya’s responding jabs with annoying ease and precision.

The reason he waited to come out and do this was because the last few nights had been too cloudy, but now the only haze was the puffing of their breath in the cold January air. When they reached the middle of the bridge, Chuuya tapped at Dazai’s hand, to which he laced their fingers together without pause, making his heart flutter a distressing amount.

“I’m turning it off,” he pretended to warn Dazai despite the words being for his own sake, still not comfortable in the darkness. He tapped his flashlight icon and shut his eyes tightly for all of two moments before turning to face Dazai instead of the stars overhead. It turned out that he didn't need to look up at all.

The stars reflected so beautifully in Dazai's eyes that he felt his breath catch all over again. They seemed even brighter than before, twinkling against wine-brown and causing his heart to stutter in his chest. He had to remind himself to breathe as Dazai looked at him eagerly, waiting for whatever additional surprise there was to be had- waiting for Chuuya to confirm his suspicions about the night, more like.

His fingers felt numb.

“Chuuya?” Dazai prompted, “what was the surprise? Or is your brain so proportional to the size of a slug that you forgot?”

Sudden jolts of panic raced down his spine, because hereallydidn’t want to let Dazai talk for long enough that he accidentally punched him reflexively. Dropkicking the love of his life before proposing would probably be a bad thing, so Chuuya reconsidered his approach.

He’d gotten good at making Dazai shut up, after all.

Chuuya pulled Dazai into a kiss underneath the stars, pouring months of emotion into the kiss. Just as his partner hummed into it, leaning forward and sighing into it, content to stay there for a lifetime, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the ring box. Dazai tried to pull away upon hearing the rustle of movement, but Chuuya slipped his tongue into his mouth to distract for a precious few seconds while he got himself together, reminding himself that if the worst came to pass he could always play it off as a joke.

"You're smart," he breathed into the space between their lips, smiling against the way Dazai's lips curved. "And annoying, but not always in a bad way, I guess."

"Hey-"

"But you'remineto put up with," Chuuya said, as seriously as he could muster as they stayed like that, foreheads pressed together with Chuuya on his toes and Dazai leaning down. "Mine to take care of. You.... you dragged me to another country, twice, so- so there's no getting rid of me," he breathed into his lips, watching the way Dazai's brow furrowed in vague confusion, his eyes flitting to try catching a glimpse of what it was Chuuya was holding.

He pulled away, stepping back and dropping his knee to the kind of gross ground of the bridge, opening the box to display two rings side by side. “Dazai Osamu…." Chuuya considered his next words, his planned speech, but scrapped the overdone confession in that moment as he grinned, all lopsided nervousness. "I..." he swallowed, shutting his eyes for a second to decide whether or not to speak the damning words before throwing caution to the wind. Dazai would bully him into admitting it eventually, so- "Ilove you,you beautiful mackerel bastard of a partner. Would you marry me?" He swallowed. "For real this time?”

The ruby and aquamarine winked under the starry sky, reflecting the dazzling constellations almost as beautifully as Dazai’s eyes. When seconds went by without a reply, he opened his mouth to speak-

And then he froze.

Tears were streaming from Dazai’s painfully dulled out eyes as his face blanked out into nothing.

“I…. I don’t know.”

.

Chuuya had never considered his heart glass, but Dazai might have just shattered it.

Chapter 8: kintsuji (from you to me) part one

Chapter Text

The bits of you that are broken,
the bits of you that are damaged,
donotsee them that way.

Instead see them as slowly being filled with beautiful experiences
and truths you have learned from the damage,
the equivalent of lacquered gold.

I want you to remember, you are not a broken thing,
Instead, you are a human full of incredible and wonderful experience,
made of the same things swords and diamonds are made of.

You are a survivor, my darling,
and I salute you for everything you have been through,
and for making the universe so proud,
so very proud of what you have become.

-Nikita Gill,You are a Survivor

The first spark of attraction ignites a region buried deep inside the brain called the ventral tegmental area, or VTA. Recognizing a potential reward in the making, the VTA begins producing a chemical called dopamine, often called the "feel-good" neurotransmitter.

Dopamine also plays a role in movement, motivation, mental focus, psychosis, even the production of breast milk. But it's best known for its starring role in addiction- and, well, romance.

Jumping from neuron to neuron, dopamine travels an ancient avenue called the mesolimbic pathway, priming the brain to pay attention and react to expected rewards from food, drugs, hugs, sex or other supposedly equally pleasant actions.

This network was so ancient that even worms and flies, which evolved about two billion years ago, have a similar reward highway in their primitive systems.

Dazai knew all of that. He could recite it in his sleep. Humans were no more advanced than flies and were slaves to a rush of chemicals.

He knew all of that.

And yet.

Feelings were not something that made sense to Dazai beyond chemical reactions in the brain. Because other people had chemicals in their brains that reacted to him, but his never turned on. VTA, dopamine, that rush of pure feel-good chemicals didn't apply to him. He never experienced that single defining moment that other people impressed so deeply as being completely natural for everyone to experience at least once.

And so, therefore, it seemedobviousto conclude that Dazai could not feel things and, by extension, was not a human being.

.

Or it would have been.

If not for the f*ckery that was Nakahara Chuuya.

Chuuya was possibly the most annoying person Dazai had ever met. Not in any conventional way, either, because that clearly would have been too easy.

No, Chuuya was annoying- insufferable, even- in that he noticed small shifts in the emotional state of a room with ease, even if that room was full of highly trained mafia members. That meant that, while Chuuya likely found it a bit more difficult, he caught on infuriatingly well to Dazai's moods. It only took him a few hours to catalog each shift in his expressions that he couldn't quite train away- something he'd bet againstMoribeing able to do.

Chuuya wasn't an idiot, unfortunately. He was a genius in emotional intelligence (or maybe just a genius in Dazai's few emotions), he just usually chose not to act on it. Dazai didn't like the magnifying glass Chuuya had somehow managed to pin him under. From the outside it would seem as though Chuuya was making a slug’s pace at whittling away at Dazai, but considering others had gone years without as much headway, he was blitzing through with all the subtlety of a bullet.

The first time Chuuya touched his unbandaged skin without the distraction of an injury, Dazai thought he was dying.

His fingers were tingling and it felt like a clinical rush of serotonin was shot through his veins. In a way, it resembled thedepression pills- hah- Mori had put him on before Dazai swallowed all of them and had to get his stomach pumped without anesthesia as a punishment. There was a study he’d read about that detailed the possibility of serotonin levels increasing six times during death. It made some amount of sense, because he'd never felt quite as floaty and weird before.

The second time Chuuya’s hand touched his face where’d he’d ripped his bandages off, Dazai’s next theory was that he was having a stroke.

Tingling could be a sign of an oncoming stroke, as well as the weird lightheadedness Dazai was feeling. During a stroke, if there was damage to the left brain hemisphere, then it could limit rational thought and logic. That seemed more plausible than anything else, because for some reason, when Chuuya pushed him down onto the bed withthat lookin his eyes andthat heatpressing searing kisses into his mouth, Dazai didn’t fight it. He didn’twantto, even, which definitely supported the stroke theory.

His internal temperature ran on the lower end of ‘normal’, so he shouldn’t feel nearly as hot as he did in that moment, when Chuuya took a moment to stare down at him with those powerful ocean eyes and that intense smirk. It felt weird being so warm and like his clothes and bandages were suddenly too stuffy.

Dazai had been under someone before, had been caged and caught and tied-such a pretty doll, Dazai-but it didn’t feel likethis.

He wanted to knowwhy.

Not a stroke, he concluded for certain when Chuuya pinched the inside of his wrist, but the touch sent a weird static glittering like shards of glass down his throat.

“Oi, fish-for-brains,” Chuuya snarked at him, suddenly on top of him with his legs bracketing Dazai’s hips. “You good?”

“Why can't you f*cking listen to me for just once in your gods-forsaken life?!”Chuuya had screamed at him not even a half hour ago.

And it was because Dazai had been so thoroughly stripped of shame until all that remained were his withering bones and ugly skin that he rose to the half-baked, meaningless challenge. He surged up, feeling the phantom, preliminary ache in his bones and the cold sweeping up his spine, and wound his arms around Chuuya’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss that felt awkward from the start.

Dazai didn’t like sex.

He knew Chuuya wanted him, though, because for all that he hated sex, he knew exactly what lust looked like on other people. Chuuya was attracted to him and it made him feel sick. He didn’t want sex or need it like other people did.

Chuuya couldn’t reallywanthim. He justthoughtthat he wanted Dazai, so to make the lust in his eyes that clawed unforgivingly at Dazai’s skin go away, he’d let Chuuya have sex with him. Because Dazai didn’t like pain, and sex was a painful act. He reacted to it negatively, and that had to make Chuuya reconsider having sex with him, right? Chuuya wasn’t particularly or excessively cruel, so unlike- unlikeother people,he wouldn’t want to keep having sex with Dazai once he saw how bad he was at pretending it felt good.

But Chuuya wouldn’t be satisfied unless Dazai made an effort. He didn’t want sex, but he did want Chuuya- not in any substantial or profound way, but if a partner was necessary he’d want it to be Chuuya, and this was a balancing act he couldn’t afford to fail.

“Yes,” he breathed into their lips, kicking himself internally for the way his voice flooded away from him too quickly. “Hatrack,” no, “chibi,” f*ck- “Chuuya, hurry up or I’m leaving.”

Chuuya reacted well to his name more than the other ‘nicknames’ he’d afforded his partner, so Dazai quickly categorized that mentally. It made a weird little glint shine in blue eyes and he leaned in again-

Oh.

Chuuya wasn’t bad at kissing, Dazai thought, feeling a little weird and hot and sweaty when he was pressed into the mattress by a decidedly possessive kiss. Possessiveness that made himitch,and he squirmed, and maybe his arms were shaking (could Chuuya feel it? Did he hate it? Did helikeit? Was Chuuya really so cruel?), and maybe this was a stupid idea, but Chuuya was holding his arms, holding himdown,and- and Dazai didn’twant to-and- Chuuya was moving on top of him, and weighing him down and he was leaning up, up, finally giving him a chance tobreathe-

Chuuya pulled his shirt over his head and reached down to tug at Dazai’s. Oh- he wanted to- Dazai’s mind felt a little hazy, a weird fog settling over him with barely a single finished thought.

(He needed to get a hold of himself. He needed to…. he needed to sort out his thoughts. If he couldn’t even think, then that meant Mori was right and he really was just a doll. Mori couldn’t be right. He wasn’t supposed to be right.)

“Sit up,” fingers tapped his hip and Chuuya sat back and Dazai squirmed, because-

“Sit up, Dazai,” Mori murmured into his ear, his lust deepening his voice nasally and the damp breath settling with a cold humidity on his skin where it hit the place he’d torn away bandages at. He felt exposed andhatedit. His hands settled onto his hips and squeezed, digging his nails in the longer Dazai didn’t respond, but he couldn’t- didn’t want to- “Come on, Dazai, dear,” his eyes were narrowed and he was drawing blood and ithurt-

Chuuya’s fingers rubbed over his clothing, gentle, inquiring, and Dazai felt like he’d emerged from dark, sensory dampening depths as he processed where he was and what he was doing. Gentleness. It was- it was nice, but toomuch.

It was such a sudden, shocking change that he let his body move into autopilot so that he didn’t have to think about how soft and reassuring it was, fingers moving up to struggle, work at, tear-don’t tear, don’t let Chuuya know-and undo the buttons of his shirt.

That was good, because Chuuya was smirking, looking satisfied with his actions. As long as Chuuya stayed happy, he’d stay dumb enough to not dig his hands in and make Dazai bleed the way he should, because he’d taken way too long to reply. Chuuya really was stupid, Dazai huffed unamusedly in his head, his fingers finally steadying into their trained firmness. He should’ve figured out that Dazai needed to be punished for that. What a dumb slug he’d gotten as his partner.

“Wow, mackerel,” Chuuya huffed. “Didn’t think you’d be this easy.”

“So easy, Dazai. And here I thought you said you wanted to stop.”

.

Maybe.

Maybe not so stupid,Dazai choked on air, fingers spasming. How did Chuuyaknow?

Chuuya rocked back onto his hips again, and it was so surprising that the weight hurt, and he felt so wired up that he couldn’t stop the pained moan that escaped him if he tried. And then, a second after Chuuya smirked, he was stilling, every motion and rocking and smirk-smile stopping with a screeching halt that threw him off.

What happened? Why did he-? Dazai squinted up at Chuuya, because that sound should’ve made him do it again to hear Dazai in pain again, and then he should’ve gone ahead and hurried up with whatever he wanted to do with Dazai’s body. Couldn’t he tell that he’d let him?

This was Chuuya’s chance to get back at him for all of the insults Dazai threw his way. Why was he stopping now?

(Dazai wanted him to stop, but Chuuya’s little thumb-rub thing made him pause and halt because, well,what if he did it again?It might… it might be worth the pain, then, right? He hated the way it felt, but he inexplicably wanted Chuuya to do it again.

Dazai was bad at telling when he needed people to stop. It was why he wasn’t a victim, no matter what Kouyou used to whisper. He wanted it. He did. He… heusedsex just to get Mori to balance the usual pain with praise and nice words. He hated himself for it.)

But Chuuya was moving, leaving, swinging back around and sitting beside him with a sigh that sounded too upset. What did Dazai do?

Talking couldn’t result in anything good, but with Chuuya upset already there was a chance he’d get hurt anyway. “What,” he swallowed, his voice suddenly feeling too thick and harsh in his mind and on his tongue. “What’s wrong?”

He kept himself from flinching when Chuuya’s finger touched over his pants where his dick was, but his hips still twitched and his spine bent because that didn’t feel good. “This,” he said, and- huh? Why was that an issue? Did Chuuya suddenly decide he wasn’t attracted to him? “You’re not even hard.”

.

OfcourseDazai wasn’t hard. Chuuya was the one doing sex, not Dazai, so he wasn’t hard. It was simple. Why did it matter to Chuuya? Shouldn’t he know? He’d clearly had one night stands before, so he should know what sex was like.Dazaiknew what sex was like- and- and-

“Such a shame, Dazai,” Mori’s hands roamed over him, and one of them grabbed him and stroked him and ithurt.He whimpered and begged, but he was pinned and couldn’t get him off and he didn’t know why this washappening-“You can’t even get it up. That’s fine, of course. Just be a good doll for me and lie there.” And then he was moving, and his hands- and his eyes- and he couldn’tescape-

“No, no, I am, Iwantto,” he looked up, and Chuuya was still there, still staring, and he had to begood. “Chuuya.”

He was reaching for Chuuya, tugging on his sleeves and he should feel embarrassed, and maybe he would later, but for now he needed this. If Chuuya left, if Dazai wasn’t good, then- then-

Chuuya snarled and the sound was good and familiar. The heat, the anger, that was all normal, and Dazai soaked in it. “What is it then?” His tone was sharp but he was leaning back in. “Do you need more attention here?”

Dazai wondered if Chuuya was more cruel than he originally assumed, because he reached down and ground his palm against his body, eliciting sensation so sharp that it dragged him from the recesses of his mind where he’d rather stay until Chuuya was done. It yanked him back into his body- it so sudden and startling andpainfulthat he registered that he was saying something but couldn’t make out his own words.

He was worried he begged Chuuya to stop when he pulled his hand away fully, but he was still sitting by the bed, still looking down at him (Chuuya should always be looking down at him, no matter how he teased him). Still, the sharp pain that had sent his mind into a wild frenzy had slowed at last into a murky wave.

Fingers drummed against his hip before Dazai’s worry could morph into anything substantial or real (and feeling something real would somehow be worse than the odd sense of crushing intimacy Chuuya forced). “Turn on your side.”

Oh. Right. Sex. Dazai looked up into Chuuya’s eyes for the hatred, the anger, the liquid vitriol. He found nothing. He tried to find the pure lust, the objectification, the clinical tone to what was about to happen to him. He found nothing. Chuuya and Mori were not the same, but Chuuya, normally genuine, brash Chuuya was infinitely more cruel for disguising his want so seamlessly. So seamless that it was uncharacteristic for him, a kind of flawless he’d never seen Chuuya manage outside ofCorruption.

He turned over onto his side and stuffed any feelings down into the pit of his heart for later when he had a razor and his dingy futon all to himself. They still bubbled and churned painfully when he heard a zipper and the faint rustling of clothing. They rose up to sting him viciously when Chuuya laid down behind him, almost entirely pressed against him and sending shockwaves racing up and down his body until he was forced to be aware of every inch of his skin that came into contact with the living furnace that was Chuuya.

“This okay?” He felt murmured into a thin strip of pale skin not quite concealed by bandages, making Dazai’s entire body shiver, hot and cold and awful. It was worse, worse,worsewhen Chuuya kissed his neck, the brush of his lips against bare skin eliciting tingling burns, the skin-on-skin contact so much-toomuch- to take.

(But it wasn’t painful even though his body’s reaction insisted otherwise. Chuuya wasn’t hurting him, and heknewthat.)

Still, Dazai nodded just enough that he was sure Chuuya could feel it, using the motion to move his neck a little further away from those lips. He didn’t realize he’d shuffled away until Chuuya's arms snaked around his body and tugged him back in, not particularly forcefully, but Chuuya had always been the stronger of the two. It was more cruel than anything else, but not more or less so than Dazai was accustomed to.

Chuuya’s arms encased him just like that, wrapped around his waist and loosening just slightly. It felt like a taunt- even when Chuuya wasn’t holding him tightly, Dazai could not get away. He was not and likely would never be as physically strong as Chuuya, with or without his ability, and the bitter ache in his chest at the thought of just how helpless he was hurt.

“Gonna need an answer, mackerel,” Chuuya chided, pressing another kiss into the same bit of unconcealed skin. It still burned, but the longer he stayed there, the warmer it felt. It was flat pressure, and when Chuuya wasn’t moving, wasn’t scraping their skin together, it was almost bearable. Almost, almost, almost….

“Yeah, it's fine,” he forced out, trying to inject a flavor in his tone but more than likely failing.

And Chuuya didn’t stop. He kept going, kept pushing his lips against him, no longer a flat pressure when he pushed forward and continued taking. Chuuya had always been greedy, but like this, when his greed seemed to expand to Dazai, it was weirder, different, worse. He wanted to carve away the lust that pricked against him just as much as he wanted Chuuya to never let go when he felt the same fizzle of warmth from earlier. Now that he’d centered himself, he registered the sensation beyond the reflexive label ofpainhis body kept insisting it was.

If nothing else, he was Chuuya’s right now. That was the main force driving him to stay there, encased by Chuuya’s hands and his own hubris. The second he stood up and walked away, the second Chuuya pulled away from him, he’d go back to being Mori’s.

He reminded himself that Mori would’ve already hit him for moving at all. Whether Chuuya was too dumb to realize that Dazai deserved to be punished, or if Chuuya really was not going to punish him at all, Dazai was not being hit. The pain was contained inside of his own body, his own mind, so he laid there and let Chuuya stoke the fire in his body, making him shiver, making his legs twitch, making heat pool in his stomach. He wondered if it was because Chuuya ran warm that he had started to feel too warm in his skin, a little clammy but mostly restless.

Chuuya’s lips pulled away finally and moved the arm that had been slung over Dazai's body. He slowly dragged his fingers up his torso, his fingers dancing over bandaged skin, trailing up, down, up, down, rhythmically working up until-

Oh.

Oh.

“Hah, Chuuya,” Dazai gasped, flinching further into Chuuya's chest where it was pressed against his back. Chuuya's fingers chased the motion, still rubbing small circles over his nipple and lighting up his skin in a horribly hot, sparking feeling. He’d been touched there before, but that felt weird and uncomfortable against his cold skin. Now, with the fire already stoked in the pit of his stomach, it blazed higher and higher with every movement of Chuuya’s fingers, little shocks sparking from the area, the friction of bandages dulling and heightening the sensation all at once.“Ngh.”

“Does that feel good?” The stupid, horrible asked, so smug that Dazai would’ve teased him for it if he weren’t dying.

Dazai turned his face in the pillow, hoping that smothering his face would stop Chuuya from seeing the awful, disgusting expression no doubt on his face (it felt unfamiliar, and unfamiliar meant he didn’t know how another person would react to it, whether positive or negative). “Yeah,” he answered, swallowing down the breathiness the best he could, feeling disgusting right down to his core.

Chuuya just keptgoing.He didn’t stop touching him, running his hands down then back up intermittently, never once pulling a hand away. The pain had dulled, leaving behind the heat. It wasn’t getting any hotter now that Chuuya had stopped focusing on his nipples, but it still lingered, almost gentle with each swipe of pressure up and down his body, making him lean back and forth again and again, swaying with each oversensitive motion of Chuuya’s hands. The lessened, occasional touch made his nipples both more and less sensitive, and after a few touches, he distantly noticed sounds drifting from his vocal chords, but the weight of Chuuya’s hands made it feel less and less like it mattered. The frantic energy, the insistence that what he was feeling was pain, was fading more and more the longer Chuuya touched him without even a hint of trying to inflict even a small injury.

“Still good?”

“Mmh,” Dazai nodded, arching into the fingers curling over his chest. “Ungh,yes.”

He wasn’t lying, either. Not entirely, at least. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t…. it didn’t hurt anymore, it just felt weird, a pressure building between his legs that was vaguely familiar but only happened when he had his own hand down there and forced it to happen to relieve stress. It was never so heavy, never quite as much of an ache.

“It feels even better without these,” he heard Chuuya say just as he eyes started to close.

Oh.

That…. that made sense. Sex wasn’t just about the heat in his stomach or the warmth of Chuuya’s fingers. Sex was owning another person’s body. Sex was Dazai being stripped to nothing and he felt a little off for forgetting that. A finger played with the edge of a bandage, never breaching beyond it, but it was enough to know that Chuuya, for all of his gentleness, wanted to see and carve and own.

He opened his mouth-

“You don't have to.”

-and promptly shut it as a hand landed lightly on his hip. He jolted from the words more than the sensation.

What?

Chuuya had to want to see what was under them. He had seen bits of it in the past during missions where it was unavoidable, along with moments where the chibi had to stitch him back up in the gaps between bandages, Chuuya’s hands shaking from the reminder of doctors and antiseptic, but never the whole thing.

Hehadto.

It… it didn’t make sense for him to not want to.

But Chuuya was a bad liar, almost as bad as Dazai was at knowing when to sayno.

“...you can.”

Chuuya jumped like he really was surprised, and that was, very suddenly, all that Dazai needed to know. Chuuya’s greed was as strong and vitriolic as Mori’s, but his didn’t burn. His hands didn’t burn after they settled under his skin. His lust didn’t hurt. The pressure in his belly, waned from the reminder of what they were doing but steadily heating up again, didn’t hurt. Chuuya was not Mori.

“What?”

For the first time in a while that night, Dazai's head turned to meet Chuuya, seeing how those electric eyes displayed openly his anxiety and nerves.

“...the bandages,” he said, just as quiet but more resolutely than before. “You can take them off. If Chuuya wants to.”

He could see very clearly that Chuuya did want to, from the bob of his neck as he swallowed to the twitch of his hands against his skin.

“Do you want to?” He asked again, stilling his hands against his body.

Dazai ducked his head before he could read all of the emotions crashing together in ocean blue, taking in a steadying breath-

-and promptly regretted it minutes later after the protective layer was removed his his neck.

“Are hickeys okay?” Chuuya murmured, face still tilted into Dazai’s skin, his lips moving against him with every word.

“Mmh, yeah, it’s fine,” Dazai spoke the words on reflex before he could decide if it really was fine, breathless and panting and feeling so deeply aware of every inch of scarred skin. Every scar pulsed with lingering pressure and tingling pleasure, all so striking and deep and bright that he felt like he could barely breathe. Chuuya’s smirk, curved against his neck and accented by a kiss, surged for him to recover for a moment, already feeling so much he was overwhelmed but still wanting more (Dazai revelled in the pinpricks of phantom pain, the part that knew and remembered Mori insisting that it was about to hurt but still, still,stillwanting more). “Chuuya can go back to slobbering on my neck like a dog- hngh- hah-”

Dazai would love to see the look on Mori’s face when he saw evidence that Dazai was claimed by someone else. Would he kill him for real then?

Chuuya wasted no time in sucking hickeys into Dazai’s neck, replacing white lines of scars with purpling bruises. He kept going, laving over every inch of sensitive skin until Dazai was squirming from the liquid heat of pleasure that wouldn’t stop racing up and down his body, so different from the pain he expected that he was twitching all over.

He continued going, unwrapping every inch of skin and continuing to lave his tongue over every bit of it like he enjoyed what he was seeing. Dazai knew exactly what Chuuya was looking at, so when he finally paused at his arms and stared, he figured that the slug had come to his senses.

“It’s ugly, right?” Dazai waited, but Chuuya stayed silent, just looking at him. He opened his mouth again to offer to rebandage himself-

“What the f*ck are you talking about?”

Oh.

Oh,Dazai’s eyes were wider than they should be, so much so that he was definitely giving away what he was thinking, but Chuuya’s pure, lust-filled expression felt seared into the confines of his mind along with that single, offhandedly-spoken statement.

“Yeah,” Chuuya snorted derisively, unfairly condescending when what he was doing made no sense. “You’re hot, idiot. Still just as annoyingly attractive, so don’t worry about that.”

And he proved it.

When Chuuya continued touching him, when he kissed every scar like it was something precious and not the abomination it really was, when….

When he sawit.

His birthday present for his fourteenth birthday.

Mori’s brand on him.

There was a brief, stilted moment where Dazai wanted to leave. He wanted to run, far away where no one (but most especially Mori) could ever touch his body, the body he wanted so desperately to shed behind him, again. It was followed a louder voice murmuring phantom caresses and warm lips and blue eyes and pleasure unaccompanied by substantial pain.

“Who… whohurtyou?”Chuuya asked like it mattered, the question playing on repeat, looping over and over like it was supposed to mean something.

Dazai made his choice in the way he looped his carved arms around Chuuya’s neck and tried for a real kiss.

Pleasure was an abstract concept in a lot of ways. Some fiction described it wistfully, while videos were overdone in action and reactions. Pleasure brought by someone’s own hand seemed to be (by large agreement on forums) less intense than pleasure given by someone else. The concept of org*sming for pleasure rather than a lackluster release of tension was foreign to Dazai, though he’d seen Mori do it one too many times.

It was very different when Chuuya was trying to make him cum.

“Ngh, ah,don’t stop,”he panted, his hands scrambling for purchase and finding only the black duvet beneath them. He felt so entirely out of his body, unable to control the wild tightening in the pit of his stomach, stoked higher and higher by each drag of Chuuya’s awful, amazing hand.

It was intense, it was too much, it was everything, he was floating on a high he felt like he’d never come down from as Chuuya kept going, and going, and going-

A finger circled around his asshole, teasing and dipping, each movement almost distracting Dazai, almost dragging him back to another room, another time, another place, but not nearly enough to do much of anything when he opened his eyes. It was just him and Chuuya and the fire in his stomach.

“Chu-! Ah, ha! Ngh,”Dazai shuddered and twisted through his org*sm, ropes of cum escaping the tip of his co*ck as he felt the fire dim and rise and shake and pleasure washed over him in tall, earth-shattering waves he couldn’t defend against. He didn’t know what he looked like, only that Chuuya hadn’t stopped, the pleasure wasn’t stopping, and it wouldn’t anytime soon.

Dazai teased Chuuya mercilessly for his height, but it didn’t matter much to him when he was so strong in return. The way he pressed Dazai into the mattress, unyielding, contradicted beautifully by how gentle his words were, ached. If Chuuya wanted to, he could keep Dazai there as long as he wanted, but his chibi was so stupid, too stupid to realize the power he held as he kept his touches so feathery and light every time he checked in to make sure the sensation was still wanted.

Chuuya was a greedy partner in bed.

Almost as greedy as Dazai apparently was with just about anything Chuuya would give him.

Lying in the aftermath, he focused on breathing through the field of sensations washing over his body. While Chuuya had stretched him with three fingers, but Dazai could only think that he could've dared to stretch him with a fourth. His co*ck was big and made him ache already.

He didn’t ache too badly though, since he…. with his tongue….

“What was that?” Dazai asked distantly, sounding a little airy and gone still, his thoughts coming out in bursts rather than in a linear focus, trying to collect together what had happened in some kind of sensible order and failing miserably. Each org*sm blurred confusingly into the last until he couldn’t tell where it started, only knowing with certainty how it ended.

“Rimming,” Chuuya answered, those electric eyes bright. “Thought you’d like it.”

Chuuya had guessed a surprising number of things accurately over the course of the night. It made him feel somewhat uncomfortable, as uncomfortable as he imagined Chuuya felt normally when around him. It was a natural response to something as wrong as Dazai. It made sense for Chuuya to be uncomfortable.

Almost as uncomfortable as he very suddenly was when Chuuya, after leaving the room to give Dazai a chance to get himself together and leave, returned with a washcloth and started cleaning him. That was weird, but whatever. Chuuya was acting strange in general, so he just hummed at the sensation of the too-soft cloth against him, not even setting off a phantom itch like the rest of his things usually did.

He figured that would be it, but when Chuuya left to the bathroom, he left the door open. Dazai heard the sound of water starting up and suddenly felt verytired.

Blankets, sex, kissing. All of which were delicacies Dazai had never properly indulged in until then, so the amount of things Chuuya was pushing onto him was weird, but only in a warm, syrupy way. It made him itch more than his rough blankets ever did.

When Chuuya levered his arms underneath him, Dazai startled from the daze he’d unconsciously fallen into.

“Come on, mackerel,” he heard Chuuya’s raspy, exhausted voice spoke speaking into his hair.

“I can walk,” Dazai murmured a little indignantly, knowing that he wasn’t entirely welcome anymore now that Chuuya had f*cked him, but feeling emptier than ever because of it. Chuuya’s arms tightened around him curiously in response, holding him so close he felt his broken edges might start digging into him if he wasn’t careful.

“Sure,” Chuuya said, his tone giving away the eyeroll he couldn’t see as he carried him…. not out the door, but into the bathroom and put him down on the shower stool.

It was only then that Dazai realized what was going on, his brain somehow a million years behind him in a way it’d never been before.

“I just want to sleep,” he complained at Chuuya, who leaned over to shut off the bath water. A test, a question, just to see if his mind wasn’t misunderstanding for once. It wasn’t, and a deep, tired, starved little corner of himself knew it andwantedit.

“And I wanna have clean sheets,” Chuuya snarked back, turning on the showerhead and facing it away while waiting for it to warm up, both confirming and shattering his expectations for the night. It was his own fault for having expectations at all, considering nothing ever went right when Chuuya was involved. He seemed so deeply unconcerned with how many mistakes he was making just by letting Dazai do things like stay the night and touch him.

“Is this how you treat all of the people you have sex with?” Dazai shook his head mockingly, but he knew before moving that it was weaker than usual. “Chuuya’s such a brute.”

“Shut up, dumbass.”

Dazai didn’t think Chuuya wanted him to stick around overnight. It contradicted his understanding of one-night stands but succeeded in warming his cheeks now that he’d finally processed it.

He kept his face forward to hide it. There wasn't anything to look at in Chuuya's bathroom anyway. He took showers here often enough that he knew what it looked like.

When this was over and Chuuya finally came to his senses, Dazai should get Mori to take a look at his brain to eliminate that part of his psyche. It felt like a weakness to be so easily swayed by one person. He didn’t have a chance to fake anything, so caught off guard that each reaction was coming out more genuinely than the last in a wild cacophony of emotions and feelings that felt sickeningly human.

(Dazai wouldn’t be eating anytime soon. He could tell that, more than usual, he’d only throw it back up.)

Throughout the muddled, occasional murmurings from Chuuya as his grossly dedicated chibi went about washing him, Dazai found himself- notcontentwith, but something similar- in the way Chuuya just kepttouchinghim. He almost wished very stupidly that Chuuya would take longer on his body than he did, just because the warm tingling reminded him a bit of sex even though the intent behind it was very obviously different.

It wasn’t sexual, it wasn’t demanding. Dazai wanted that more than the sex. Was this really how Chuuya would treat him after sex?Every time?

Chuuya said he’d be back after leveraging him into the bath, but Dazai not only disliked baths but had been in there long enough that the water had gone from tolerable to bone-chattering. He wanted to find out what more Chuuya would show him. That strange expression? The indulgence? The freely and stupidly given affection? He wondered if it was only sufferable because Chuuya lacked similar qualities that Dazai did, though to a far less extreme that let him retain his human qualities.

Dazai wanted to know what Chuuya would give him next, but upon standing up he realized that maybe there was a reason why Chuuya carried him to the shower, then from there to the bath. Chuuya walked in just as he was trying to figure out the best way to balance between the wall and ledge of the bath.

“You good?” Chuuya asked, his expression reeking of amusem*nt and almost grating on his nerves.

His legs shook a little bit.

Dazai flipped him off. “Just fine.”

And then he almost slipped and cracked his head open.

Chuuya helped him out after that and toweled him off, bracing Dazai against him for a moment until he got himself together. It was just long enough that Chuuya, using his shorter height to his advantage for once, reached up to do something to his hair with the towel- scrunching it?- while looking to believe that Dazai didn’t know exactly what he was doing. He let him do it anyway, because Chuuya had been weirdly patient and less tempermental since getting him on his bed.

“Get dressed,” Chuuya nudged him. “Bandages are in the top left drawer.”

Bandages?

Dazai didn’t have to ask to know who the bandages were for, but…. huh. He opened the drawer, feeling numb and cold as he did so, the feeling only enhanced by the scalding heat of emotions, because those were the nice bandages, the ones he always got when he didn’t think Mori would notice the charge.

Chuuya knew his favorite brand of bandages. Chuuya bought them for Dazai.Why?Why go to the trouble? Why bother? The aisle wasn't close to Chuuya’s usual route through stores, which he knew after stalking him. That meant that Chuuya both literally and figuratively went out of his way to do something for Dazai without Dazai ever asking or hinting to it. Chuuya just…. he just did it.

Was it for this? For sex? Dazai knew Chuuya couldn’t have possibly planned something like that. It was out of character for him, but then again the entire night had been what Dazai would consider out of character for Chuuya. There was nothing to gain from it, not like sex where at least then Chuuya was receiving pleasure, or even cleaning him and making him stay the night as Chuuya might’ve thought he was saving himself from later complaints.

What message would Dazai be sending if he wrapped himself in those bandages?

He closed the drawer and put on the clothes set out for him, hating how their softness made his eyes droop just slightly and built up pressure in the back of his throat, urging a yawn to escape when Chuuya walked back in.

“Ready?” Chuuya asked.Do you want me to put them on for you?

What a silly chibi,Dazai thought, desperately choking back the wave of questions that burned to escape. It burned almost as bad as the reminder that he’d be touching those blankets with his bare skin.

“Yeah.”It's fine.

They walked to the bedroom together, Chuuya claiming the furthest side and walking around the bed quickly while staring. He was feeling so many awful things at once while trying not to feel anything at all as he noticed very clearly that Chuuya took the side closest to the door, despite Dazai knowing after (stalking) watching him before that he normally slept on the further side.

After peeling the blanket away, he touched a hand to the sheets to brace himself and stopped the moment he did.

Oh.

His fingers spread against the sheets, just to make sure he wasn’t imagining things.

He wasn’t.

It was the softest material he’d ever felt in his miserable, disjointedly short and long life. When he slipped under the covers as though in a trance he realized that even the pillow case wasn’t Chuuya’s preferred glossy silk.

He knew he was giving away too much, but when Chuuya reached out and tugged Dazai over while he shuffled closer, bringing the both of them to the middle of the bed, he didn’t care. Chuuya was gently manhandling him into laying half on top of him while he tangled their feet together, connecting them in brushes of skin-on-skin contact that scraped pleasantly against his senses and harshly against his reservations at letting himself get too comfortable.

When Chuuya raked a hand through his hair and scratched his scalp, Dazai found himself too exhausted to care for how Chuuya was blatantly manipulating him. He’d wait for Chuuya to fall asleep and then leave.

He’d just…. he’d just have to stay awake.

Even as Chuuya grabbed his phone.

Even as his body warmed up against Chuuya’s, leaving him..,.

..

…

…leaving him warm and-

.

…and….

…..

Our nerves were frayed like ravelled sleeves,
We cherished each of our minor griefs
To keep them warm until the night,
When it was time again to fight;

But we were young, did not need much
To make us laugh instead, and touch,
And could not hear ourselves above
The arias of death and love.

-A.E. Stallings,Recitative

Since the summer of their first year as partners, Dazai had begun a habit (whether good or bad, he didn't quite know) of blaming most things to do with his unwilling partner on Chuuya and Romanee.

Chuuya, because it was easy to blame things on someone so blatantly human and uncaringly indiscreet. Romanee-conti, because it was the first wine Chuuya ever tasted that he didn’t have to pretend to like. It was also, unfortunately, the one and only wine that Dazai didn’t necessarily dislike, since it reminded him of warm eyes and soft hands before he was someone who was less than something. When Chuuya, wine-drunk and giddy at affording the atrociously priced drink, put his hands on Dazai’s face and left a sloppy attempt at a first kiss on his lips, all he could remember from then on was the phantom taste of Romanee-conti and all of the soft, horribly vague memories that came with it.

It made Dazai happy that their little rendezvous wasn’t driven by feelings. He’d tried, once and only once, too affected by the memory of wine in his system and the taste of Romanee-conti on Chuuya’s lips, to test the word ‘love’ on his tongue in passing. Chuuya’s flippant rejection solidified his belief that there would never be anything between them aside from ownership and greed.

When Dazai woke up in Chuuya's arms, triggered into wakefulness by the beginning of light filtering through the curtains, feeling warm for the first time in years, his first thought was that it was weird he’d managed to fall asleep at all. His second thought was that he wanted to kill himself. Really, honestly.

The itch under his skin was gone with soft sheets and warm arms, and without it Dazai couldn't satisfy the part of himself that knew he needed to suffer. Under his skin, the feeling of hands and writhing fingers haunted him enough to hide it with bandages, to squeeze out the sensation until it popped and left for good, but it wasgoneand he liked it but he knew that he shouldn’t. He wanted to mix medication and alcohol, or bludgeon himself on a sink, or throw himself off a roof. He didn'tcare,he just needed to feel something that wasn'tgoodto remind himself why he didn't deserve nice things.

And then Chuuya yawned.

His mind went blank for ten blissful seconds where his body stiffened to keep Chuuya asleep. It didn't work, because his hands (hot and scalding his skin like the world's best heating packs) started massaging the bare skin at his hip where the shirt had ridden up and he pulled Dazai closer and his eyes were blinking open-

“Mackerel?” Chuuya's gravelly morning voice crept out into the air. He groaned and slid his hand up and down Dazai's skin under his shirt, like it waseasyto touch someone like him. He felt exposed and needy for more but he didn'tdeserveit. Blazing, glorious blue eyes squinted at the faint morning light from the curtains and he apparently deemed it too early in that moment because he settled his chin back on Dazai's head and pulled him in a little closer until his face was pressed into his bare chest. “Mmh, go back to sleep. It's ass’o’clock.”

His arm that had been pillowing his head came around to card those devastatingly warm fingers through Dazai's hair, brushing through and twisting around random strands with small tugs that felt too grounding for his sanity. So grounding that it was almost suffocating, even, but it wasn't an iron weight. He could still move. His lungs could still take in air.

In Mori’s eyes, Chuuya was the hand that executed Dazai’s will, as though he were the god that orchestrated him. Like this, though, Dazai felt too big in his body, stuffed there by Chuuya’s hands, held together in his grasp like Chuuya had become the glue to mold him as he wished. Dazai felt malleable in his hold, and he wondered, if Chuuya ever figured out the power he had in that moment, what he would do with it. What kind of person would he sculpt Dazai to be?

And then Chuuya’s lips pressed a kiss into Dazai’s hair as he pulled the blanket up higher and dozed off again. His hold eclipsed the sun from Dazai’s view, and the blanket created a darkness he could fall asleep in, like Chuuya was shielding him from the light.

It was-

Hefelt-

Dazai’s lip trembled the tiniest bit out of his control, but he wormed himself down further into that hold and hoped Chuuya was too far gone in the throes of sleep to feel the way his breath shuddered against his bare skin.

Chuuya was wearing pajama shorts. They were old and panda-covered and had a coffee stain on the left side. They were shorter than was probably decent and the elastic hardly held up anymore. Dazai knew he’d had them since before joining the mafia because he rooted through all of Chuuya’s belongings the second he moved into the mafia apartments, and then did it again when he moved out.

Unlike Dazai, Chuuya preferred to sleep in shorts. He didn’t like the extra fabric around his body, which was why he didn’t wear a shirt to sleep in, leaving no barrier between them as Dazai settled his cheek against the oppressive warmth of his chest. It melted him.

After a few moments, Chuuya’s hand slipped back into his hair, not consciously but rather because he’d fully fallen back asleep. He should be getting up and leaving, but something weighed him down too much to even shift out of place. It wasn’t their legs tangled together, or the hand on his waist underneath his shirt, or the other hand practically cradling his head. It was some unidentifiable warmth bubbling in his chest that glued him to Chuuya’s side and convinced him that it would be okay to hide for just a bit longer, drifting off to sleep once again.

He would’ve been gone before Chuuya woke up if they didn’t have things to do later that needed the both of them like…. like a job and paperwork. That was the excuse he gave himself when he woke up to Chuuya playing on his phone and decided to indulge his slug by staying for a breakfast he’d be coughing up into the trash later.

It wouldn’t happen again, anyways.

(Except it did happen again.)

Chuuya was strange.

They’d been on a mission for a week, handling an uprising in a southeast district of mafia territory still left partially unchecked after a ‘deal’ had essentially strongholded the area’s police force under the mafia’s thumb. They killed, tortured, and blackmailed until every officer in the area was on Mori’s payroll.

It was a week and a half since they had sex and Chuuya had been staring at him a lot. Not that Dazai immediately connected the dots that it was because of the sex- odd for him but excusable since Chuuya shouldn’twantto have Dazai under him again after the first time. It didn’t take him long to figure out why Chuuya had been staring at him, though-

“Mmh, f*ck,”Chuuya hummed into Dazai’s neck as he pushed their erections together, pinning Dazai against the utility closet wall with pleasure and teeth sinking into his skin.

-since Chuuya was more interested in action than quiet deception.

Dazai tried to sink his teeth into his bottom lip when he felt that awful drag of sensation tingle up from his dick and light his head on fire, but when the slug thrust forward and squeezed them together intermittently, he ended up panting out a keening noise too loud and high to be mistaken for anything butbothered.Chuuya didn’t seem to mind; if anything the sharp smirk that curled against his skin seemed prideful. He clearly began to mind when Dazai dug his teeth into his lip, spilling blood from the pressure and sharp scratch of his canines until Chuuya was slipping his thumb momentarily between his lips to stop it.

He wondered if Chuuya would ever decide to change his mind about being gentle and finally exploit every scrap of weakness dragged out of him.

Then Chuuya was sliding his hand under his shirt, scraping softly against unbandaged slivers of skin, and the fire in the bit of his stomach was back, bringing a roar of lust from sexual attraction he rarely felt inclined towards. Dazai knew his chibi partner was aware of it after a few moments spentrollingtheir hips together, reaching around with those gloved hands to grip at his ass crudely and dragging him into the rocking motion.

“Ah, ah,”Dazai panted, quieter than Chuuya’s whimpers with every strike of friction. They were at a weird height for it normally, so it was strange they even managed to- oh, Chuuya was standing on a box. He should say something, make fun of it, or-“Ngh!”

Chuuya’s mouth latched onto his neck after bitting away a strip of bandages to muffle his squeaky whines and groans, his hand not working between them sliding back out from his shirt to slot between Dazai’s head and the wall just before he canted his head back. It prevented a headache while striking him as being odd that Chuuya cared.

It didn’t matter too much. Between the hand in his hair, the mouth on his neck, and the hand forcing Dazai to roll his hips in tandem with Chuuya’s, the heat spiked, andspiked,higher and higher until-

“Has anyone seen Chuuya?”

Kouyou.

Dazai felt Chuuya freeze against him. “The meeting,” he whispered, tone horrified.

Of course.

What happened next was a flurry of limbs and clothing as Chuuya redressed them both, tugging Dazai’s bandages back into place and smoothing them both down to appear some semblance of put together. Dazai was still aching in his pants, something tight and frustrated furrowing his brow, but he felt somewhat nice enough to turn Chuuya’s hat around the right way seconds before he opened the closet door.

Dazai stayed there, leaned against the wall, for several long moments before reaching a hand up to the fresh hickey on his neck under the bandages. After a minute of thought, he hooked a finger under the strip covering it so that it was the barest bit visible before continuing about his day.

Still high on frustration later that night and feeling the phantom warmth at the back of his head, he placed cameras in Chuuya's apartment, feeling a greedy twist to worm himself into Chuuya's space and under his ribcage to sleep next to the warm beating of his bleeding human heart to understand what made him so easily foister affection onto Dazai like it made sense. Like Dazai was worth it.

He knew Chuuya’s favorite color, his favorite brand of wine, where he spent his weekends, where he went when he got mad, and was outside his window every day for the first two weeks Chuuya spent in his new apartment, unable to relax on the luxurious bed he splurged on after years accustoming himself to the hard ground. He even knew that Chuuya swore to ‘gods’ instead of a singular one so that Arahabaki never thought that he was talking about them- Dazai didn’t know if that was how it worked, but whatever.

(Dazai only ever swore to the singular god in front of him. Whether his words were meant for the god that was Arahabaki or the deity that was Chuuya he didn’t know- both wrought calamity upon his daily life in different ways.)

He knew that while Chuuya wasn’t clinically intelligent in the way Dazai was, he exceeded in emotional intelligence. Not that it usually helped him perceive too much about Dazai, but sometimes, back when they were young and new to the mafia, Chuuya would look at his smile and whisper, something horrified on his tongue,that’s fake.Dazai would only smirk back a serpent’s smile and hiss,but you believed it for a minute, didn’t you?

He also knew that Chuuya got freckles on his face when it was warm out. Fifty-three exactly, spread across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks. Dazai knew that because he counted them personally after disguising himself as a bartender and getting Chuuya so drunk he couldn't walk, forcing his subordinates to callhimto come get the chibi, who was using his ability on a bottle of wine and two chairs. After taking him home, he used the opportunity to map out each freckle individually on his passed out slug, drawing over them with a fine tip marker and connecting each one like a line drawing.

There was a reason Chuuya didn't knock back straight vodka. It was the only thing that got him drunk enough to let his ability loose.

Chuuya would’ve been a good older brother, Dazai mused as he sunk lower into bedsheets he hadn’t yet been invited into again, less than a foot away from Chuuya, passed out after one too many glasses of wine and dragged back to his apartment with moderate difficulty. Strong, attentive, and considerate. A perfect Onee-san for a little brat to look up to and toddle after.

He supposed, in some ways, Chuuyahadbeen an older brother. He watched after the Sheep like a perfectly watchful shepherd would attend to their herd. Stupidly honest and brash but always just worrisome enough to be a good leader. He’d be awful running an organization like the mafia, but as anExecutive….

Well.

If Dazai lived long enough to see the hat passed on to himself, then maybe he’d consider it. It would be fun to see Chuuya kneeling at his feet (even though Dazai was the one who should and in part wanted to be forever on his knees in the wake of Chuuya’s overarching presence).

Sleep will find you, no matter who you be.
Holding your truth like antiquated media of social pleas.
Glance at the reflection, knowing that it's you...
that ewe were the one split away my sweet, longing adieu.

-Michelle Lee,Adieu a You

Dazai’s speech tick of referring to people in the third person had been broken viciously by Mori. One too many uppity whines of“Mori is so mean~!”had landed him with a fractured jawbone after the man shoved his co*ck down his throat for the first and last time, long enough to make him lose his voice for a week.

It was a comfort thing. A way to voice and organize his thoughts out loud that he slipped into in moments of childishly misplaced safety. He thought he’d been done with the habit until he slipped into it only two months into his and Chuuya’s official partnership.

Chuuya never commented on it aside from a weird look and a few brief, snide comments that filtered out over time. In fact, sometimes, when he used to respond to Dazai’s teasing of“Chuuya is such a loyal pooch”with words like“well Chuuya isn’t a dog,”it almost felt like he was encouraging it.

Eventually, he stopped even commenting on it at all. Dazai assumed that meant he’d gotten so used to hearing it that it barely registered. It said some uncomfortable things about their relationship.

It was just something they did, he guessed. Dazai had never had an actual long-lastingpartnerbefore, but he supposed this was their way of working together off the field too. Dazai packed extra socks for every mission knowing Chuuya never remembered to bring his, and Chuuya didn't bring up Dazai's millions of flaws that should've been beaten out of him.

It wasn't equal, could neverbeequal with how monumentally greedy Dazai was by nature, but that was fine. Chuuya was clearly too dumb to raise hell over it like he should.

Even when Chuuya was groomed by Kouyou to perfection, became one ofhersand thus too well versed in mafia politics to not run to Mori with a list of transgressions against Dazai, he didn't. He was put in charge of the jewel industry, got over whatever morals that marked him as a sheepdog for life, and still kept his mouth shut.

Dazai didn't need to wonder if he'd have done the same if their positions were reversed in any way. He would've tattled in a heartbeat, far too tainted by a deep pit inside himself that Mori called ‘loyalty’ to hold his tongue.

(Or so he thought)

Chuuya was not infallible.

During their early days of the mafia, his training had gone quickly as he was placed under Kouyou. She had a more delicate, refined touch that she passed onto Chuuya (though one would never guess with his attitude and temper). It wasn’t much of a surprise he was eventually handed a good portion of the jewel trade and later shoved onto the Flags.

He was good, but not perfect. A single oversight in the mafia had the tendency to snowball into a larger clusterf*ck of nonsense, which was why matters were usually handled at the head by a single person. Chuuya’s portion of the trade was not as large or vital as he and the rest of the mafia were generally made to believe, instead being a test from Mori.

(Everything in the mafia went easier when one naturally assumed it was a test from Mori.)

Still, it wasn’tgood.He’d miscounted a sum by ninety thousand yen and signed his name when he shouldn’t have on a single document. Neither issues were that bad, since in the mafia a signature could be erased with a bullet put in the right brain and the amount misplaced wasn’t too bad, all things considered. The issue was that failing a test from Mori, no matter how minor the screw-up was in retrospect, could end up with Chuuya’s head on a stick.

While that issue had been handled, if not neatly then quickly, it was not the last mistake Chuuya would ever make. At fifteen, he was far less trusting and thus hadn’t mentioned the mistake to Dazai (though he had found out anyway), but at freshly eighteen, Chuuya’s walls had fallen down to some degree, so when he ran into yet another problem, it was inevitable that Dazai would find out one way or another.

It didn’t help that Chuuya ended up panicking and very stupidly ended uptellingDazai about the issue after already telling Kouyou, which, while still stupid, was the best possible mistake he could’ve made.

Which led to them standing there, in the flickering lamplight of a Yokohama street a block away from Chuuya’s apartment and nowhere near where Dazai should be spending his nights. Chuuya had seemed nervous the entire time they’d ended up walking together and eventually stopped and spilled everything in a rambling mess.

“I told Ane-san,” Chuuya hurried to say after finishing his explanation just as Dazai suspected, as though that meant anything (it did, more so for Chuuya than for anyone else as one of her favorites- a title that meant things worlds apart from being Mori’s favorite).

“Kouyou-san could tell him herself,” Dazai said even as he knew it wasn't necessarily true. She was supposed to, but Ane-san (a title he didn't deserve to call her out loud because he didn'tneedher, not like Chuuya did) wouldn't. She would cover for what was hers, and the way she loved Chuuya was fierce with all the gently firm aggression of a provoked mother bear.

He could see that he'd planted a seed of doubt in Chuuya's eyes as he spoke and wished for a second that he could steal back his words and assure him he was lying. But he couldn't and would never be able to, because he was not someone who belonged to himself, so instead he watched Chuuya, ever so expressive and bright, flit through a dozen different things to say in response to that.

“Just…. don't tell Mori,” Chuuya begged, something clear in his eyes insisting that he had run out of options and while it killed him to ever be so vulnerable with his wants, there was a spark in his eyes that foolishly believed in Dazai.

“I won't,” Dazai lied, because that was all he was good for in the face of that blazing light.

It was a Tuesday just as dreary as every Tuesday came around when Dazai entered Mori’s office like clockwork, head turned down and eyes cast aside as he drummed his fingers against his thigh before tittering to a stop.

“Ah, Dazai-kun,” Mori said with perfectly crafted faux-surprise as though he hadn’t seen when Dazai walked in five minutes prior. His eyes flit down and he sighed, almost disappointed. “You know you’re not supposed to touch Elise as soon as you walk in. How old are you now?”

Dazai had been too in his head to notice whether or not he’d touched Elise. He hadn’t seen her, so it was possible she hadn’t been in the room to begin with and Mori was just looking for areason.Still, “seventeen.”

Almost eighteen, almost an adult, almost old enough that he wondered if Mori would stop their ‘sessions.’

Mori raised an eyebrow and shuffled documents they both knew did not need to be moved if only to enhance the image of a disappointed and testing father, still with that ever-indulgent smile curved on his face. “And yet you still act solittle.You might as well be eleven or twelve, don’t you think? Do you need to be punished that way as well?”

He knew the conversation already had a decided ending that would not change regardless of what he chose to say to that, so he found it in himself to be just as petulant as ever. “For what?”

“That tone, for starters,” Mori tittered like he really was anyone’s parent. “Hmm, and then for this past mission. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice Akutagawa-kun’s lack of control?”

Not for a moment,Dazai thought internally. He hadn’t been on that mission, and furthermore wasn’t the primary lead for Akutagawa’s training after he’d advanced enough to lead a small squad under Hirotsu’s off-handed guidance, half handled by the Guerilla Attack Squad’s leader.

The Guerilla Attack Squad was not under his division, either. The only name attached to his was Akutagawa’s from his initial training. Akutagawa killed the target, which was good, but also the commissioner, a tavern employee slipping them information about politicians that visited under-the-radar, and a civilian.

With so many skilled hands in the mix, Dazai should not be the one taking the fall for it, but he had heard about it and knew he’d be the one to do so anyway.

I should’ve been harsher.

“No, boss,” Dazai gritted out.

He was not Mori. When it came to training someone else, he found himself lacking the resolve to be as deeply scarring as Mori so often was. It was his mistake.

Mori didn’t say a word as he sighed with a deeply disappointing hum. He pivoted on his heel, silently waving his hand in a cue Dazai recognized all to well. He swallowed a bit and shrugged off his coat. His fingers lifted to the first button of his collar, paused there, spasmed, and dropped. The long, corded whip in Mori’s hands meant he’d rather try to keep it on unless Mori ordered him otherwise.

It was a simple matter kneeling on the floor, in the middle of it, just beneath the stained glass window. It was a dance he’d been taught in phases, the swell of unplayed music marked by each motion of his body, preparing himself to be used in whichever way Mori required. His teachers were electric strikes, bruising hands, waltzing knives, the beats of a tango marked by each crackling affliction of a whip. He breathed and braced himself as he heard the minute whistle of the strike before it landed, rocking forward before the sensation registered properly.

Dazai bit back the reflexive flinch of his body as Mori brought his whip down in an objectively painful strike before the first had fully dulled. He’d been getting more and more violent in moments like this ever since he showed up to a ‘session’ with a different shirt on under his coat, taken from the chibi after he’d forced Dazai to spend the night playing video games, drinking just enough to be tipsy but not drunk as he ended up spilling wine over Dazai’s usual shirt. Dazai had several copies of it by proxy of not being permitted to wear anything not provided by Mori. They were all tailored perfectly to him, so much so that it was very obvious by the looseness of the shoulders and the shortness of the hem that the shirt was not his.

He knew Mori would ask as soon as he saw it, knew when he did by the way his nails unflinchingly sunk into the soft underside of his jaw, raking across his skin. Still, he found himself hesitating to say whose it was- for some reason- and paid the price in violently red welts like the ones Mori seemed intent on leaving now.

Dazai couldn’t hide his small smirk.

Mori was always just a little bit jealous of Chuuya and Dazai knew it. Or maybe he was jealous of theirSoukoku,of the way they bent without breaking, of the way they didn't need endless repairs to meshjust sothe way he and his time-tested and time-broken partner never quite managed.

Either way, sometimes, on the days when his eyes shadowed the way Dazai's so often did and his lighter, brighter, moresalvageableother half wasn't there to pull him out, Mori popped some pills, called Dazai to his office, and made it his problem. Sometimes he'd make him scream for Chuuya. Sometimes Mori would say someone else's name too, but Dazai didn't care for the way Mori was broken when he was hell-bent on making himshatter.

(Maybe that was the reason for his decision.)

He wondered if the day would come when Mori would realize that torturing Dazai would not accomplish the complete ownership he craved (because now that he knew Mori hated seeing traces of Chuuya on his skin, he felt more inclined to seek out his slug and see which ways he could make Dazai break, if he could taunt Chuuya just enough to make himwantto). He wondered, if that day did come, if he’d call Chuuya up to his office, as nonchalant in his orders as he called on Dazai with. He wondered which tool he’d use to ruin Kouyou’s hard work.

…

If he were to call Chuuya up for the jewel trade, would he take his punishment further because of Dazai?

Would Chuuya’s eyes lose their blazing spark? How long would the welts stay on his body? His healing was much faster than any normal person, so how long would Mori go to see the same vibrancy in the red slashes? Would Mori…. would Moritouchhim afterwards? After breaking him down to the speck of nothing Dazai so permanently was? He wasn’t sure he wanted to see it.

But it would be Chuuya’s own fault. Failure garnered consequences. That was how the mafia worked- one would always reap what they sowed.

His head was swimming with each objectively painful strike, but he found his mind cleared entirely the second they stopped. Blood was dripping wetly down his back, no doubt drenching the white shirt he had a dozen carbon copies of, tailored to him and paid for out of Mori’s pocket.

He had to say something. Mori noticed.

“Hm? Dazai-kun, did you have something to say?”

His mouth opened to speak, but the words lingered heavily in his throat.

If Mori found out about what happened and that Dazai knew about it, he would torture him in every way but one, until he'd broken him down to a numb little puppet. And then he'd unzip his pants and Dazai wouldburn.

The silence stretched on for a beat too long.

“Are you sure there's nothing else, Dazai-kun?”

“Yes.”

So why wasn't he saying anything?

It was undeniable that he was saving Chuuya. For what reason? Why now? When did he take back enough of his own words, his ownemotions,to do something sostupid?Was this why Mori took them away in the first place? Because Dazai did dumb things when he had his own will?

(He was leaving the office before he could ask to be dissected yet again to burn out the smudge of hesitation. He was so flawless from years of systematic training that even Mori never suspected a thing even when he made Dazai stand still as a doll for a hug that left crescent nail marks in his arms.

It was his second mistake of many, the first being the day he allowed Dazai to warm his bone deep chill in the blazing light that illuminated the ground Nakahara Chuuya walked on.)

Mori never called Chuuya into his office except to congratulate him a week later once he and Ane-san (and maybe Dazai in the shadows, but nothing except for Kouyou’s quietly knowing stare would ever call him out for it) fixed the mess he'd made. The congratulations was only for the succession of the deal and a perfect record throughout the trade process. His reward was a hefty paycheck and more work.

Dazai pointedly did not dignify Chuuya's slow-growing grin throughout that week with a response, aimed towards him and piercing him cruelly with misplaced thankfulness for his silence, divine blue dancing with scintillating electric little sparks that winked at him teasingly. He poured out Chuuya's newest bottle of wine to make it go away, but they still inched ever closer as partners.

Sometimes Chuuya was annoying in simple ways, too. Like when he made Dazai eat annoying things like fried bread filled with jelly too sweet and gross and greasy, so much so that it got on his face and there weren’t napkins for another mile since Chuuyainsistedon picking them up as a snack on their way back to headquarters no matter how much Dazai insisted hewasn’t hungryand-

“Is this your first time eating a jelly donut?” Chuuya asked, a single, stupidly judgemental eyebrow raised in a way that looked almost out of place on his face if it weren’t for the lack of malice that accompanied it. The sun shone against his hair as he flopped his head to the side, looking a little too comfortable considering they were out in public with people walking at their sides.

Dazai stared at him.

“Oh my gods, here,” Chuuya groaned in exasperation, leaning forward with his thumb. Dazai naturally swayed away from it, but Chuuya was stubborn as ever and followed the motion. His bare thumb swiped across the top of Dazai’s lip and then the crease of his lip and chin. “Okay, now lick your lips.”

“I’m not going to hang my tongue out like a dog,” Dazai huffed. “It wouldn’t be out of character for a mutt like you-”

“Gods f*cking dammit,” that pretty face pulled into an annoyed scrunch and he was using his outstretched arm to pull Dazai in instead. He tried to pull away but Chuuya was persistent until their lips touched (in public!). Chuuya licked across his lips and once Dazai was sure the cream was gone, he was being pulled in again for a firmer kiss that lasted only a second before it was over.

…in public. Chuuya kissed him. In public. Like it wasn’t even a choice he had to make or something he had to consider for longer than half a second. He just… and then….

Ah.

If he had less control, he could tell the creeping heat would’ve had him blushing stupidly. As it was, he firmly looked away from Chuuya with a scowl, crossing his arms and trying for annoyance. “Did Chuuya have to slobber all over my face?”

Chuuya was unfair, because his only response was to laugh, his shiny red curls (damn Kouyou for instilling a deep sense of self care into the annoying mutt) bouncing lightly from the shaking of his shoulders. “Is that all you got?”

Having been called on his defensive words, Dazai rolled his eyes at Chuuya and stuck out his tongue, something he knew riled Chuuya up deliciously. It didn’t fail him in that moment as he was shoved none too lightly to the side, dropping the rest of the strawberry donut and leaving it to the ants.

The day Dazai met Chuuya, there was a burst of color so vibrant it almost hurt to look at him. He was such a bright person that it burned through the darkness in the mafia and enclosed a nebula of chaos and humanity swirling beneath his tacky sense of fashion and loud words and inability to even pretend to be subtle.

Dazai didn't consider himself someone who felt awed by many things. Maybe it was fitting, then, that the first time he could remember feeling a vicious, cutting spark ofemotionswrithing under his skin was when watching the carnage Chuuya brought upon the battlefield, with or withoutCorruption.

The sight wasbeautiful.True beauty in the unhinged grin, claws of swirling red, and sprays of blood that decorated Chuuya's form. Each splattering drop glittered like rubies in the glow ofTainted,ofCorruption.

Chuuya was destruction contained in human form, a being of pure force and vicious existence and life that breathed the air around it and thieved vitality from anyone who dared lay witness. The echoes of his fury and might rang through his being and orchestrated a melody in the metered beating of his heart, an unconscious and unstoppable sway of force that swept Dazai's being to ring in time with it.

It didn’t make sense to Dazai how Chuuya thought he wasn't human. A5158, Nakahara Chuuya, Arahabaki’s vessel; he was so human it was almost disgusting. But he constantly bordered on the tolerable side of humanity, never quite tipping the line Dazai could never forgive him for crossing.

When he cancelled his ability after watching him destroy all those around him, he had a single, overarching thought:

Chuuya was so human he wasdivine.

It only made sense that Dazai would ruin him with every glancing touch, but even that simple truth did not keep him from reveling in his hypocrisy. No one else was allowed to ruin Chuuya.

Dazai killed the first person to put their hands on Chuuya after that night.

It was suggestive, a whisper that begged for touch and lusted after the power lurking deceptively in Chuuya's skin.

Chuuya turned the stranger down.

Dazai didn't care.

Because Chuuya had one night stands before, but after having Dazai he realized that there shouldn't be another person to feel the entirety of Chuuya's never ending grace. Dazai didn't deserve it himself, but no one did anyway, so he felt free to covet him.

She died with her head dashed against an alley wall. The sight and act was brutal and she didn’t die for two hours afterwards. It was still more than she deserved. He made sure to corner her in an alley close to a popular mafia bar so that her death was visible to as many mafioso as possible without making it overtly obvious that it was mafia business.

Even that much, that warning, however discreet it may have been, wasn’t enough to keep other hands and eyes off of Chuuya.

They were at a bar post-mission.

Dazai didn’t like post-mission drinking for the simple fact that the bars were always crowded and overly filthy in a way that only a place crammed with blood-stained people could be. It was very different from the quiet, amber-warmed ambiance of Lupin. Chuuya wanted him to go, though, so he did.

-Ah, well, Chuuya didn’t specifically ask him, but he knew that a chibi willing to go out after a mission was a chibi ready to get absolutely sh*t-faced. It was why he didn’t drink too heavily unless he was by himself or with Dazai; when he drank the hard stuff his ability could get a bit out of hand, causing collateral damage until some particularly brave or disillusioned subordinate called Dazai to come in and get him.

Success-high Chuuya lost the ability to be picky about only drinking wine (which usually just made him pass out, unlike other liquors that made his ability go haywire) and control over how much he was having.

So Dazai went to the bar.

Chuuya was having fun. He was the kind of leader that was as willing to toast over a victory with his subordinates as he was to get right down in the trenches with them. He focused on comradery rather than intimidation.

In some ways, that made thecommentsless surprising from where he was sitting at the bar counter. In a lot of ways, it just made them more deeply annoying.

By the time Chuuya was back in his stupidly expensive bed, Dazai was slipping out the door (ignoring the drunk whines for him to come back to bed) and back into the bar. It was too early for a significant number of people to have left, including the bravest of them, still chatting loudly enough that Dazai could hear them before getting near that part of the bar as he swept past them towards a group of his own subordinates.

They jumped as he appeared with a light, teasing smile edging the corners of his lips, purposely tightened.

“Sir!” Ryoma stood at attention first. He was older, so much older that his reaction was amusing in a special sort of way. The rest followed suite.

“I need you to gather these men and bring them to storage room 3C,” Dazai said lightly, holding up five photos. Before he could say another word, the photos were out of his hand as they hurried to obey.

It was laughably easy to order around his minions. The well seasoned ones, at least. Some were still new enough that they still had enough audacity to refuse him. Dazai skipped his way to the storage rooms, admiring dully how the slight crowd parted easily for him.

The storage rooms in this particular bar weren’t as disgusting as he let himself expect, but also dirtier than Lupin’s. The one he’d picked out wasn’t as busy as the rest, which was partially why he chose it. A single sharp glance at an employee had him walking past them without question.

He perched himself on a few boxes until the door swung back open.

“Sir,” Ryoma greeted, apparently the appointed spokesman of the group, “we brought them.”

Dazai grazed his eyes across the group of five, noting how none of them met his eye. That was good. They all knew who he was. “Why do you think you’re here?” It was one of his favorite ways of messing with people. It let them tattle on themselves. Still, they shook their heads. Boring. “Well,Iknow why you’re here, so that means there’s a reason. Any guesses?”

He hopped off of the boxes just to see all of them flinch.

“The job?” A brave one proposed with hesitance, his eyes drawn to the gun Dazai drew at a moment’s notice. He fingered it methodically. The bravery made sense considering his earlier comments.

God, what I wouldn’t give to get my hands around that waist. Think he’s a screamer? Bet he’d squeeze if I got my hand on his throat.

His grip tightened around the gun. “You guessed wrong.”

Three gunshots rang out, one for every disgusting comment. One to each of his hands, the third to his head. Dazai wished only that he had the patience to have drawn it out longer.

“A-Ah, if it wasn’t the job, then-”

“Oh… oh my god…”

He dragged his eye away from the corpse, distantly noting the smile stretching his lips as it faded. His stare cut off any residual guesses.

“The three of you should think twice before ever daring to say Chuuya’s name again,” Dazai intoned lowly, one of the men stumbling back from the vitriol dripping from his tongue, another one of them stumbling over the body still bleeding sluggishly onto the laquered flooring. He definitely sounded jealous, but that wasn’t it; Dazai didn’t care if other people looked at Chuuya, it was only natural, but scum should stay in their lane when it came to talking aboutactingon their desires.

“There are four of them?” Another particularly brave (or perhaps sad*stic) subordinate of his pointed out, flinching but not falling to the ground when Dazai aimed him with a sharp look.

His glare melted into a stupid, doe-eyed expression and he nodded eagerly. “Right you are!” He lifted his gun without looking, and without a second thought shot the man to his left who’d been going on aboutexactlywhat he’d do to Chuuya’s mouth. He clapped his hands together immediately after as he bled out, pressing his hand against the gun haphazardly and nearly setting it off again, triggering more violent reactions from his shocked-frozen subordinates. “I want to see Chuuya, now. Toodles~!”

Dazai skipped out of the room blood splattered with his gun in hand, in a wholly better mood than before and ready to ruin what was left of Chuuya’s night by beating him at video games after waking him up with water and a few freshly-dumped wine bottles.

He stopped, pivoted, and popped his head into the room again.

“Tie up those bodies outside the bar. Feel free to make a show out of it.”

Chuuya touched him a lot.

It wasn't a conscious or overbearing action, just enough to anchor himself from his ability. Dazai would bet his life that Chuuya didn't even know he was doing it half the time, but he'd catch his partner reaching out and letting his fingers brush over his hand or he'd stand closer than usual and let their bodies naturally sway into each other every few seconds.

It was odd, because most people said that his ability felt like a shot of ice or a particularly uncomfortable stifling of air. Most people never wanted to touch him after the first time experiencing the involuntary activation ofNo Longer Human.

It was a stroke of luck that Chuuya was just as insatiably greedy as Dazai himself. Attention, belonging, a sense of worth and usefulness- all of which were easy to feed him until he’d do anything for the mafia. It was just unfortunate that in doing so, he’d miscalculated and swayed Chuuya to go beyond simply ‘anything’ when it came to Dazai.

Chuuya was truly the ultimate gun amongst ability users. One shot can destroy nearly anything; whether it kills anyone depends on who is firing it. To have his finger be the one flirting with the trigger at any given moment was simultaneously the best and worst mistake Dazai had ever made.

His partner was not invincible unless orchestrated to be so by Dazai’s hands.

(Chuuya was fifteen when he first used corruption. He was also fifteen when he experienced his last moment ofpeaceby himself. The second he acknowledged Arahabaki andusedit, it lingered under his skin waiting for an invitation to take over completely and tear through him mercilessly.

Dazai's ability gave him the silence he craved in his own head. Sleeping with him, holding his hand, brushing arms, and eventuallykissinghim would be Chuuya's safe haven, a moment of quiet in his body.)

However, that meant that Chuuya had grown attached to him in a way that he shouldn’t have. Before meeting Chuuya, standing on the edge of a building was serene, in a way. Because if Dazai wanted to, he could jump. In suicide, he was the only one that could make that choice- when it came down to it, the world,hisworld, was in his hands and his hands only and he could do it…. he could, whenever he wanted. He had the choice. Not Mori, not anyone. Him.

That was before Chuuya’s dependency ravaged him and left him without that peace of choice and chance and risks he’d always take. Now, when Dazai felt tempted to teeter over the edge and let himself die, Chuuya was always there. He ripped bottles of medication out of his hands, forced him to cough up drugs, dragged him away from too-low edges and took knives away from him. It wasannoying.

Chuuya never shied away from jokes that some might consider insensitive, poking fun at his suicidal nature. He never pretended that Dazai was a better person than he was. He never tried to make him be better in any way. It wasn’t a bad thing, having Chuuya as his partner. It just also happened to simultaneously be the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

But even Chuuya’s overbearing nature couldn’t stop him when he was out of the country on a mission.

The book wasn’t something Dazai had bothered using before (in his timeline, of course, but that was a deja vu understanding-misunderstanding of an eon far beyond being rooted in realism and the chains that held down the bulk of humanity).

Hehadit, of course, in that it stayed firmly under the original book cover ofThe Complete Guide to a Successful Suicide,which he easily replaced with another copy’s cover that he found in an occult-themed library across Yokohama in the shopping district (it was a self-published book banned in eighty-seven countries worldwide for its grim nature, which really just made it more fun to own). Dazai would hesitate to settle any one of his cards as the most valuable- they all had their distinct charms, after all- but if he had to say, the book may very well have been it.

Even in a world with abilities and gods that could level entire continents at their strongest, the book was a whole other monster in and of itself. More of a monster than Dazai; more artificial than Chuuya.

Dazai considered himself to be a clinical person. With possession of the book came necessary understanding of just how big of a clusterf*ck he could make of the world with it. It would be enough to make Mori shake with fear- a beautiful sight. He was intelligent and had sociopathic tendencies, so if he so desired, there was little holding him back- littlehumanityholding him back from doing whatever he wanted. But with the understanding and rationality, rationality of a person too smart for their well being and an executive too young for their position, Dazai kept the book, abandoned any manipulative whispers that begged him to write by nature of the book being imbued with an ability-esque makeup (which was part of the reason he’d discovered the book in the first place), and succumbed to going about his miserable day-to-day life.

When Odasaku died- wasmurdered-Dazai didn’t bother with rationality.

Dazai saw the moment the life left Odasaku’s eyes, catalogued it, memorized it, would never forget it- and he spent a moment that felt like eternity with his corpse, just watching him.

Odasaku touched his face so that…. so that he didn’t have to see the moment he died. Flawless was a cruel ability, but maybe Odasaku was more cruel, using his last bit of strength to use Dazai to nullify his ability. He thought that if there were any warmth left inside of him that hadn’t been swallowed by the gnawing hole in the pit of his chest, it would stem from being useful to Odasaku one last time.

“There’s something I want to tell you.”

“No!” Dazai had screamed at him. What did Odasaku think he was doing? “You might still make it-” he was lying, he knew…. He knew the injury, the entry point, the amount of blood- if he had tools, surgical tools, maybe…. but Dazai didn’t, so not even Mori and his cruelty was useful now. Dogs and fighting and trauma failed him, leaving just Dazai. Just Osamu. Osamu and Odasaku, lying in his arms. “You can tell me about it later,” he lied to himself desperately, clutching him tighter. “So don’t talk like…”

Odasaku slid his hand into Dazai’s hair, nullifying his ability with that skin-to-skin contact and tugging him a little bit closer. “Listen to me,” he spoke, and with his eyes so serious, so firm, so unlike him, Dazai couldn’t help but fall silent. “You told me you might find a reason to live for if you lived in a world full of violence and bloodshed.”

“Yeah,” Dazai’s lip trembled, something hot bubbling in his chest, “I did but who cares about that now?!”

“You won’t find it.”

Man fears death and yet, at the same time, man is drawn to death.

“Deep down you absolutely realize that whether you’re on the side that kills people-”

There’s nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life of suffering.

“-or on the side that saves people-”

Death is endlessly consumed by men in cities and in literature.

“-nothing beyond what you would expect will appear.”

It is a singular event in one’s life that none may reverse.

“If it’s all the same to you-”

That is what I desire.

“-then be on the side that saves people.”

Dazai stopped breathing.

“If both sides are the same to you,” Odasaku nearly hissed out, his eyes so fierce and compelling, “become a good man. Protect the vulnerable, and help out some orphans. Neither good nor evil means much to you, I know…. But at least that’d make your life a little bit brighter.”

His lip was trembling. How could he- what was he supposed to- “How could you possibly know that?”

Odasaku’s last smile was the same one he gave to the orphans, gentle and knowing, the one that felt like he knew the world like the back of his hand. It only registered now that it was the same way he always looked at Dazai. How did he never notice?

No, he did, he always did. He just didn’t….

“Of course I know. I know better than anyone. Because… I’m your friend.”

Evil expects evil from others.

There’s nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life of suffering.

Everything he wanted was lost the moment he obtained it.

(But he’d suffered for so long, hadn’t he? What difference did a few days, months, years make?)

He felt something click.

It wasn’t a big shift, but it had an effect- like something slipping, a gear falling just slightly out of place and preventing it from turning properly.

Ever since he was a child (though he couldn’t say for sure that he ever really was one) Dazai had been prone to moments of dissociation. His mother, his father, his doctor, all vague memories that he knew, in some respect, he met, but all passed in an unfeeling blur. He couldn’t reasonably place certain events or associate certain atrocities with himself, despite recognizing that they must have occurred to him.

When things felt off in an entirely uncontrollable way, he slipped out of place and became an observer of his own life. Less human than the inorganic soul that already occupied the shell of his body.

Dazai watched himself put down Oda’s body, walk out of the building, traverse the streets- shoot someone? They were yelling, but he was moving, and then they were lying down with a bullet wound. Huh- turn a corner, and-

A safe house on the edge of the city was what Mori had called it originally, but it was just a secluded spot for him to be tracked constantly. It was a compromise- either stay in the shipping container or go back to spending nights warming Mori’s bed until he came calling.

Dazai stood outside of the steel entrance for a long time before pivoting on his heel, logic and impulse at war for an undeterminable period of time (though it must’ve been for a while, because the sun rose before he decided) before logic won.

He had to stop Chuuya from coming after him.

He was the only one who would notice so soon. Mori…. Mori would definitely not expect him back for a while, but Chuuya was pushy and annoying and- and- and he’d notice if Dazai was gone. Because he was a clingymutt.

(Dazai wasn’t sure what he’d do if he had to see Chuuya before defecting.)

Dazai blew up his car.

It was easy for a port mafia executive to get access to explosives. It hardly took much, because even while dissociating heavily, no one stopped him on behalf of his ‘strange behavior’- Dazai was easily described as eccentric on his milder days anyway. He set them under chibi’s car and… and he watched, and then he moved, took the chip out of his phone, some of his belongings, thetrenchcoat,and….

And then he was holding the book, sitting in a safe house, and he had the pen in his hand. Maybe a day later, maybe a week? He’d check his calendar later (maybe) and try to regrasp time as a linear concept again (definitely not).

It would be so simple.

A different world, a different life, a new Odasaku- alivingone, a happy one, and they’d leave together, and…. He could try being happy, just like Odasaku wanted. Just like Odasaku never thought him capable of. He was right, wasn’t he? Dazai was never… he was never like Odasaku, who found happiness and peace within himself. He had no room left to be happy. His heart was rotten, his blood mafia black. He didn’t know what could possibly make himhappy-

The pen clicked loudly as his thumb slipped.

.

“What was with that picture?” Odasaku asked him the second he walked into the bar.

Dazai wasn’t easily embarrassed, but at those words, coming from Odasaku, he did feel a molten heat spread to his face, something that had Ango chortling from his seat. “Gimme-!” he snatched Odasaku and Ango’s phones from the bar counter easily.

“Hey-!” Ango squawked. “You don’t even have my password-”

Dazai unlocked his phone and showed him the screen cheekily. Ango’s eye twitched in irritation, but his complaints were easily tuned out as Dazai flipped to their groupchat on his phone first, deleted the photo, then looked to his camera roll to see if it had been saved- it hadn’t- then tossed it back, not caring to check whether or not Ango caught it-

“Hey, hey, hey!”

“Ah-!”

“...nice catch, Odasaku.”

-then opened Odasaku’s phone to do the same. Neither of them saved the photo in the end. He closed the phone and slid it across the counter back to Odasaku instead of tossing it. Dazai had already saved it to his own camera roll (as evidence of Chuuya’s cruelty and for future blackmail, of course) so the problem was wrapped up entirely.

“Why did you throw my phone and then treat Odasaku’s so nicely?” Ango pouted, clutching his phone to himself like a lifeline.

Dazai grinned at him, catching the flickering light in a far corner of the bar in the corner of his eye, lighting dull brown up with glittering mischief. “Because Odasaku talked to me the second I walked in! He pays attention to me, unlike you.”

Ango’s mouth dropped open. “Ah- he was interrogating you! I would’ve asked how you’re doing first at least!”

“Huh, that’s right,” Dazai blinked, waving at the bartender for his usual whiskey. “That’s another reason then- Odasaku doesn’t waste time with useless pleasantries.”

Odasaku turned to him to talk over Ango’s grumblings over silly things like ‘blatant favoritism’, his fingers twitching towards and then away from his coat pocket where Dazai knew a box of cigarettes laid. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

He never smoked when Dazai was around, but the faint smell of smoke and slight discoloration on his teeth betrayed him. He asked about it several months prior; it turned out that Odasaku’s reasoning stemmed to him being underaged, like that somehow made a difference in his health when compared to their nights out drinking (though he was always subtly cut off and ushered towards a glass of water before he could finish a second glass of whiskey). Despite the way he sighed heavily like he needed one, Odasaku didn’t pull out a cigarette as he talked.

He had other habits like that. His eyes always seemed to be drawn to the bandages. Once, and only once, Odasaku tried to change the bandages on his arms, saying they were dirty. Dazai couldn’t place exactly what happened, but he remembered breathing quick and shallow, huddled in a corner and protecting his arms as he and Ango tried to run damage control on his reactions.

Dazai was glad Odasaku never asked again. It was humiliating enough to change his own bandages, much less having someone else see them.

“Odasaku can do what he wants,” Dazai waved it off to Ango’s audible huff of disagreement. “What do you want to know? The juicy details~?”

He hoped not. While Dazai had come to terms with the fact that that night was not some fever dream concocted in the cold, dark loneliness of his bed from one too many pills from one too many different bottles (yet never enough at the same time), he hadn’t fully processed through what had happened in its entirety. There was a lot to unpack, from the night, to the morning, to finding the picture and the receipts indicating that Chuuya had the photo on his own phone (the slug fended off his attempts to grab the phone, leading to it breaking, so he’d have to wait for him to transfer his memory card to his new phone before deleting it once and for all).

But Odasaku leveled him with a deeply understanding stare instead, one that had seconds of silence stretching into a minute. “Are you okay?”

.

Ah.

No one asks that question in real life,he thought,not to someone like me, at least.

He was reluctantly amused with a twinge of coldness spreading from the center of his chest. He felt himself suddenly wishing that Odasaku wasn’t so flatly and genuinely considerate because his tone gave no indication of what he wanted to hear, his expression perfectly patient.

Not that he didn’t know.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He chirped, taking a sip of his drink to avoid saying anything else.

As per usual, Odasaku did not seem convinced even as Ango relaxed into his first sip of tomato juice, the glass he'd ordered without touching it before Dazai arrived. “Nakahara Chuuya, huh?” Ango asked, something tight lacing his voice.

Dazai’s grip on his glass tightened incrementally. “Yes?”

Ango looked over, his gaze trailing up and down. “Ah, nothing, we were just worried about you, with his temper I guess.”

“You know Chuuya?”

“Not personally.”

Good. That was good. Dazai put on a pout, preparing to complain about Chuuya until their ears bled, but Odasaku cut in again, his firm stare imploring him to answer without evading. “So he treated you well?”

Right. Right, yeah, Odasaku did care about things like that. He was an anomaly- proven by Ango’s faux gagging sound. He was so strange, yet so well-meaning, yet so…

So very Odasaku.

Dazai sighed. “Of course not~” he whined, leaning forward forlornly onto the bar counter. “Chuuya really is just like a dog! He wouldn’t stop slobbering all over my neck,” he shuddered despite how his skin tingled almost pleasantly from the phantom memory, “I swear I can still feel it. And he put me in the bath without asking!”

There was a long moment, during which Ango was complaining about the extra information, where Odasaku just stared at him again, like he was piecing things together slowly but surely. Finally, he smiled a bit and, slowly, always moving so slowly around Dazai whenever possible, lifted his hand and rested it on Dazai’s head.

“I’m happy he’s good to you, Dazai. You need more people like that.”

Right.

Dazai was addicted to the way Odasaku looked at him. He didn’t look at him like he was desirable, rather acting like Dazai was another one of his orphans, valuable and salvageable. They were both lying to themselves when Dazai acted as childish as he could to lean into that expression, but Odasaku indulged him.

Despite the sexual, wanting nature of it, he was just as addicted to the way Chuuya made him feel. It was such an odd parallel going from one to the other, like there were a million worlds between Odasaku and Chuuya.

Yet the undertones of that expression were the same. The caring stayed the same. The overwhelming affection was the same.

It was only around Odasaku and Chuuya that when Dazai didn’t know what to say, he stayed quiet. The vulnerability of it burned.

With one last shouldering sigh, Odasaku murmured softly, “it’s nice seeing you happy.”

He wanted to leave. He was going to leave. He was going to leave by himself, without Chuuya-

.

Thump.

Dazai’s breathing came out short, like something was lodged in his windpipe- dust? Gunpowder? He gripped the pen, put it to the page again to write a new ending-

Th-Thump.

He clutched as his chest, breath coming heavy. Ithurt.His heart- it felt like it was squeezing and aching. It felt cold.

He felt like he was dying.

I can leave without Chuuya,he insisted internally again, but his heart felt ripped open and bleeding.

Dazai scrambled at the ground, tearing at his arms next, trying to tear out the pain in his chest, blood coming up in rivers. It needed to stop. He wanted it to stop. His fingers dug into his bandages and tore, trying to get to the source, tearing open the upper half of the white, blood-stained button up and digging, digging, trying to find the source. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt!

It hurt even worse when, in a fit to stop the way his heartbeat pounded all the way to the blood vessels in his wrists, he latched his teeth around the appendage andbit-

“No, I…yes,but not now. This,” Chuuya’s miserably gentle fingers brushed against the scar. The second he made contact, he knew exactly what he was talking about, even if his own memory of that night was melted into wax and crescent moons waning and a swirl of drugs and some kind of pain reliever to dumb him. “It’s abite mark.Am I… Is this not-"

Chuuya didn’t like seeing the scars on his body. Dazai knew that, he guessed it- after all… Chuuya must only want to see scars made by his own teeth, right? Mori was like that too. He was like that, and so he did something about it, and now Dazai was undesirable and ruined and….

And Chuuya never said anything about him being ruined. He was only gentle in a cruel way.

Dazai breathed against the out Chuuya was imploring him to take with his eyes, blue and expansive. He didn’t want to stop. He hated touch and yet craved it from Chuuya’s hands.

-his teeth relaxed against his skin, the dizzying view of the world stabilizing and narrowing down to a single focal point.

Chuuya. He needed Chuuya. He didn't know what the slug did, but the thought of him managed to quell some of the overarching pain long enough to think. There was some distant, gleaming irony in the idea of Chuuya both causing and stopping the terrible amount of pain seizing his heart until it burst.

He’d leave, for Odasaku. But would there be another Chuuya in that world? The book had its limitations, though time and age were not included.

Rationally, it was better to take Chuuya.

Finding the light? Becoming a better person? Both were arbitrary goals that Odasaku had left him with. He… he thought that maybe, just maybe, Odasaku would approve of Chuuya, no matter how much they would’ve disliked each other.

Maybe Chuuya was a step towards Odasaku’s ideals.

Dazai put down the pen.

(For now,he tried to convince himself)

Chapter 9: kintsuji (part two)

Chapter Text

While he knew, in theory, that Chuuya would be mad about the situation (though even his slug was smart enough to see the logic in his strung-together explanation), he didn’t think Chuuya would be mad enough to be cruel in a new way altogether.

Getting Chuuya to believe him was easy. Getting him to fulfill a long list of requirements was easy. Getting him on the plane was easy.

Realizing that Chuuya still had interest in him was not. Dealing with Chuuya’s newfound brand of torture was very much not.

“Chuuya,” Dazai whimpered, pawing at him with a weak grip and hating himself for it but desperate to know what he did wrong. He could go back to the way sex was supposed to be for someone like him, but he didn’twantto. “Chuuya, why- I was- yousaid-”

His words wouldn’t come out right. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, heavy and useless as empty shockwaves danced across his body. Something was curling in his chest, cold and tired. He didn’t realize he was reaching for Chuuya until his hands were being pushed away.

Oh,he swallowed. Dazai bit down on the inside of his lip to smother any dissenting noise that threatened to wring its way out of him. Right, it was- it was a punishment for something, so…. so of course Chuuya wasn’t going to reassure him or anything stupid like that.

.

Or so he thought.

Chuuya’s hands slid under him and lifted him up, jarring his thoughts and scrambling his center of balance. He was set down sideways in between Chuuya’s legs, an arm pulling him closer until he had no choice but to lean against his slug’s chest.

It was warm.

.

..

…

Chuuya really was cruel.

He only caught a glimpse of his disgusting reflection in Chuuya’s wide, expressive blue eyes before he was being pressed into Chuuya’s shoulder. It was too much. He- he needed something other than the softness to weigh his body down for when Chuuya let go. His body was the only thing keeping him grounded in his own body, so-

“Ah, ah,agh!”

Lightningrippedacross his nerves, the dull throbbing arcing in a painful strike of sensation that felt so good it didn’t feel like pleasure at all. He was panting and shaking when Chuuya took mercy on him and stopped touching himthere.His body stayed tense though, wondering if that was really all there was to the punishment.

Chuuya seemed intent on going back to crushing him with softness, because lips were being pressed into his hair and his arms were holding him tighter. He was feeling both better and worse when Chuuya jammed the final nail into the proverbial coffin. “I didn't mean to,” Chuuya murmured sullenly like he meant it. He ran his hands up and down Dazai's body.

His mind shut down a little bit, not even registering the wetness around his eyes.

“Not your fault,” Chuuya choked out quietly again, lying so prettily that Dazai wished he would lie instead to stop him from floating away. “So pretty,” he complimented again, the saccharine words spilling effortlessly from his lips. Dazai's head pushed a little more into his shoulder at the words, a distant-minded attempt at making him stop.

“You are,” Chuuya insisted meanly, stroking his hands over Dazai's hips and thighs, tracing back up the curve of his spine, dipping his fingers into scars with faux care that was still too good for him, and squeezing intermittently into the bare skin. Every touch felt like a shock that sparked wildly up, and down, lighting the pit inside of him that he now associated with Chuuya on fire. “Prettiest I’ve ever seen,” he murmured quietly with another soft kiss thatscaldedhim.

Dazai couldn’t decide if it was okay or awful, horrible, and unforgivable that the longer Chuuya touched him, the less it hurt. It didn’t… He wasn’t…

Chuuya leaned in a little more to peck more kisses against Dazai's hair. He shifted his left arm to continue to brace Dazai's body against him still, letting his legs hang a bit out of the hold- which made sense considering Dazai was too tall and gangly for Chuuya to hold all at once, then adjusted his right hand to be placed into his hair again. He wished just a tiny bit in the darkest corner of his mind that he were just a little bit smaller so that he could be encompassed by Chuuya, so that he could curl into him and never leave. Bare fingers scratched over his scalp gently and carded through his ratty hair. “So good for me,” he spoke softly, the tone sounding oddly… not nice, but- but something when paired with the soft rasp in his chibi’s voice. “Always so, so good for me.”

Sex feels great,Dazai thought, a little dazed, a little wired up, feeling too many physical and emotional things at the too-soft, too-good touch and compliments,but this is almost better.

He was naked on a plane, several thousand feet in the air, for all intents and purposes trapped with and by Chuuya's arms after an awful non-org*sm that Chuuya screwed up, but he didn't want to escape.

…he wished he was dumb enough to not have any idea of what that probably meant.

Chuuya was lying so blatantly, but…. well, for once, Dazai let him. He let him lie. He let himself pretend to believe it. He pretended it didn’t make him more and less aware of the hardness digging slightly into his thigh. He couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t confused about why Chuuya didn’t bother using him to take care of it- after all, he was sitting there and had already gotten more care than he deserved, so Chuuya should feel free.

But he didn’t. He put his head on top of Dazai’s and started humming softly, the rasp reverberating pleasantly through him. “So pretty, mackerel, so good,” he kept saying in between gentle hums that made his head hurt just as much as it made his eyes drift closed. His breath was still stuttering slightly, but Chuuya didn’t comment on it, likely waiting until a later date to use it against him.

He needed to pay him back before that happened.

When Chuuya’s hand started rubbing up and down his body again, he gathered himself for a moment before slowly, awkwardly, shifting against the hardness that persisted at his thigh even as it had started to go down.

Chuuya’s hand stopped for a few moments before slowly continuing, outright ignoring Dazai’s attempts. That was fine. Dazai was nothing if not stubborn. Mori had told him so enough times before.

Dazai shifted a bit when Chuuya's hand slid back to his hip during one of his broad strokes. He watched, intent, as his expansive blue eyes opened a bit at the movement. He stilled his hand, but when Dazai, waiting for a sign that Chuuya was catching on, didn't make another move, he continued to sweep over his bare thigh. Each touch left uncomfortable little shocks behind that made his body heat up more. Still, the chibi didn’t seem to quite catch on, for once the more restrained one between them as he refused to make any guesses. When Chuuya's hand was working back up, Dazai shifted again, enough that Chuuya's hand brushed his ass cheek.

Finally, it look like some cogs were turning in that ginger head.

The second the pressure of Chuuya’s head left the top of his, Dazai turned an, pinching his eyes shut for a second to steady himself, pressed a kiss to the bare skin underneath himself and shifted his hips again.

Trying to initiate sex was weird. It felt a bit wrong in a way he thought it shouldn’t; Chuuya, shockingly, didn’t seem keen on hurting him. He always made Dazai cum even when he begged not to, so sure that any pleasant sensations would send him floating off into the stratosphere, so light and untethered from his own body that he was likely to find himself in a bathtab filling with blood from slit wrists and sliced thighs when he finally glided back down.

He was so used to other people deciding when sex was going to happen that now, with Chuuya seemingly willing to stop despite the hardness that had dug into his thigh, it was weird to seek it out. Even though he was burning off a favor that Chuuya would have inevitably cashed in, he knew that Chuuya would make it… notgood(not exactly, anyway) but tolerable. As long as Chuuya didn’t ask him for more than that, he’d be fine.

“Dazai,” Chuuya spoke with an oddly choked tone, drawing his left hand from Dazai's hair to brush over his face. “Look at me.”

Ah.

It wasn’t often that Chuuya was hard to read. He wore his emotions like armor and didn’t care for nuance. He was almost never discreet, from now to when bandages covered Dazai’s broken right eye. It was almost funny how Chuuya seemed to think that Dazai never noticed that he always stood on his right, trying to cover for a blindspot that Mori had beaten the weakness out of.

Now, he could at least tell that Chuuya was interested in more sex and his request wasn’t a harsh command. Beyond that, he didn’t know what Chuuya wanted from forcing eye contact, so he dared to hum slightly in question and shook his head, shifting against Chuuya’s hand again. Punishment didn’t seem likely, especially when his chibi started moving and rubbing his skin again, callouses scraping against scars. His hand drifted down, further, just past his hip bone-

Before Dazai could hold his breath, a hand was in his hair, pulling his head from the comfortable spot he’d made in the crook of Chuuya’s neck.

“Need a yes or no, beau-”Dazai’s heart stopped,“-mackerel.”

Dazai wanted to jump out of the plane. There was no way- no reason- no-

“For what?” He tried, attempting to sound teasing and playful and everything Chuuya liked and only managing something rough and scraping and breathless and ugly. He just needed a minute tobreathe.

It made sense that Chuuya didn’t just skip past it; things like that weren’t exactly helpful in making someone want to f*ck him. Not that he…. no, he wanted to have sex, but he didn’t want Chuuya to deny him again. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it. “Yes or no,” he restated firmly, eyes serious and his left hand fully leaving Dazai’s torso in warning.

No,nononono,Dazai didn’t want that. He-he-“Yes, duh,” he rolled his eyes a little to try to seem unaffected but definitely not managing it. “Chibi is so slow.” He waited, he paused, he reflected and took a chance. “Just…” he breathed, wanting to shut up already but seeing the expectance already dawning on Chuuya’s face and knowing he wouldn’t get away with not talking now. “No more of the- the denial.”

He waited again for two agonizing seconds only to jolt when Chuuya stroked his dick, a long and static drag.

“Wasn’t planning on it,beautiful.”

Oh.

Oh.

(Chuuya was such a beautiful liar.)

Riding co*ck was hard.

“Tapping out already?” Chuuya asked later, infuriatingly mocking with a smirk playing on his lips. He reached up to run a finger over Dazai's cheek, and even though his thighs burned so bad just trying to make Chuuya cum, his still leaned into the warmth. “You must not want to cum.”

Dazai had to fight the urge to glare. It wasn’t even about him cumming. He didn’t- he didn’t care that much, he just wanted to hear Chuuya say‘good boy’again. He needed it like he needed air, maybe even more so than that. He shook his head wildly, trying to bounce faster-up, down, up, down, panting, pacing, up, down-and only making his thighs shake worse.

He’d figured out how far to drop, at least. The drag of Chuuya’s co*ck inside of him completely threw him off, though, especially when-

.

“Ahh~ hah, Chuuya-!” Dazai cried out, feeling entirely out of his own body as pleasure sparked up his spine. He worked down again, right there, right at that spot, and felt it again, and again, so good and hot and- and-

When he missed it again for the third time in a row, he couldn’t help the whine that fell from his lips. It wasn’t working. He needed to- to angle it differently or something. Dazai barely noticed when he leaned forward and settled his hands on Chuuya’s chest, falling out of sync with his own goal to make Chuuya cum in favor of this new discovery.

And then Chuuya reached out and put his hand on his co*ck and it was over from there. “Ngh- hah- Chu- m-” Dazai was babbling embarrassingly, maybe even begging (he couldn’t be sure) as he tried to keep himself moving but only managing little grinds of his hips onto Chuuya's co*ck.

With a loud moan of completion, Dazai cummed over Chuuya's hand. Not even a moment after he org*smed, Chuuya wasted no time in gripping his fingers back into Dazai's hips and manhandling him over his co*ck, f*cking into him quickly even when Dazai squirmed and cried out at the sensitivity. This was fine, he insisted to his body as he wailed from the pleasure-pain-pleasure the more Chuuya manhandled him.It was fine, it was fine, it was fine.

With a loud moan of his own, Chuuya slammed Dazai down one more time and came into him. He let a relieved sigh fall from his lips.

For a long minute, the only sounds were their joint panting as Dazai slumped forward fully into Chuuya. His thighs were shaking badly in the aftermath, and he knew they'd definitely be more than a little bit sore for a day or two.

(He was so happy they weren’tactuallyon their way to a mission.)

Chuuya started rubbing up and down his back after a few moments, the sensation annoyingly soothing as he fell into his chest. It felt good, but he was sotiredthat he needed Chuuya to stop touching him so nicely immediately or he’d fall asleep. Dazai sniffed, feeling exhausted and sore.

“Hey,” Chuuya murmured, disrupting Dazai’s comfortable position slightly by turning his head and- oh, nipping at his neck. He leaned away for a moment, having been surprised at the continuation of intimacy after sex, but after a moment, with an internal sigh of resignation, fell back into the sensation.

“Hey,” he croaked back, the screaming and crying having done a number on his voice. He winced at the rough and slightly painful feeling of his throat. “Hm,” he managed to hum, both in confusion and appreciation, pleased when Chuuya pressed more kisses down the side of his throat from his position. He kept them deceptively light at first, a gentle caress that steadied with a bit more pressure. Dazai willingly tilted his head to give Chuuya more room, not really getting what he was doing it for-

He jolted when Chuuya licked over a spot he’d kissed just over Dazai’s pulse and gently sucked it. Oh, he realized, feeling a little slow for it.Moresex? Really?

“Hah, hey,” Dazai sighed again at the sensation, tilting his head back to escape it. “I can’t…. hm, can’t do another,” his words were slurring together a little bit and he wasn’t sure if that was true. If Chuuya wanted it, then-

Chuuya nipped at his skin again and Dazai couldfeelhis grin against his neck. “I think you can cum again.” He laved his tongue down to the junction between his neck and shoulder and worked a hickey into it, the feeling so sharp and spiking and warm andoverwhelmingthat he suddenly could not handle it. “I think you can have as many org*sms as I give you.”

Okay, Dazai decided without thinking.

Okay, okay, okay-!

He couldn’t stop the whine his tired and sex-sore body slipped out at the realization that he wouldn’t be getting more- not cuddling, Dazai didn’t deserve that, but aftercare. Chuuya used that word to describe what he kept doing after, so…. he let Chuuya push him back up, his sore ass landing right back on his co*ck, the drag both hurting and feeling almost good as he sat down.

“f*ck,” he heard Chuuya hiss. Dazai looked back at him, realizing from the pinch of his both and the squirm of his fingers that Chuuya’s hadn’t gotten more than half hard yet. He…. he wondered what would happen if he-

He clenched down again purposefully and watched with a trill of excitement (and reflexive nerves) as Chuuya sneered at him.

It didn’t last long, because Chuuya seemed to have risen to some unspoken challenge andbuckedup into him. He fell over himself from the shock of hypersensitivity, an embarrassing noise escaping him. Dazai clenched down to get him back for it and felt somethingmorethan excitement or nerves when Chuuyawhined.

He wasn’t sure Chuuya noticed he made that noise, but Dazai heard it and stowed it away in a secret little corner of his memory to remember forever.

Chuuya didn’t throw in the towel though, shoving his co*ck up into Dazai every time he clenched down and stimulating thezig-zag-zapof nerves up there into an electric pulse, firing and hurting and pleasuring and, and, and-

Dazai dropped down and stayed there, trying to escape from the sensation of too much after minutes passed alighting his nerves like candlelights. He curled his fingers into Chuuya’s thighs and pushed past the initial sting offearin favor of his need for a break.

Chuuya must’ve interpreted Dazai’s actions as a momentary white flag, so he pried away his fingers and lifted him off his co*ck entirely. The head of his dick popped free with a little wet squelch, and already he could feel his rim leaking with lube, spit, and cum. Quickly, Chuuya maneuvered him to be ass up on his knees- either to avoid a mess or to make sure he stayed wet enough to f*ck (he guessed it only because Mori never liked a dry hole), maybe both.

“Hah, Chuuya,” Dazai whimpered a little in what he hoped sounding like a complaint, his displayed, f*cked-loose hole clenching around nothing. His thighs were shaking tremendously and he was already wavering forward to lie down, wanting nothing more than to collapse and die there. Or sleep. Or just close his eyes.

Chuuya grabbed him by the hips, pulling his ass back towards- no. No, because even if Chuuya was nice enough to do it the first time,rimmingdid nothing to get him off (but neither did the excessive prep or assurances). “Stay there,” he said firmly. Dazai swayed with a little whine but was too trained to not do as he said, arching his back to bury his head against a cushion and cringing away from the fabric. It made his face feel like it was on fire, every bit as itchy and scratchy and bad as he thought it would be.

He barely noticed Chuuya moving around, only refocusing on his slug when a blanket was tossed over his head. “Huh?” Dazai's head perked up while his fingers came to pull the blanket away. It felt… oh.Oh.f*ck, f*ck,f*ck Chuuya, f*ck him-

“You really are cruel,” he whispered, quickly settling the blanket over the pillow and laid his head on it, tangling his fingers in the rest before Chuuya could decide to take it away. He wanted it too much. He was too relaxed. He was too- too sickeningly emotional over something as stupid as the stupid blanket that stupid Chuuya bought him. Dazai had never wanted someone to just shut up and f*ck him but now he felt like he might actually be entirely genuine if he told Chuuya he wanted it.

But Dazai couldn’t quite let the words escape him, so he just wiggled his hips and waited for Chuuya to do whatever the f*ck he wanted. He’d quite literally let him do anything right now and saythank youwhen it was over. It was disgusting and awful and he hated it and-

….

Dazai didn't have any comfort items. Anything he had that he might've genuinely liked was… it was from Mori- so he didn't use it. This blanket didn't smell like a storage container. It smelled like faux orange, a little bit of smoke, a sweet and woody aftershave… it was…familiar,and it was nice. He was a little weak for it, and normally he would've balked at the idea of being vulnerable but Chuuya hadn't let him down yet, so he rubbed his face into the terribly soft, non-irritating fabric and fell a little further while trying desperately to convince-remindhimself that he could walk away at any moment and he wouldn't suffer without Chuuya.

(He wondered if, should he have stayed in the mafia, in the place that- thatkilled Odasaku,Mori could’ve trained away the part of himself that knew he couldn’t ever really leave Chuuya.)

(Just thinking about it made something wet pool in his eyes and an unmistakable hole claw open his chest, leaving icy nothingness sharpened with pain.)

It turned out that Chuuya really was stupid enough to focus on Dazai’s pleasure over his own. Again.

Dazai was panting, crying, jerking back and forth and going limp over Chuuya’s arm that he’d been using to keep him on his knees. He kept tonguing him through it, but, in an unexpectedly thoughtful move, took his finger off of his perineum to let Dazai come down from the awful, dragged out org*sm. After a few minutes of Chuuya working him through it, he slowed down and pulled his mouth away to press gentle kisses over his body, working up his back and peppering them over places he knew were marked with especially grueling scars.

His mind was almost edging something blissfully blank and hazy, ruined from the sharp spike of an org*sm and gently come-down as Chuuya moved around to his side. Dazai slumped a little more into the hold with little residual trembles that shook his body while Chuuya gently tilted his jaw away from the blanket to kiss his lips. He must’ve been drooling a bit, because he noticed vaguely that the corner of his mouth was wet.

Chuuya was licking at his mouth, so Dazai let it fall open. He honestly did not care what Chuuya did, sandwiched between the aftershocks of pleasure and that damned blanket. When Chuuya went to pepper kisses down his throat, Dazai just lazily let his head roll back to give him the space to do as he liked.

He did not care and it made something primal in the back of his head prickle in concern. Chuuya touched and prodded and thumbed at sensitive places on his body and Dazai just let him.

It felt a little like dissociating, but he wasn’t compartmentalizing any pain or… or anything…

Hm.

“Hey,” Chuuya murmured into the skin between Dazai’s shoulder blades, mouthing over the large, puckered scar he knew laid there. Dazai thought he might’ve hummed, but after a moment he opened his mouth just in case.

“...mm, Chuuya’s gonna f*ck me?” He asked breezily, voice hoarse but his head feeling sky high, somewhere far away and out of his reach. He hoped it stayed there.

“No, not here,” he brushed his fingers around Dazai’s asshole. Huh? He trailed his hand further down to rub his- ….thighs? “Mind if I f*ck these instead?”

Dazai’s felt that breezy pliancy filter away from his brain for a moment. He tossed his head over his shoulder with a searching squint as his eyes crossed briefly. “...sure?”

Things got….fuzzyfrom there. He kind of heard words likeprettyandgoodand sort of felt his thighs chafing and distantly recognized a splash of wetness and the crest of fluffy pleasure rise in his core before flooding in and out. Dazai was on his knees and then he was on his back, looking up at Chuuya without really seeing him, his mind so pleasantly blank as time flashed by in a second without a thought to guide him.

Dazai would’ve been panicking at the way he felt if he were a fraction more aware of himself.

He came back to himself as Chuuya tossed him a shirt to put on, already half dressed with only a little inkling of what had happened in between agreeing to the thigh-f*cking and dressing himself. He drifted a little for a second while putting it on, a sudden burst of emotion prickling his eyes at the soft fabric, but Chuuya indulged him enough to yank it down for him. He was still a little hazy when Chuuya picked him up, but his hands landed on the pajamas and it was then that he realized what he was wearing and what was going on.

Dazai was already feeling raw and vulnerable, and then Chuuya went and pulled out thepajamas.Chuuya should not be allowed to pull such obvious manipulation tactics during the only time when Dazai would so easily fall for them. Preying on Dazai's susceptible demeanor really was a new low for his dog.

He wanted to wear the shirt and the pants that weren't his. He wanted to be wrapped in soft fabrics that never itched his sensitive skin. He wanted to be held and curled around like he was safe. He didn’t wantChuuyato know that. It was stupid and disgusting and he felt too much like one big exposed nerve. He'd already cried too much in front of his idiotic partner for one lifetime.

Dazai was grateful Chuuya had too few brain cells to realize that him taking a large amount of time to get the shirt over his face was his way of hiding just long enough to keep the tears from spilling while he was lost in the little euphoric space he’d found himself in.

Really, the slug should be grateful Dazai wasn't holding him responsible and choosing to keep them from view.

It had nothing to do with his insecurities or suspicion that if he was too much, too vulnerable, too teary and difficult like this then Chuuya wouldn't want to do this- sex, clothes, comfort- with him ever again. Absolutely not.

Chuuya put on Dazai’s shirt and sat back down on the couch, putting his legs in Dazai’s lap and settling into his space before spreading the blanket over them.

“So where are we going anyways?” Chuuya huffed once he was settled in like the contact meant nothing to him, curling his lips over a particularly distinctive (ugly) scar on Dazai’s wrist.

It was all over the moment Chuuya got his hands on the ‘mission specs’. Dazai did his best to divert his slug’s attention, but they were already hours into the one-way flight.

“Am I… going undercover as a fashion designer?”

Dazai fidgeted with his bare fingers under Chuuya’s gaze, knowing he’d been found out, but still unwilling to come out with the information- habit, he supposed. “You can call it that.”

He watched the cogs turn in Chuuya’s head.

“Tell me you didn’t.”

Dazai very carefully did not make eye contact.

He watched Chuuya scramble for his bag, searching through and finding both of his work phones broken and his personal cell dismantled. Any Port Mafia identifying objects were either snapped or clearly nearly broken beyond repair- already done in between Chuuya’s precious bike being loaded on and sex.

“Dazai. Where are we going?”

“...Russia for now,” Dazai muttered, leaning away in discomfort but with a small smile playing on his lips. “Wherever you want after.”

Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose, his entire demeanor screaming that he was praying for patience. “How long?”

Ah. Dazai had expected that question, but… his body tensed, ready to move depending on Chuuya’s reaction, whether it was verbal or physical. “As soon…” he swallowed. “As soon as the Port Mafia stops trying to kill us?”

Chuuya stayed very still.

“Would an apology help?” Dazai asked tentatively, leaning near him again slowly when Chuuya didn’t automatically try to strangle him.

Chuuya breathed a forcefully calm sigh, clearly trying to keep his ability from lashing out and driving them into the ocean for however long it took for Dazai to touch him. “Would it be sincere?”

“...no,” Dazai admitted. Good people told the truth, right?

Chuuya’s eye twitched aggressively and Dazai was suddenly unsure if good people existed anymore. They were probably killed very quickly if they always told the truth.

Chuuya’s negotiations were more just easy demands- so easy that Dazai was sure he’d ask for more later, but he did kiss him, so…

So they were probably okay.

I said, feigning tranquility, “Crime. What's the antonym of crime? This is a hard one.”

“The law, of course,” Horiki answered flatly. I looked at his face again. Caught in the flashing red light of a neon sign on a nearby building, Horiki's face had the somber dignity of the relentless prosecutor.

I felt shaken to the core.

“Crime belongs in a different category.”

…

Imagine saying that the law was the antonym of crime! But perhaps everybody in “society” can go on living in self-satisfaction, thanks to just such simple concepts. They think that crime hatches where there are no policemen. “Well, in that case what would it be? God? That would suit you - there's something about you that

smells a little of a Christian priest. I find it offensive.”

“You can't be serious. The antonym of crime is virtue. A virtuous citizen. In short, someone like myself.”

“Let's not joke. Virtue is the antonym of vice, not of crime."

“Are vice and crime different?”

“They are, I think. Virtue and vice are concepts invented by human beings, words for a morality which human beings arbitrarily devised.”

“What a nuisance. Well, I suppose it is God in that case. God. God. You can't go wrong if you leave everything at God . . . I'm hungry."

…

“Actions punishable by jail sentences are not the only crimes. If we knew the antonym of crime, I think we would know its true nature. God . . . salvation . . . love ... light. But for God there is the antonym Satan, for salvation there is perdition, for love there is hate, for light there is darkness, for good, evil. Crime and prayer? Crime and repentance? Crime and confession? Crime and . . . no, they're all synonymous. What is the opposite of crime?”

…

Crime and punishment. Dostoievski. These words grazed over a corner of my mind, startling me. Just supposing Dostoievski ranged 'crime' and 'punishment' side by side not as synonyms but as antonyms. Crime and punishment - absolutely incompatible ideas, irreconcilable as oil and water. I felt I was beginning to understand what lay at the bottom of the scum-covered, turbid pond, that chaos of Dostoievski's mind - no, I still didn't quite see . . . Such thoughts were flashing through my head like a revolving lantern…

-Dazai Osamu,No Longer Human

If Dazai ever visited Russia again, it would be too soon.

St. Petersburg made his skin crawl. Not for any reason related to the awful weather- though it really was awful, even though it made Chuuya so irritated that it was funny- but because the entire city was so blatantly crawling withrats.

Two weeks in and he was very sure that they’d gotten lucky with shaking off the mafia. If Dazai had left on his own, he didn’t think it would’ve been hard at all to hide himself, especially not in Russia. With Chuuya, though- bright, blazing, confident, attention-grabbing and restless Chuuya- it was harder. He knew that setting Chuuya up with a job had been necessary or else his slug would have gone homicidal from being stir-crazy, but it unfortunately complicated escaping the mafia’s keen sweep.

Their saving grace (in the most figurative sense) was that Ango owed him. Big time. He owed Dazai more than he thought he’d ever be able to pay back. Because Oda-

Oda.

He breathed. Slowly.

(If Chuuya weren’t there with him, he could’ve cut his wrists to relieve the sudden, unbearably suffocating feeling in his chest. But Chuuya was. And he would see. And Dazai knew how Chuuya felt about his habits. He just touched him too often to get away with new cuts.)

In any case, Dazai might have wanted tokill him, wring him of all the blood in his body, seek out the things he loved most in the world and destroy them in front of his eyes to watch the despair sink into his bones,but he was (had been) one of Mori’s. He knew better than to sacrifice a particularly useful knight, just as he knew not to deploy his queen or hang his rook unless it benefitted him.

So he extorted him for all he was worth, instead. Ango could have any number of government officials on him at any second, but they both knew that if he told anyone at his fancy government job, the next question posed would be“why do you know where he is?”

Uncomfortable situation, uncomfortable consequences.

Dazai focused his energy into something entirely different, however.

During their first day in Russia, Dazai (despite what he said to Chuuya) already had a hotel suite reserved. He wouldn’t have bothered if it was for himself, but Chuuya had lived in the lap of luxury for three years and gave the impression that he would settle for nothing less if there wasn’t a reason to.

He knew that someone would definitely take notice of them, he just hadn’t (entirely) expected to walk into the hotel room and find evidence of it at first glance.

On the coffee table in the living room sat a bright red apple.

Dazai really hated Russia.

Even after leaving the mafia, Dazai was sure Chuuya wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if he found out that Dazai was still sneaking around and playing games. After the slug left for work, Dazai was slipping out the door into the Russian streets, slipping around the morning rush as he made his way to the outskirts of St. Petersburg.

Fyodor was predictable in a shockingly interesting way. He didn’t claim the same kind of denial that decorated Mori, yet held elements of religious contradiction that he hated. He also seemed intent on bringing Dazai in on his little organization.

Their conversations were…. less than convincing, to say the least.

For Fyodor to propose God as the antonym of crime, he was a different kind of hubris. To position himself as having the responsibility ofbecomingGod…. Dazai would think of it as being some kind of twisted attempt at humor.

To be both crime and punishment. To exist as both the synonym and antonym of God. To be at once a demon and deity…

Dazai found the implied permanence of it to be vile.

Fyodor was the sort that considered himself to be some equivalence of a god if there were no god at all. He was humble yet in some ways arrogant, some terribly indescribable combination of servitude and pliancy that was irritating to no end.

He almost wondered if Fyodor could explain how it felt to be his own shadow, a walkingid.

He knew (of course) about the cameras, but seeing evidence of it laid out in front of his eyes was….

Oda…. Oda would understand, Dazai reasoned with himself darkly, feeling the sick pulse of temptation course through him. After all, Oda killed for the orphans, and that couldn’t be much different from Dazai killing for Chuuya, right?

He stood, silent and still, months into their correspondence, and watched his slug bustle around their hotel room.

Fyodor’s smirk cut through the oppressive silence, stalking back to the computer. “You see, Dazai, I would make an attempt at believing you, but it would be rather pathetic of me to do so when you’ve managed to drag quite the attachment along with you.A5158,hm?”

I don’t believe in acting rashly for the sake of love,Dazai had said. This was Fyodor's response, an attempt at outwitting him in an uncharacteristically inelegant way. “Who?” He said now, internally fighting the urge to clench his teeth.

Fyodor squinted at him. “....A5158. The ginger?”

The lilting of a question made Dazai smile just a bit, biting back the reflexive amusem*nt. “Sorry,” he shook his head, eyes doe-wide and expertly feigning innocence. Fyodor’s face scrunched uncomfortably for entirely unrelated reasons. “I don’t know an ‘A5158’.”

The expression that crossed Fyodor’s face made it very clear what he thought about Dazai’s act. “Dazai,” his accent curled around his name, “A5158. Chuuya Nakahara-”

“Oh!Chuuya!Now him, I know. What about Nakahara Chuuya?”

The simpering act was not well received. Fyodor’s eyes pinched as he repeated himself, “he’s quite the attachment, don’t you think?” The screen flickered to a picture of Chuuya, hair wet and half-dressed as he reached to shut the window to their hotel suite.

Amongst the deep, rolling emotions he wasn’t sure what to name at the thought of someone (other than him) essentially stalking Chuuya, he also noticed that none of the other screens that flickered to life with footage of Chuuya had anything from inside their hotel room. He’d either successfully found all of the cameras, or Fyodor was holding his cards closer to his chest than Dazai thought.

“Attachment?” Dazai feigned surprise at that. “I’d call it insurance.”

“Would you, now?”

Dazai hummed in agreement, leaning in with a purposefully teasing smile, pulling out a broken camera that he’d found underneath the TV stand and holding it out to Fyodor. “After all, I’ve noticed Remy the rat has paid me a visit recently~”

Something interesting about leaving the mafia was the amount of free time Dazai very suddenly and only slightly unwillingly had on his hands. That meant, among other things including but not limited to extorting Ango, f*cking with the government, building security around Chuuya’s life and by proxy his own, sending anonymous death threats to Mori, and other miscellaneous things, he was caught off guard by how few cultural references he understood.

Taking a decade-long break from pop culture after already having it limited in his childhood meant that he wasn’t exactly well-adjusted. Taking the time to watch everything at the top of every popular search list he found, while in some ways a waste of time, meant that he had a number of fun insults and jabs at the tip of his tongue.

Jabs that he could see, for only a fraction of half a second, Fyodor very muchdid not understand.“Remy the rat? You’re more vulgar than I thought,” Fyodor drawled despite his tone, just a hair too tense, giving his confusion away.

Dazai smirked, years of mafia training suppressing the laugh that bubbled at his lips. “Vulgar? I wouldn’t think anything close to that of Ratatouille.”

“Hm,” Fyodor simply hummed in response, though Dazai knew without asking that he’d end up looking up and watching Ratatouille that night, if only to glean the plans he clearly (and correctly, Dazai conceded) assumed Dazai had. The thought of living so entirely rent-free in a mind like Fyodor’s made his day.

It was an odd thing to sit behind a computer and decide who lived and who would die. Dazai was very used to acting in person. Fyodor’s methods were clinical, uneasy, and done almost entirely in silence. Silence, silence, silence prevailed as he watched the man he’d picked blow up.

Sorry, Odasaku,he sighed. At least none of the people he chose were orphans. In fact, some of them either killed an orphan or had a hand in the deaths or trafficking of multiple orphans, so he figured Oda could turn a blind eye just once. It wasn’t like any of them were going to the same place as someone like Oda- kind, caring, morally righteous Oda- after dying so chances were he’d never run into them.

…if that was even how the afterlife worked.

.

If there was even an afterlife at all.

He kept his expression very firmly stony and unaffected (not a lie; he didn’t care that much that he’d indirectly killed someone) as Fyodor killed off the person he’d picked.

It was only done to ensure that Chuuya would be safe, after all.

When they first showed up, the apple on the coffee table had been an invitation. Dazai would’ve ignored it if he didn’t understand exactly how fast the mafia would be on their trail if he did. So he played along, meeting up with Fyodor and listening to him preach his morals and opinions on the world and ability users, hearing his plan to purge St. Petersburg (and Yokohama, he assumed) of the ‘vile underground’ that persisted. Dazai didn’t care much. He didn’t care, until Fyodor finally brought up something interesting.

A goal. A plan for salvation.

“Tell me, demon Fyodor, what are you really looking for?” Dazai asked, nonchalance painting his voice in decadent tones.

Another lingering glance to the screen brought Fyodor’s eyes to meet his, their expressions catching in the dimly lit nothingness of faked apathy. A sigh, then, “a new ending for humanity’s sins.”

“Sins?” Dazai hummed, just the faintest lilting of a question decorating it.

Eyes drifted away from him, lazily trailing over the screens again. “Your gift,No Longer Human,is the closest any singular power can come to salvation in this world. It’s only fitting then, that I’ve come across you in my search.”

His smile thinned dangerously, because coming across him now meant that he’d come across Chuuya as well, and thatwas not happening.“And what do you think I have to do with such an abstract goal?”

“What does anyone have to do with any sin, Dazai?” Fyodor drawled, a smile stretching the cracks of his lips in turn. “It’s only their own hubris that leads them there.”

“Ah, well if that’s the case, then I don’t believe I can help you,” Dazai decided, his foot shifting towards the door.

Fyodor’s stare caught his eyes before he could. It looked yawning, a dark depth swirling with greed and hatred all at once, tempered by the quiet and persisting respect and politeness that always lied there. “Above all, don't lie to yourself, dear Dazai. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.”

A quote. Not one he particularly recognized.

“What do you know about love?” Dazai murmured anyway, something cold and dull in his chest.

“Only what every being should.”

“Then I suppose, for someone like me, you shouldn’t be surprised I don’t have the faintest clue about it,” he said simply. “I'm surprised that you believe that you do.”

“I know I do because it is something I wish to know. To be,” he said.

Human,Fyodor didn't say.I wish to be human.

Dazai said nothing at all.

Fyodor’s eyes tightened with irritation, but he conceded finally, something like dismissal (for now) in his body language. It would’ve been left at that, but Dazai was always bad at leaving well enough alone.

“I’ve heard talk of a book recently. Supposedly something supernatural, would you believe that?” Dazai simpered just to see how Fyodor’s expression flinched. “A new world…. I assume it’s rather valuable when used; it’s unfortunate that it’ll have to remain shelved for a while to come, hm?”

Fyodor stared him down like he was looking at someone entirely new. Mori sometimes looked at him like that, too.

“Or maybe not,” Dazai bubbled out with a false cheekiness to his grin as he left.

The Port Mafia was not the first entity Dazai had met that like to keep secrets hidden until nobody could remember to ask what they were even hiding anymore.

He doubted it would be the last.

(His eye itched curiously.)

He noticed that week that Chuuya started taking off his gloves before touching Dazai.

It was weird the way they maintained certain routines while creating entirely new ones. Dazai had, for a long time, come to terms with the way other ability users usually avoided touching him and their first experience with his ability. While annoying, it was what it was and he couldn’t do much about it.

Chuuya used to be the same way. At least, in some sense. Even without Arahabaki,For the Tainted Sorrowwas an incredibly wild ability. Some ability users had the misfortune to fall into ruin at the manifestation of their ability- some even died at birth due to the isolating nature of their powers. It was lucky that Chuuya had met Dazai when he did-Taintedwould’ve ended up taking over eventually without the balm ofNo Longer Human.

It was because of that that Dazai was simultaneously Chuuya’s haven and downfall. Or he would’ve been and might still be, had they not left the mafia.

Elle est retrouvée.
Quoi? - L'Éternité.
C'est la mer allée
Avec le soleil.

Âme sentinelle,
Murmurons l'aveu
De la nuit si nulle
Et du jour en feu.

Des humains suffrages,
Des communs élans
Là tu te dégages
Et voles selon.

Puisque de vous seules,
Braises de satin,
Le Devoir s'exhale
Sans qu'on dise : enfin.

Là pas d'espérance,
Nul orietur.
Science avec patience,
Le supplice est sûr.

Elle est retrouvée.
Quoi ? - L'Éternité.
C'est la mer allée
Avec le soleil

-Arthur Rimbaud,L'Eternité

Dazai wanted toownChuuya. He wanted to exist in the confines of his ability and feel his blood rush with a pulse of his disastrous f*ck-all of an ability. He wanted to breathe the same air and feel the overwhelming humanity that festered there just to feel his own skin grounded in his human body. He wanted Chuuya to break him. He wanted Chuuya to force him to feel human in the way he so excelled.

He wanted to belong to Chuuya in the way a devout worshiper longs to be owned by their one and only god.

“What are you doing?”

Chuuya looked up from his project and scowled when he saw Dazai. Dazai ignored the look in favor of inspecting the thing Chuuya was making. The hat was a deep red with a dark, glimmering spiderweb pattern in a traditional men’s style. It had more embellishment than was traditional, decorated with an overwhelmingly big faux black feather and a large, glimmering amber gem fastened to the satin black ribbon. It was the kind of hat that needed a level of confidence and sharp attire to pull it off.

If Dazai didn’t know better, he’d say that Chuuya was making it for himself. The forms and measurements on the table that very much did not match Chuuya’s confirmed it wasn’t.

“I thought fashion designers had to have good taste,” Dazai stuck out his tongue out in distaste, poking at the hat from where Chuuya was fixing the ribbon into place. It wasn’t that bad, actually. He didn’t like hats personally, but if Chuuya made one for him….

Well.

“And I thought mackerels were supposed to be in a river somewhere,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, hissing when the needle poked his finger. Dazai hid the interest that spiked him at the prickle of pain that dotted his eyes for a moment. Chuuya was always good looking, but he held a special place in him for ahurtChuuya. He did appreciate that the suicide jokes hadn’t stopped; regardless of their odd and shifting dynamic, he wouldn’t be able to stand it if Chuuya gentled himself too much. He already hated that Chuuya was being gentle towards him at all.

“Iwould,”Dazai groaned sufferingly, “but frostbite is such a painful experience if I don’t die from it. Not interested!”

Chuuya sighed sufferingly and fixed the last stitch into place. “Well if you’re staying, then put this on and tell me if it fits, you freak.”

“Chuuyalikeswhen I’m a freak,” Dazai sniffed (knowing what he was saying was true, but feeling very deeply that he was lying), but complied and put the hat on his head. Chuuya flushed angrily, a fair reaction.

“Well?”

“Hm, not really my style…” He trailed off, feeling odd and disjointed-looking as he looked into the mirror above the table. The amber piece only exaggerated the emptiness in his eyes, the gem winking annoyingly. The sleeves of his pink sweater felt heavy on his arms. Not itchy, never itchy because Chuuya didn’t buy poor-quality items, but he was conscious of it all the same.

“Oh shut up,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, “you’re not the one paying for it.”

“Someone’s actually buying this?” Dazai widened his eyes in a mockery of shock, looking away from the mirror desperately at the distraction. “Did you have to beg them like a dog?”

Chuuya kicked at him and turned in his chair to check his emails on his work laptop that he had set up in the hotel room. He didn’t usually work away from his desk, but Dazai knew that the actual office happened to bemysteriouslyclosed for the day and he was on a deadline, so he ended up bringing the project back to the hotel with him. It had nothing to do with the fact that Chuuya had been out for work for hours and hours on end every day for the past week and Dazai happened to have instigated a slight incident. “f*ck off with that, will you? The project supervisor likes the design. I don’t want to hear anything about it from someone who called a shade of graylight black.”

Dazai tossed a piece of cloth on the desk at him. “Just because chibi doesn’t know his colors doesn’t mean I don’t.”

“You’re basically colorblind, dumbass, and gray and black are shades, not colors.” He turned around and reached up to fiddle with the rim, turning it this way and that on Dazai’s head. Dazai felt frozen from the terribly accurate observation. “Is it tight? Loose? Lumpy?”

“It’s fine, I guess,” Dazai squinted, trying to figure out how exactly Chuuya learned out about his less than great relationship with colors. Chuuya pinched with his neon orange bandaid-covered thumb at a loose thread and prodded at the feather placement. Chuuya was so annoyingly observant- it felt… it felt good in a very bad way.

With Chuuya so distracted and so close, Dazai could either hit him in retaliation or he could pick adifferentway to make his slug stop being so casually…intimate,he guessed. He could always hit him. He could hit Chuuya…

He surged forward to press his lips to Chuuya’s. He leaned back, startled by the kiss, but Dazai just pressed a little more, steadying Chuuya with a hand on his back. He lowered both of them in a tiny dip that curved Chuuya’s spine. The kiss only lasted for a few seconds before Dazai pulled away and grinned, feeling empty and gross and full and light. “I’m hungry. Let’s get dinner.”

Chuuya blinked, looking more than a little dazed and hazy (a storm cloud brewing so prettily in bright blue eyes, the disgust and reproachfulness that he expected nowhere to be found), but shrugged, poaching the hat from where it sat on Dazai’s head and putting it on the desk. “Sure, I was almost done anyway. Go change.” It was nearly eight actually, which was later than he’d usually wait to bug Dazai into eating.

“I can go out like this,” Dazai asserted blandly, not really wanting to go out wearing aMy Little Ponypink sweater and dolphin pajama pants, but fishing for Chuuya’s reaction. It was warm and Chuuya had gotten it for him, so he tended to wear it often. He didn’t care that much if he wore it out or not, but Chuuya, as always, gave him a reaction to hook into, making a face at the casual outfit.

“No, go put on actual clothes,” he said dismissively with a little twitch of his eye.

With a glint in his eyes, Dazai pouted, liking the annoyance he read on Chuuya. “These are actual clothes?” He feigned a gasp. “Is Chuuya…embarrassedof me?”

With a deadpan stare, Chuuya gave him one last once-over and blankly looked into Dazai’s eyes with no intonation to his voice. “You’re right. That’s an amazing outfit, mackerel.”

Dazai huffed, ignoring the clear sarcasm with a mischievous little twinkle in his eyes.“Thank you.Let’s go!”

“I still have to change,” Chuuya shook his head, clearing examining his own outfit. Dazai didn’t really know why. Chuuya always looked fine and ugly and stupid and okay.

“Just go like that,” Dazai whined, mostly for show. “I’m hungry!”

He wasn’t. He really, really wasn’t, but Chuuya liked hearing him say things like that. He fed into the fantasy just to see the proud, happy little glint light up stunning blue eyes.

“Fine,” Chuuya gave in, walking over to the door and tugging on his boots while tossing Dazai’s heavy coat from the rack over to him. He caught it through dead cold fingers. “Put this on over that so you don’t freeze or get sick again.”

In true Chuuya fashion, he manhandled a scarf around his neck and wrangled a hat over his hair (that had grown out, Dazai noticed). He didn’t hesitate to grab his hands and yank gloves over his fingers, ignoring the faint sounds of discontent Dazai thought he might be making, but he was honestly entranced in Chuuya’s actions.

“Let’s just go to the place down the street,” he explained when he looked at the keys Chuuya left on the counter questioningly. “Who knows what you'll catch this time if we're out longer than that.”

Dazai scrunched his nose but shrugged his shoulders all the same. Chuuya had been very insistent on maintaining his health after his sickness after dealing with Fyodor and his nonsense (amusing nonsense, but nonsense all the same). He thought it was very unfair and awful, especially when Chuuya mixedcough syrupinto the juice he’d gotten to trick Dazai into drinking it because he was the cruelest person ever in the history of ever. “Whatever.”

They walked out of the five-star luxury hotel like that, wearing childish sweaters and elbowing each other the entire way. When they stepped out onto the street, Dazai reached down to entangle his hand with Chuuya’s when his hand reached out unconsciously for his own and didn’t look at him even when his eyes searched for answers.

He swore he could feel the burning heat of Chuuya’s hands through their gloves. He felt like his body was radiating heat from that simple point of contact. He rubbed his thumb over a scar he knew without looking laid in the divot of Chuuya’s thumb and pointer finger, stoking the wild flame up and down that entire side of his body.

It was busy out. Eight in the evening on a Sunday tended to be pretty loud in St. Petersburg, which apparently was known as the ‘Venice of the North’. Nightlife, clubbing, bars- considering they were staying in a pretty high-profile area, it wasn’t too surprising that people were still out.

Dazai was thankful in some way that he had a hold on Chuuya’s hand as they made their way through the busy St. Petersburg streets. If Chuuya caught sight of a dog, they might as well give up and order food in with how distracted he got. He’d insist on bringing the mutt inside if Dazai didn’t tug him along fast enough. Not that tugging Chuuya along generally did any good; if Chuuya dug his heels in, Dazai wouldn’t get him to budge if he tried.

Still, it was also…. it was nice, in a way. Dazai knew he didn’t particularly deserve to hold Chuuya’s hand and that Chuuya was very much indulging him stupidly, but having a grounding point in the busy and crowded streets wasn’t a bad thing. It made him very conscious of his body and the way Chuuya’s steps click-clacked purposefully against the concrete. It made him even more conscious of how Chuuya’s hair shone under streetlights and his eyes flitted around at the people that stared at them for being two men holding hands.

Dazai briefly expected Chuuya to let go after a particularly nasty glare, but the hold on his hand tightened instead.

His chest felt very sore at the increased pressure.

As they walked along the street, he watched Chuuya breathe in the cold Russia air and look up at the sky. He watched the constellations reflected in the glassy quality of those eyes, alighting them with electricity and light and making him look every bit the god that he was. Dazai wanted to stay in that moment-wouldstay in that moment forever if it meant that the only thing his eyes would see for the rest of his days would be the stars and inky blueness of Chuuya, framed with fire and light smatterings of freckles yet to fade with winter. The hand in his felt like too much and not enough contact all at once.

“Your hair’s getting long,” Chuuya said quietly, though Dazai doubted he’d ever not hear his slug over any crowd.

Dazai hummed, reaching up with his other hand to tug at a strand. “Should I cut it?”

Chuuya shook his head. “You don’t need to. Just noticed it, that’s all.” He watched Chuuya smirk a moment later, some glimmering of humor dancing over his face.

“What’s with that ugly expression?” Dazai peered down at him, never wanting to see anything but Chuuya’s face for the rest of his life as long as Chuuya let him.

Chuuya scowled. “What do meanugly expression?!”

“Does chibi need a mirror? I can pull up my phone camera,” he teased with faux innocence, wanting to feel that scowl under his bare fingertips, smoothing the crease with his thumb. “You were staring at me so weirdly I thought you might bite me!”

“Maybe I should!” He shouted a little too loudly, reeling back with disgust when Dazai just raised a suggestive eyebrow. “Gods, you’re insufferable,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, but kept their hands intertwined as he elbowed open the door of the restaurant.

“Welcome in-!” The waiter’s eyes flickered down to their joined hands for a short moment, but to his credit he recovered quickly. “Ah, just the two of you?”

Dazai nodded for both of them. He’d be ordering for both of them, too, when they were seated. Chuuya’s spoken Russian was passible now, but Dazai knew that he was more familiar with legal jargon than food by proxy of only having the patience to learn enough to be good at his job. They were seated in the back despite the restaurant being relatively empty, which he could see Chuuya didn’t take offense to whether it was because that was the waiter’s section or because two men dressed the way they were and holding hands could ward off other patrons.

Dazai still glare at the man to see how he paled severely and scurried off, much like a rat. St. Petersburg really had an unfortunate infestation.

They untangled their hands to sit (Dazai felt the cold very quickly and distinctly), but Chuuya was quick to put his foot against Dazai’s in a little kick that he didn’t bother pulling away from. Dazai nudged back, but let him be, savoring the contact.

After a brief discussion, they ordered a few too many pirozhki from the takeout menu and wine, because going out to eat was less about getting food they couldn’t order in and more about not being in the hotel for a while. At least for Dazai, who was tossing the hat on his head onto the seat with a little scrunch of annoyance for the awful fabric. If he ever wore a beanie again it would be too soon, but he could see in Chuuya’s expression that he’d make one for him to wear if only to see him uncomfortable.

They were still like that, sometimes. Still rough, still mean, still awful, but in very different ways.

“Mmh, that’s right,” Chuuya perked up, pulling out his phone. “I almost forgot to tell you…”

Dazai raised a brow and pushed his food around his plate some more before taking another small bite, knowing Chuuya would bully him into taking a few more bites if he didn’t. He watched Chuuya fiddle around his phone for his emails. “Did my dog come up with another design? I’m surprised people pay so much for weird hats, but they’ve probably got about as many brain cells as you. Maybe it’s because they put a hat on once and it leeched-”

“Shut up, don’t call me that,” Chuuya snipped back, interrupting his tirade, but it was spoken offhandedly, looking very immersed in the Russian on his phone. He was still awful at reading it, and while Dazai could translate, there was a special expression Chuuya made, where he squinted his eyes and his tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth, that made it obvious he was struggling with reading the language. “And no, that’s not it.” Then he frowned, pausing in his perusal. “And my designs aren’t weird, jackass.”

“Whatever makes you feel better,” Dazai took another little bite of the pirozhki and feeling the faint burning of sickness bubble up his throat, bleaching it with beginnings of bile. It was normal and horrible and awful and Chuuya should really be more sympathetic-

“Запрос is リクエスト(request),right?” Chuuya frowned, scrunching his brow. “Or is it ようきゅう する(demand)?”

Dazai liked the way Chuuya tongue worked over Russian. The accent was clunky and disjointed and undoubtedly hard for native Russian speakers to understand, but he liked it.

“リクエスト(request).”

Chuuya nodded, working through the list until he perked up finally. “Aha!” He tossed the phone at Dazai, grinning triumphantly (gloriously, godly, beautifully).

Dazai caught the phone reflexively and flipped it around, his eyes roaming over the email.

Chuuya Nakahara,

We would firstly like to extend our thanks for choosing our company for your first foray into the fashion industry. We'd like to extend an offer for an increase in pay-

Blah, blah, blah. He skimmed that paragraph.

Your request for a transfer to the French branch of the company has been approved. We'll be sending along multiple correspondences to add further detail to the attached information.

This letter from here on is to confirm your request for a transfer from our department in St. Petersburg to Paris, France.

As we discussed in our meeting, you are scheduled for sales training at 8 a.m. on November 17th (add to calendar). The department head has been informed that you will report to her immediately after the two-hour training session at approximately 10 a.m. and will begin work formally the following week.

You've confirmed your fluency in French, but the company will require further verification via online meetings.

The transferring branch has sent along this correspondence;

Your promotion and new assignment has been confirmed. As of November 17, you will be working in formal accessory design with potential to branch out to other designs after subsequent promotions.

I am pleased to inform you also that regardless of request, we do offer reimbursem*nt of international moving expenses that have been approved. Please submit your receipts as soon as possible and the Company will reimburse your moving costs up to $8,000.00.

Le Poètewelcomes you aboard its design team and wishes you continued success in this new position. We will be in touch every week or so to ensure a smooth transition.

Best wishes,

Camille Archambault

Le PoèteParis Branch Manager

Once, twice, three times.

Dazai read the email over a fourth time.

He felt dizzy.

The blood pounded in his ears. His heart thudded arrhythmically in his chest. His hands shook. His feet tingled. His vision disfigured, as if he were looking through a fish-eye lens as he reread the words-your request for a transfer to the French branch of the company has been approved-swimming around his gaze and flickering teasingly. Transfer. Approved.

Dazai wanted to die.

He was trying to breathe but he couldn’t. Phantom hands were clutching his throat (demon eyes, red,always left to yourself, aren’t you Shuuji? Come here and you won’t have to be alone ever again),stopping him from taking full breaths. But there was no one. He was alone. Very, very alone in a way that Chuuya had never once made him feel before, even sitting across from him with their legs touching.

When his heart stuttered again, athump-thumpthat bumbled and bristled and broke and shattered and rebuilt and hurt all over again(I’m sorry Odasaku)he had a sudden, hysterical thought: What if his heart broke his ribcage?

Would he die, then?

Would hedie?

He just

needed

to

stop.

“You didn’t tell me you were requesting a transfer,” Dazai’s face was blank and distant, filled with nothing and no one.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow at him, and he could see the way his smile was faltering a bit(because of you,his brain insisted, and Dazai couldn’t disagree). “Yeah, it was supposed to be a surprise.”

A surprise. A surprise, Chuuya said, and he wasrightand Dazai hated it. Chuuya used to try to surprise him when they were in the mafia(you won't have to think about silly things if you stay right here),but he'd never quite managed it.Now,though…. He’d let himself get a little bit used to the way Chuuya’s eyes glimmered in lamplights and the way his hands rested so protectively and comfortingly over his skin like he never wanted to touch anything else. He pretended to let himself believe it, which was worse. Leaning into that feeling made the cold bite more than it ever had before and he hated it. He wanted to stop feeling. He needed to stop feeling. It was too much, toomuch-

“I thought you didn’t like being half frozen and sick all the time.”

And-

Hm.

Dazai swallowed, feeling the stuffiness of his chest full with cotton balls and fluffy sweaters. “And…” He reworked his tongue, tried to unstick it from the sticky dryness of his mouth. “...you want me to go with you?”

“I-” Chuuya frowned, he frowned and Dazai wanted tokill himself.“Yeah, I mean- yeah. You-you dragged me to Russia with you,obviously I’m not- like- ditching. You- I- Ican’tgo back to Japan right now because of you, andyou’dthrow yourself off abridgein a heartbeat, so what the hell did you think I’d do?!”

Leave.

I thought you’d leave.

Dazai was trying to breathe, trying to make his lungs do their job as he tried to wrap his head around what was being said to him and failing because he didn’t understand, not really. Chuuya wanted to take him along?

Why?

Why, why, why?

Chuuya was looking at him, those eyes moving around his face. He felt like a giant, exposed nerve, shivering in the wake of the emotional prodding being done. What was Chuuya trying to do?

“You…” Chuuya’s brow scrunched together. “You know I’m not going without you, right?”

Dazai’s expression fluttered into a small, trembling smile as he tried to get himself together, trying to figure out what Chuuya’s angle was (did he just want a convenient sex toy? That…. that made sense, Dazai thought, even just a bit). Still, “slug, I don’t… I don’t have a visa for France. I didn’t-” He visibly bit back whatever he was going to say, and just like that he tried to force himself right back into place, fixing himself back up into his head and recalibrating himself to have this conversation. “I didn’t think my dog would want to keep his master around after spending so much time together. I’mtouched,really.”

Confused, more like.

Chuuya rolled his eyes, an understandable reaction to Dazai not understanding thatof coursehe would be kept for Chuuya’s convenience. “Just get a visa, then,” he picked up his fork to take another bite.

“It’ll take a few weeks to apply and get one even if I break a few rules,” Dazai explained, sullen as he thought about the wait time as he let his heartrate calm and his head land somewhere in the realm of normality. “And chibi has to leave soon to take the job.” He held up the phone with the email still on the screen for emphasis. “The mafia would notice if I tried to cheat another visa in less than that time,” Dazai said over the thoughtful haze in Chuuya’s eyes. “We’d be advertising where we are and what we’re doing.”

From there, the conversation derailed into Dazai somehow manipulating Chuuya, again, into considering something ridiculous, but-

“That would make it easier to keep the mafia off us too, right?” Chuuya questioned quietly, like he was actually considering marryingDazai.

It would, Dazai noted distantly. Testimonial, communications, and medical marital privileges would make it easier to allocate different favors he was calling in towards more important matters.

If one of them were for whatever reason admitted into a hospital, they would be allowed access to that room and given constant updates without any extra hoops to jump in if they were spouses. There were also taxation benefits; not that that really mattered to Dazai or Chuuya, but it was worth noting. The spousal visa was just one of the things they could do with a marriage license.

On the other hand, it would also give them something over each other if they had to get divorced for whatever reason. Dazai didn’t really expect that Chuuya would want to be around him for long, and when that happened the slug would get married to someone who wasn’t broken like him and then-

Well. Dazai had already screwed over enough of Chuuya’s life. If he decided he wanted to marry Dazai and divorce him, that was his choice. It just… wasn’t one he thought Chuuya would make.

“Yeah, but you don't want to marry me.” He said very firmly, waiting for Chuuya’s wholehearted agreement.

“If it's just to keep the mafia off of us, then let’s get married.”

Dazai wanted to die.

There was something very interesting about waking up with Chuuya, especially when he woke up to being immediately overstimulated and f*cked until he couldn’t breathe right, even after waking up in France for the first time.

Even when waking up, Chuuya didn’t stop. He never stopped, even when Dazai begged (though not seriously) and writhed underneath him. Not even when Chuuya’s body settled on top of his own, rolling and disshevling his curls more, more, more, until he was crying out loudly.

Dazai wondered if that was how he’d feel all the time if he were shorter than Chuuya. It made him feel as though he was always meant to be beneath Chuuya, defenseless to anything he wanted from him.

If he died beneath Chuuya, it would be a blessing.

Maybe that was why he was feeling so painfully raw, even as he stripped off his bandages for their shower.

They already had sex, they already moved, Chuuya had seen under his bandages a hundred times before (an exaggeration, but not a wildly inaccurate one, which was just so much to think about) but even now, taking them off left him feel very cold.

He was married.

Married to Chuuya.

Oh,Dazai thought, swallowing a bit when he registered the words and read in between the lines.So we’re not talking about it.

Dazai didn’t know when he started to let himself relax enough to believe Chuuya would fulfill any kind of expectations he had, or when he’d started to let himself expect anything, but he needed to stamp it all down. He’d thought, for whatever reason, that maybe the reason he and Chuuya hadn’t talked about their marriage was because they were busy, but that clearly wasn’t the case.

That was fine, obviously. They were just married. Nothing more, nothing less; just two signatures on a paper for Chuuya’s work. He didn’t want it to be more than that, but it hurt thinking that it was nothing more than that. It was a little, persistent ache that was building in the hollow of his heart.

He shouldn’t care. They didn’t even have rings.

(Dazai kind of wanted a ring.)

…

Dazai dug his elbow back into Chuuya. “Not uglier than you.”

He was lying. In the light, Chuuya’s hair looked like it was on fire, casting a sharp glow around his face from the natural light filtering in through the window. He looked like a god Dazai didn’t believe in with shimmering ocean eyes.

…

(Maybe that was why he wanted the bandages on; even when Chuuya first figured out what Dazai was good for, they’d never been…. Dazai had neverfelt like….)

It wasn’t that Dazai wanted to be married. It just wasn’t really something that had ever crossed his mind, mostly because he was sure that he’d be dead before he ever found someone stupid enough to marry him. He’d been more convinced that Mori might attempt to arrange something if he ever did get married.

But he was married now. Married to Chuuya, which was infinitely more cruel than he ever thought his slug could be. Chuuya didn’t belong to him(and it burned)no matter how inescapably tied to Chuuya that Dazai was.

He felt his eyes draw too long to his finger, then over to Chuuya’s. Bare, blank, representative in some tragically poetic way of just how empty their relationship really was. Chuuya would leave before long.

Chuuya would figure out just hownot cut out for marriageDazai really was, no matter how fake the arrangement actually was.

Even so,Dazai swallowed as he saw how Chuuya naturally shifted to the far side of the shower, leaving just enough space for him,he could let himself have this, couldn’t he?He wasn’t sure if this was happiness, or if it ever could be for someone like him, but it was what Odasaku asked of him.

Chuuya didn’t touch him, not even to hand off the soap as he stepped into the shower. It made his skin feel electric and filthy, suddenly more grimed over and crawling-itchy than it’d been in months. He still kept his eyes on Chuuya, waiting for any indication that this was anything more than convenience, not knowing what he’d do if it was but unsure of where they stood without the natural intimacy.

What if that morning was a fluke? What if Chuuya stopped wanting him at all?

What would Dazai do then, if he couldn’t be used?

If he wasn’t even good enough for that anymore, what was left?

When Chuuya stared at him for a long moment, Dazai was sure damning words were waiting on his tongue, but he just handed off another bottle. Dazai took it blindly, then startled when Chuuya leaned up on his toes to kiss him.

His muscles tensed further and relaxed against his will.

It was soft, gentle, every bit as lingering as Chuuya was most of the time. There was nothing different, no lie or ounce of deceit hiding in the press of their lips together and Dazai felt himself melt into the genuineness of it.

The kiss only lasted a few too-short moments before Chuuya was pulling away. “I’m getting out. We’re going to dinner, so don’t get too comfortable.”

Dazai pouted but acquiesced to letting Chuuya out of the shower. He still didn’t like eating too often when he had other things he wanted to do like (pretending to) sleep. Eating just didn’t feel good and Chuuya knew that about him despite making requests like that. He sighed.

“Bandages are in the top left cabinet,” Chuuya called over the shower spray while he toweled himself down. “Don't reuse your bandages or I'll choke you with them.”

“Really?”Dazai chirped back, feeling raw at the reminder that Chuuya always, always, always paid attention to details like that. It was one of the first things he saw Chuuya unpack and put away when they first arrived and he’d laid down to pretend to nap.

“No, f*ck off. It's just gross.”

Dazai could hear vague rustling and knew that Chuuya was taking away the old bandages. It was unfair, because Dazai was onlykind ofconsidering rewearing them. Either way, he finished washing quickly, turning the heat up in the shower to fog the mirror over as he toweled off. He wrapped himself quickly, pointedly not looking at his own skin as he did so and opened the door.

Chuuya was grumbling, French curses spilling from his lips as his fingers slipped while latching his black choker around his neck. He was wearing wine-red, a shade deep and contrasting with his hair and skin, accenting his bright blue eyes and the divot of his corset-clad waist.

Dazai watched him for a minute before moving to the closet, already knowing exactly which sweater he was going to wear. It was blue, it was bright, it had Cinderella dancing on it, and most importantly, the sleeves were just non-fluffy enough that he could get Oda’s coat over it without trouble. He needed to double up on comforting items, still feeling a little bit frayed at the edges from….everything.

“I have clothes for you to wear,” Chuuya called from across the room as Dazai was opening the door.

“I was just going to wear-” he kept reaching for the closet, not thinking about the protest before it left his lips.

“Please?”

Dazai dropped his hand.

Please rang through his head as Dazai gathered himself together enough to sigh and flop back onto the bed. “Fine, fine. I guess I'll wear my chibi's outfit.”

Chuuya perked up and looked very excited as he grabbed a large white box from underneath the bed, the one that Dazai recognized as being put under there earlier. Dazai blinked at it, looking up at Chuuya once before accepting it hesitantly.

“I'm not wearing it if it's weird,” he warned Chuuya, lying through his teeth and contradicting himself, of course; he'd wear anything Chuuya got for him.

“Like you'd be able to tell if it is,” Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Just open it.” He grabbed a towel and started scrunching the ends of Dazai's hair. Dazai let him, tilting his head to make it easier as Chuuya eyed the diffuser.

The slacks were the first item at the top of the box. Dazai looked at them for a minute and then looked over at Chuuya.

“Black pants….thanks?” Dazai said, not quite able to hide the lilt of a question in his tone, already knowing that they were the only pants he’d ever wear for the rest of ever until Chuuya bought him more (he’d had a similar reaction to an outfit gifted to him years and a lifetime ago, never quite able to temper his visceral need to be wanted).

He just huffed, “keep going, mackerel.”

Dazai set the pants aside, revealing the hale navy corset in the same style as Chuuya's, which stopped just under the chest. He looked up at Chuuya, wondering if it’d been gifted for the same reasons(such a pretty waist, Shuuji. It’s a shame your complexion doesn’t suit red).“You… got me a corset,” he wasn’t sure what his voice sounded like.

It couldn’t have sounded anything close to positive, because Chuuya scrunched his nose andt’chedat him, tossing the towel away. “No, Imadeyou a corset.”

Oh.

He loved it, then.

Dazai's hands shifted to touch the corset a little more reverently then even as he fought to keep his expression the same. Dazai dug through the box again and pulled out the very light gray button-up underneath. Rather than complimenting Chuuya or snarking at him or saying anything of note, Dazai's gaze shifted between the three articles of clothing and landed back on Chuuya. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Chuuya asked, visibly relaxing bit by bit.

“Yeah.”

Chuuya made him clothes. It was more than seeing something in a window and thinkingDazai would look good in that,or browsing through a catalogue and decidingI want to f*ck him in that.This was Chuuya sitting over a sketchpad, sitting over a table and deciding everything down to the slightest detail with Dazai in mind. He could feel the inner lining of the button-up and knew that the soft lining was done for him, done with him in mind, completely unique and thoughtful.

His heart ached something fierce and awful and he attributed it to feeling of Chuuya being extra awful as he ran a finger down the long length of Dazai’s spine through the button-up while he shifted the corset into place. Dazai’s body was wracked with a small shiver and he sank back into the touch. And then he tensed forward when Chuuya grabbed the corset’s lacing and yanked ittight.

“Ack!” Dazai twitched, leaning forward, but Chuuya quickly wove the lacing through the next holes and pulled him back again by them. “Chuuya! A warning, maybe?!”

It was fine, really, it didn’t hurt, but he’d never waste a chance to irritate Chuuya when it wasn’t obvious he wanted Dazai to be obedient.

“You’re such a big baby. You’re fine,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, pulling the corset tight and maneuvering the lace down. Dazai could hear him chortling at each over-dramatized sound Dazai made in protest.

“I never- urk!- thought I’d see the day when my dog tried to kill me,” Dazai sniffed.

Dazai could tell Chuuya was raising a skeptical eyebrow even without looking at him. “I told you to stop calling me that, and no one’s ever died from a corset, mackerel. I wear them all the time.”

Dazai braced himself on their nightstand when Chuuya got halfway down the lacing. “That you know of! And Chuuya’s a masoch*st.”

“No, I’m not-why do you know what that is?!” (Because Mori called him that all the time while taking a knife to his arms) Chuuya yanked harder on the second to last portion. He tied off the bottom with a flourish of a bow and stepped back. “Let me see.”

Dazai turned around and let Chuuya stare for three minutes before grabbing his shoes and tossing Oda’s coat on. His ribs felt squeezed, but the little ache that persisted in the base of his spine from the marathon sex Chuuya insisted on was all but nonexistent.

“Are we going or not?” He asked when Chuuya still just stared at him.

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon,” he opened the door to their living room and grabbed his coat and hat from where he’d left them on the rack. He snagged his phone from the counter too and tossed Dazai’s to him.

“Walking?” Dazai asked, opening the door for both of them.

Chuuya nodded, clearly rankled about hispoormotorcycle(death trap,Dazai called it what it was). “It’s coming in tomorrow, so I have to pick it up then.”

Dazai hummed. “I’ll go with you.”

“Y’don’t have to,” he wrapped an arm around Dazai’s waist when they stepped into the elevator. Dazai shrugged, feeling the sensation of weight around his waist keenly and comfortably.

“And miss the chance to see you reunite with your precious pink bike again? Of course I have to,” he teased lightly.

“Motorcycle,”Chuuya stressed, pinching Dazai through his clothes. “And it’s a darkmagenta,jackass.”

“Oh, sorry,” Dazai drawled sarcastically when they reached the ground floor. “I’m really looking forward to you reuniting with your preciousmagenta motorcycle,slug.”

Chuuya elbowed him, then pulled him closer for a moment as they walked by a group heading towards the elevator. “Shut up, oh my gods.”

As they walked, Dazai noticed several very distinct people scurrying about the streets, looking back at them as they went. Fyodor really was very confident in himself, he huffed. He knew, though, that the point wasn’t to be discreet; if it were, Fyodor would’ve gone himself.

The Paris streets were distracting. It was a late night on a weekend, so it wasn't particularly surprising, but he noticed Chuuya looking around at the stores as they walked, his eyes catching on windows and displays.

“Are we going straight to dinner?” Dazai asked when Chuuya’s eyes lingered especially long on a display case.

“Yeah?” Chuuya hummed. “Did you want to see something first?” He looked around, his eyes roving around the streets, scanning like he was looking for something. He didn’t stop, though, still walking along.

Dazai shook his head. “No.”

“Oh,” Chuuya said, his tone sounding down about something. Dazai knew Chuuya didn’t like it when he put in effort to dissect his reactions, so he let it go despite his mild curiosity. “The restaurant should be around here anyway,” Chuuya changed the subject.

Staying in highly populated and high-profile areas was a diversion technique they were employing to keep the mafia off of them. Neither of them had social media and while Paris was definitely busy and well-lit, Dazai's hair had grown out even more with his lack of interest in upkeeping it and Chuuya wore hats religiously so they both had visual distractors that would make them difficult to pick out in the background of a photo.

…and even if Dazai had been caught in the background of a picture in St. Petersburg, the ridiculous sweaters were the last thing anyone from the mafia would associate with the Demon Prodigy. He almost hoped Mori saw. He wondered what his face would look like.

“Bonjour!” A waiter greeted them when they walked into the restaurant, not batting an eye at their close position, unlike everyone they passed in Russia. Dazai noticed Chuuya relaxing at the lack of hostility despite his previous insistence that it didn’t bother him. “Seulement vous deux?”

“Oui,” Chuuya responded easily without missing a beat.

He knew it.

“Suivez-moi. Vous êtes tous les deux des touristes?”

Chuuya shook his head. “Non, on vient d'emménager ici, en fait.”

Dazai watched as Chuuya smirked a little bit, the expression sharpening his jaw. He’d been very sure that Chuuya spoke French in some capacity- he’d had it somewhat confirmed from the email, but hearing Chuuya’s native accent made something in him feel warm….-er than normal, at least.

“Pour un emploi? Ou pour l'école?”

“Pour un emploi,” Chuuya said as they were seated and handed menus.

“Je reviendrai pour vos commandes.”

“Merci,” Chuuya said politely.

(Hello! Just the two of you?

Yes.

Follow me. Are the two of you tourists?

No, we just moved here, actually.

For a job? Or for school?

For a job.

I'll be back for your orders.

Thank you.)

Dazai waited two seconds before turning back to Chuuya, kicking his feet under the table. “You speak French?”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “I'm half French, idiot.”

“Really?” Dazai put on an air of surprise, but he really had guessed it. Not necessarily Chuuya’s ethnicity, but the rasp of his voice and curl of his tongue over some words, especially when he was mad, spoke volumes.

“Yeah,” Chuuya waved his hand offhandedly, looking a bit uncomfortable. Probably something related to the….situationregarding his existence. “I mean, I’m not fluent anymore and I can’t really read it that well, but it’s better than my Japanese used to be.”

“Huh.” Dazai grinned mischievously. “Does that make you myFrench poodlethen? I’m so glad we’ve finally figured out what breed you are!”

“Oh my gods-will you piss off with that?” Chuuya hissed as the waiter came back.

Dazai, easily reading the discomfort from his partner, nicely decided to drop the topic after that. Chuuya didn’t talk about his time before the Sheep, and hardly even talked about the Sheep at all as it was. He didn’t feel like fighting right now. It wasn’t like he didn’t have a clue of what Chuuya's childhood (or lack thereof, considering what he knew about Nakahara Chuuya) was like, anyways. Chuuya was easy to read, but sometimes… and- and it was strange, but sometimes he wanted to hear it from Chuuya first. So he didn’t bother reading too far into Chuuya’s cues.

“D’accord, pour dîner, vous avez choisi?”

“Nous a voudrais le steak frites- à point, s’il vous plaît,” Chuuya rattled off easily, taking a glance at Dazai to affirm, to which Dazai shrugged noncommittedly. Just as the waiter nodded in understanding, he hummed. “Montrez-moi la carte des vins?”

“Bien sûr.”

Dazai stared at him, catching stray words here and there despite not having studied French in more than a few years. “You’re an alcoholic, you know that right?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” Chuuya hissed back. “I just like wine. You’re the one who drinks piss-poor whiskey.”

“Not a glassevery night,”Dazai tossed back as a wine menu was set in front of them, not liking how his whiskey habits were thrown at him. He’d only started drinking because Odasaku liked whiskey.

“Merci,” Chuuya thanked the waiter, and without looking at him or the menu, eyes locked on Dazai, he spoke. “Deux vins rouge, s’il vous plaît."

“I don’t drink gross wine, chibi,” Dazai rolled his eyes after the waiter walked off, though he knew the wine wasn’t for him.

“They’re not for you,” Chuuya snorted, and when the waiter came back and set a wine glass in front of each of them, he plucked the other from in front of Dazai and set both glasses in front of himself.

“Je veux juste de l'eau,” Dazai told the waiter, trying to remember how to curl his tongue around the words properly. Then, in Japanese, to Chuuya, “if you get black out drunk I’m leaving you here.”

He wouldn’t. Probably.

“Shut up,” Chuuya snarked around a generous sip.

“You need therapy,” Dazai drawled, taking a sip of the water set in front of him and cringing at the feeling of it sliding down his throat.

Chuuya snorted into his glass and had to pull away for a minute to swallow.“Really?Between the two of us, I’m not the one that needs therapy, holy f*ck.”

“You drink every night.”

“You literally try tokill yourselfevery other second,” Chuuya scrunched his nose.

Dazai rolled his eyes, knowing that was fair, but not liking it. “That’s a personal choice, chibi. Not that you’d understand the beauty of committing suicide with a woman.”

Not that he was going to, anymore. Not with a woman, not with anyone else.

“Y’know what?” Chuuya gestured to him with his glass of wine after another large sip. “If you find a therapist willing to deal with you and sign yourself up, I’ll go to therapy with you.”

“They’d need therapy too after a session with you, hat rack,” Dazai snipped back. When Chuuya raised a brow, he copied the expression, rising to the challenge the way he only ever did when it was Chuuya challenging him. “Arahaba-”

“Gods f*cking dammit,”Chuuya kicked him harshly under the table, glancing around them to watch for anyone who might’ve overheard. “You really have no f*cking brain up there, huh?”

“Ow,” Dazai whined. “What a rude slug. And here I was, about to invite you to watch a show with me when we get back.”

“You were about to spill sensitive information,” Chuuya rolled his eyes. “And one of your kid shows? You really need a hobby.”

“Scooby-Doo, actually,” Dazai sniffed just to watch as Chuuya straightened a little.

He’d make fun of the other shows day and night, but Scooby-Doo was one of the few that he knew Chuuya kind of liked. Like Dazai, Chuuya’s childhood hadn’t been full of normal pop culture references, but he’d watched an episode or two of the show before.

“I might be convinced to watch it with you,” Chuuya hummed, though both of them knew damn well he’d be spending the night on the couch watching the cartoon with Dazai. “But you do need a hobby.”

“I have hobbies,” Dazai said a little petulantly, lying through his teeth.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “Really? Like what?”

Dazai took a second to think, because he really didn’t have any hobbies. He thought, hesitated, and decided to go for it, “talking to you. Where would my dog be if he didn’t have his master around? You’d be like a lost stray.”

f*ck. Stray puppy. f*ck.

This was why Dazai didn’t like thinking about Odasaku in public, it always made him feel stupid things. Luckily, the waiter was coming over with their food, so Chuuya didn’t get a chance to grill him about it.

“f*ck yeah,” Chuuya garbled a little around a mouthful of steak and fries. The image made Dazai’s stomach already feel sick, and he’d done nothing but push the food around his plate. “It's not poisoned, mackerel.”

Dazai looked up a little and plastered on a smile, finally taking a bite of the food, his stomach rolling right up until the food actually touched his tongue.Oh.“It's good,” he muttered quietly, hating that he was telling the truth. It almost didn’t even feel like much when it went down his throat.

Chuuya just snorted a little and finished off his first glass of wine. “Told you.”

Dinner was nice. Not great, never great when Dazai and food were mixed together, but nice. He didn’t hate it nearly as much as he thought he would, and Chuuya didn’t even comment when Dazai didn’t finish more than half of the plate. He did propose dessert, which made his stomach feel very firmly bad and sore and bloated, but he didn’t push. He did, however, pick up the pace when they were walking along the river.

“Hey, come on,” he tugged Dazai along with their conjoined hands. Dazai’s eyes flickered down to the touch.

“Okay-”

Chuuya dragged Dazai away from the crowds, flittering around a few older couples milling around that laughed a little at them. Chuuya called back some kind of apology when they almost ran into them while Dazai just snickered.

He pulled him along until it was nearly too dark to see, and then he pulled out his phone’s flashlight without missing a beat and ushered Dazai onto the bridge. Dazai kept his eyes on Chuuya and their hands firmly interlocked, panting from the exertion, especially after just eating as his stomach gurgled in protest. He was more concerned about Chuuya than the likelihood of him throwing up, though.

Chuuya didn’t like the dark. It wasn’t simple to say that he wasscaredof the dark (because it existed in every corner of the mafia, and Dazai would've noticed if Chuuya were constantly in fear), but it was easy to tell that he wasn’t comfortable as his hands shook.

“Why are we over here?” Dazai panted a little, prompting a little smirk from Chuuya, who was barely breathing heavier after the mini sprint. Dazai rolled his eyes and bumped their shoulders together.

Chuuya huffed and led him to the middle of the bridge and lifted himself onto the railing (which was definitely against some kind of law). “Okay, I wasn’t sure if it’d be too bright for this, but…” he clutched their hands tighter together and, after one last sweep with his flashlight at their surroundings, tapped it off and tilted his head up before Dazai could say anything about the move.

He followed Chuuya’s gaze upwards and-

Oh.

Oh.

Dazai had never been particularly interested in art, but he could remember one painting that Mori especially hated. He remembered it because it’d been hung in the office since before he took over and had been trashed immediately. Dazai thought it might've been the first thing thrown away, exchanged for something just as garish and simple.

InThe Starry Night,the night sky was uniquely delineated by van Gogh in and was painted to be overflowing with whirling mists, sparkling stars, and a bow moon. The setting was one that the boss used to say watchers could identify with, enhanced by van Gogh's technique of painting a whirling sky to coordinate the watcher's eye around the painting. He called it a masterful use of color and paint and several techniques Dazai couldn't remember the names of.

He didn’t like the painting. After all, he’d looked at the sky more than a few times and had never once felt that way about it or seen any sort of similarity. Though he considered that maybe only watching the stars in the ways they reflected into the water, admiring the moon as it rippled with waves and constellations for how they melded in with inky doom, might have been why he never noticed.

He thought, now, that it was clear why ancient civilizations put their faith in the moon and the stars to guide them. If everywhere the explorers looked all they saw were the intricate astral designs carved into the sky that Dazai was seeing now, it made sense.

Spanning the expanse of the inky blackness overhead was the boss’ starry night painting, encapsulated in jewels and glimmering embers of light. It was brilliant. It was….

“Ever gone stargazing?” Chuuya asked somewhere off to his side with a little nudge at Dazai’s shoulder.

Dazai couldn’t even manage a blink. “No,” he murmured quietly with a weird little twist to his brow, suddenly wondering what the sky looked like from Yokohama. All it’d been, then, was a means to an end, a natural-given light to work under as he worked under the dark of night.

It made him think of art nouveau, of Alphonse Mucha, ofMoonand elegant swirls of paint that had never had much meaning before (maybe later he'd remember cold art galleries and silk gloves on thin shoulders, too, paired with thin laughter and baked smiles). He could see, now, what they were trying to encapsulate on a canvas.

He wondered if he could try, too.

He could hear the sharp breath that Chuuya took in and felt the hand under his chin as his gaze was guided to Chuuya. Chuuya, who was illuminated by the starry blanket, whose eyes reflected hundreds of thousands of constellations that paled in the face of his glory. Chuuya, who was there and leaning in-

It was a soft, languid kiss that amounted to a firm but gentle caress of the lips. Chuuya leaned in just a little more when Dazai hummed into it. Dazai's eyes stayed firmly open, even as Chuuya leaned in like it was all he could do, watching the way red lashes fanned over starry freckles and imitated an art gallery’s worth of talent effortlessly in the breath of a kiss.

“Beautiful,”he sighed into Dazai’s lips with a soft breath, nearly inaudible but still there. It hung in the air without expectation or heat behind it.

His heart hurt; not for the first time, maybe not for the last, but he wondered if it wasn’t so bad. If the soreness wasn’t bad. If the fullness meant something more than the release of excess energy and frustration.

He knew that Chuuya wasn’t talking about the sky, hated that he might be talking abouthim,but feeling unbearably warm for it all the same.“Chuuya is too,”he breathed into the space between them with such a soft tone that it would’ve been buried if Chuuya had been breathing even a little bit louder.

It felt like too much of an admittance, like he was exposing more than he should. He was hanging off of the edge of a cliff that Chuuya could decide to push him over the side of at any moment.

But that was okay. He wasn’t above dragging Chuuya down with him; neither of them were.

“Ready?”

Never,Dazai didn’t say.

(Later, Dazai would stare down at a case of rings, blue swirling into red in a pair of elegantly and over-done rings. They’d remind him of the starry night and Chuuya’s blazing red hair set to the backdrop of stunning blue like the most beautiful painting he’d ever seen. He’d look away, not expecting anything to come of it.)

Propositioning Chuuya made sense in Dazai’s head.

Initially, at least, because while most things in his head were entirely rational and driven by logic, when Chuuya, a very firmly illogical person was put into the mix, things tended to not go the way they were supposed to.

Even though he was still feeling a little odd from their sex earlier that evening, when they got back to the apartment, he noticed that Chuuya seemed more off than he did. There was something distant in his eyes, and he looked like he couldn’t figure out where to put the hand not held firmly in Dazai’s.

When Mori was upset or distracted, it was customary to get on his knees to take the edge off. He wiggled his hips awkwardly while bent over to halfheartedly look for clothes to change into. Chuuya even swatted his ass, so he thought he’d managed it, but then Chuuya ignored him right after to focus on actually getting dressed. At that point, Dazai was sure that something wasn’t right, so he got a little more bold, putting his hands on Chuuya’s waist and flirting strongly.

Only, Chuuya didn’t take the bait even then. He pretended to lean in for a kiss and then just backed off. He told Dazai to getdressed.

He left. He didn't seem like he was bluffing, he just…

Okay. Okay, Dazai could work with that. Chuuya had never really used him like this before, so it made sense that he didn’t think about it. It just meant that Dazai had to be good for him. Dazai knew how to be good. He knew how to beperfect.

Dazai had never liked prepping himself, so he didn’t really bother. He shoved one lubed finger up his ass and then drenched the plug with more before sticking in him, hissing in discomfort but fine with it. He even put on Chuuya’s clothes and sat on his lap when he walked back out to the living room.

Chuuya shoved him off his lap, but even that didn’t entirely deter him. Dazai kept trying, trying, until Chuuya finally gave in.

And now Chuuya had the remote.

Chuuya leaned up to kiss and nip at his jaw, lining it with dark hickeys. Dazai let out a low, pleased little moan that peppered into a little drawl of his name. “Color?” Chuuya asked pointedly, keeping his hands firmly above Dazai’s waistband.

Feeling completely entranced in everything that was Chuuya, Dazai took a moment to gather himself enough to answer, and even then he felt a bit floaty, distracted by the vibration against his prostate. He felt as Chuuya turned it down to a three and was simultaneously grateful and upset about it. “Huh?”

“Need your color, baby,” Chuuya explained with patience that sounded forced, a note of annoyance flitting through his tone. The endearment sounded….Baby. Agh.Dazai could feel the pleasurable little shiver that creeped syrupy-slow up his spine.

“Oh my- f*ck,green,Chuuya!” Dazai kicked at him in an attempt to regain some ground, glaring at him. He knew it probably wasn’t translating well when Chuuya’s hand brushed over his co*ck in his path to strip away his shorts and boxers, causing his head to immediately cant back. It felt good and lightning-fuzzy with every thick and hot and fast jolt of pleasure that raced up and down his nervous system.

Chuuya flicked the vibrator off and Dazai could hear when he huffed out an amused laugh when Dazai immediately kicked at him for it, feeling the loss keenly. “Bad dog!” He whined. “Turn it backon-”

There were a few moments in the past few months where Dazai had had to admit to himself that he’d misjudged Chuuya. Every time he recoiled or thought about Mori or didn’t quite let on to certain things that he probably should’ve, he’d had similar thoughts. There were many things he could admit that he might- notregret,but something similar- his choices or the way he went about expressing the occasional expectations he still had. He was still sure that Chuuya would give in to his frustration and realize that Dazai wasn’t good for much beyond the pleasure he could provide, but he didn’t expect it to makehimfeel good too.

When Dazai whined at him, Chuuya (not very hard, not particularly painfully, not even with a fraction of the strength Dazai knew Chuuya could’ve pulled on him)spanked his ass.

Dazaimoaned.

(Very notably, it would take Chuuya a long moment to realize that wasn’t apainedmoan.)

.

Dazai could feel every joint in his body lock up and then melt, something so warm flooding his body that it radiated from the singular point. He’d been hit during sex, had been belted and whipped and tossed and punched and cut, but he’d always been checked out by then, mentally sogonethat it was hard to feel anything beyond thepressure.

This.

This feltgood.

Pain was bad, but this was good. If Chuuya did it again, he might even- well, he wasn’t that close before, but now he felt at the edge, shocked nearly to the point of no return.

He wanted to complain when Chuuya’s hand ripped away from him, but he couldn’t find the words to complain, dizzy as his brain tried to catch up with the series of events. He was trying to figure out how he’d gotten Chuuya to hit him the first time so he could get him to do itagain-

“sh*t, f*ck, Dazai, are you okay?”

Huh?

He felt as Chuuya gently pushed his thigh up to inspect where he supposed the mark was. “I’m sorry,” he babbled, his voice sounding all choked up and completely uncharacteristic of his brash slug. What was he even apologizing for? If Dazai were a little less trapped in his head, locked there by the faint sensation of pain (that hadn’t even lasted for long than a few seconds) he might say something, something like a reassurance, or an insistence that he deserved it, so Chuuya should tell him what he did (so he could do it again). “I didn’t mean to-” What? “-f*ck, it might bruise a little. One second.”

Chuuya was pushing up off of the couch and gone in another moment before Dazai could figure out what he was talking about. He could already feel the coldness setting in as Chuuya left, but it sounded like he was coming back, so he focused on breathing and relaxing out of where he was trapped in his head.

“sh*t, gods, mackerel,” he could hear Chuuya bustling around as he came back into the room. “Here, I,” Chuuya hovered over the place his hand had made contact, still notlookingat Dazai.

“Chibi-” He tried, working his mouth around the word and happy it at least came out.

“Do you want me to, or-”

“Chu-”

“I should grab Ibuprofen,” he backed away, a surprising offer with his aversion to the medicine, but Dazai reached out to intertwine their hands before he could get far, feeling a little bubble of laughter building at how frantic Chuuya seemed over something so small and stupid.

“Chuuya! I’m fine,” Dazai tugged Chuuya closer. “It- it hurt, but not…”

Not like Mori used to,he didn’t say, feeling his face warm at the reminder of how much he really liked it.

“You don’t like pain,” Chuuya stated, looking very lost and confused. It made him smile just a tiny bit.

“I don’t like getting hurt,” Dazai said, already feeling the pain recede. He wasn’t sure if there was a bruise, but he wouldn’t be surprised with how easily he bruised if there was. Chuuya could’ve left very real damage on his body if he wanted to, the kind of damage Mori sometimes would when he was in an especially bad mood.

“I’m never going to hurt you like this, mackerel.”

.

…

Ah. Okay.

Chuuya looked so very genuine when he said that that Dazai almost believed him blindly, felt so sure of his honesty that he…. well. Chuuya probably was honest, now, he just hadn’t realized that he would hit that breaking point eventually. It was natural. Most people hit a breaking point with Dazai. It made sense. It wasn’t something to take offense to or feel bad about; even Odasaku and Ango had needed breaks from him. He was just that kind of person- he sucked the life out of people. Chuuya could be a saint and Dazai would eventually break him down to that point.

Still, he nodded his head and rejected Chuuya’s offer to talk about it because he wasselfish.If Chuuya hadn’t figured it out yet, he wasn’t going to speed along the process.

But then, “if we can’t talk about it, we’re not doing it.”

And that was just unfair. “Chuuya-”

“No,” he said, sounding and looking very firm in his decision. “I’m not hitting you again unless you can ask me for it and genuinely want it, sh*tty f*cking mackerel.”

Chuuya wanted him to ask for it too? Dazai didn’t think he’d go that far, but he huffed and nodded again. “Fine. Can my slug f*ck me now or do I have to ask for that too?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” His grin felt looked sharp on his mouth as he leered down at Dazai, eyes bright with lust and so very, very hot. “How pretty can you sound begging me for it?”

Very pretty,Dazai thought.As pretty as Chuuya wants, as pretty as Chuuya asks.

Chapter 10: kintsuji (part three)

Chapter Text

“I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.”

― Margaret Atwood

Dazai never would’ve told Chuuya if he didn’t figure it out first, but sometimes his mind played tricks on him, too. Sometimes he’d be laying in bed, and then he’d slip and open his eyes to a table in his head.

The table was always the same color; some expensive african blackwood carved into with designs at the edges. It was outrageously priced, but maybe that’s why it was put in that room, that room in particular. It shone best there with the lighting, the lighting that never changed. The lights were never turned off in that room, he knew because he could never tell how long he was sitting there for.

His knees hurt. There were chairs, but he was too short to sit properly, so he was on his knees on the chair. Too big for a booster seat but too small to see over the edge easily. He was on the chair, the chair that only kind of matched the table, with one leg just a hair shorter than the other three. It made him wobble if he moved, clattering the sound against polished floors and leaving scuff marks. He learned to sit perfectly still.

The chandelier didn’t suit the rest of the house, but it suited this room. This empty, empty room with the candles behind him casting shadows forward, leaving him with the illusion of being at the head of the table to cast the longest shadow forward. He was at the foot of the table, sitting quietly, sitting perfectly.

The lighting made the table look darker. He could see little crescent moons carving little bloody nails into the wood. There were flecks of darkness that never showed up except in his head, leaving dark splotches from his own nervous habits. He sat, and sat, and sat, staring at the dark wood. It would never be darker than the piano, that piano that was tapped, tapped, tapped at with a cane and then fingers, cane over fingers, fingers over cane, until the keys would never be pearly again.

His heart beat once before stilling again.

The lights shook briefly, a wobble striking the room with contact in the walls, the buzzing of flies, the stench of warm, cooked rot that flooded his senses. He heard the squelch of something food, the sounds of it going into a mouth but never being swallowed. He looked at the table. He looked at the nails. He looked at the moons.

For a moment, he forgot to blink before realizing he should. There was red, the kind of red that made him think of headpats that didn’t belong to him, not at this age. The headpats that came from red hair and blue eyes and smokes that never lit with him present. He was too small to be useful. He was only just big enough to start sitting at the table, albeit on his knees. His elbows perched off the edge, the small fingers lacing together and twitching.

He would bite at his lips if he could. The good doctor would tell him to stop if he did. He was still alone in the room, but never as alone as he wanted to be. He still wasn’t big enough to even lift his head. He would be, though. He would be.

Because he was sitting at the foot of the table, staring down at the table and never looking up, he only just barely caught that warm red walking away. He felt the phantom burn of a hand on his shoulder before it was gone altogether and the door shut.

Shut, shut, shut.

Four doors. There were four doors to this room. Each one was heavy, too heavy for him to open. Maybe he’d lift his head one day, but he would never be able to open those doors. He couldn’t open anything in the room. It all had to be done for him, but it was rarely ever done.

A terribly sweet voice cooed at him from his right,“Ş̛͔̭͉̩̺͉͒ͨ͌͛̋ͥ̌͛ͣ̉ͫ̔͗̀̓̇̍̆͠͝͠͝_̯̺̗̣͐̏̒̄͊͞͞h̗_̸̸̰̜̙̥̙͇͑̆̄̿̂͌͒͑̀́̔͗͢͜͞͠͞͞_̴̪̜̖̳̏ͭ̓͛ͭ͌̕̚͘u̵̶̢͈̭̥̼̩̖̗̤̟̗̜̩ͩͭ̋̃̽̌ͣͬͬ̔͗͘̚͘u̵̶̧͖̭͈̭̝̺̟̦̍ͥͦͦ̐́̑̌̀͒̏̆ͤͣ͂̃̄ͮ͘͞_̱̹̩̗͈́̚͢j̵̸̩͈̣̻͍̰͖̰̹͔̲͍̺̝̫̲̓ͧ̋̅̅ͥ͆͊̏̀̉̄̀ͨ̓̂̽̒̄͑ͣ̾̒ͩ͒ͧ̕͟į̴̴̶̮̪̤͖͉̠̰̣̜̭͕̣̤̰̉̊́̾̓͂̌̀̎̊ͬ̄̽͐͊̽ͦ̃͂̿̈́̉͘͘̚͟͢͠ͅ,won’t you play for us?”

His head started to tilt-

(The nightmare usually stopped there before he could look up. He wasn’t supposed to look up, was never supposed to unless he wanted to be in trouble for it.)

-and as he stared up into eyes twice as empty and half as real as his own, a smile cracked open his face.

He became the Happy Child and set his fingers to the piano.

Dazai woke up.

His eyes were still shut, just in case, but he knew he was awake. It wasn’t light out(no lights, no chandeliers, no pianos)but they had enough lights plugged in(warm yellow, black wood, crescent moons)that he could see around himself well enough. Chuuya kept the lights on, which was fine, but when he looked over to the alarm clock, he saw that it was one in the morning. They’d gone to sleep only two hours before.

Dazai sighed, so very quietly, and settled in to wait.

Exhaustion wouldn’t pull at his eyes, no matter how many days went by with this routine, so he stared upwards and did his best not to think about pianos and dark wood, cast into clarity by the same warm light of their bedroom.

It took four more hours before Chuuya twitched awake.

He felt Chuuya shift to the side before yawning long and loud. When he shifted again, Dazai closed his eyes, stilling very purposefully but unable to perfectly replicate sleep after only two hours of it. Chuuya was observant, too, so when he tried, he was caught almost immediately.

“Hey,” he heard Chuuya murmur very quietly. “Are you awake?”

Dazai didn’t react, but he could tell that Chuuya was sure that he was awake now as he drummed his fingers against Dazai's shoulder. “I'm gonna get some water, one second.”

When Chuuya came back, Dazai had given up on pretending and was sitting up against their pillows, knowing better than to pretend. That would only make Chuuya more upset, and he could see just how tired he was now. Chuuya set the glasses on the nightstand and tapped their lamp on, too, alighting the room in a slightly less warm glow. He climbed into bed and pulled Dazai into him, allowing Chuuya to arrange them until they were semi-cuddling, propped against the pillows. He reached over and handed a cup to Dazai before taking a sip of his own water.

“Why are you up so early?” Dazai asked casually, trying to hide the way he felt so keenly detached from himself as he laid there.

Chuuya settled his chin on Dazai's shoulder. He shivered silently in his bones. “I wanted to get water,duh,but nice try. Why were you up?”

“I was just… not tired anymore,” Dazai shrugged a bit, but he couldn’t quite cover the way his jaw tensed and his body locked up.

“Right,” Chuuya said with a tone that conveyed just how little he believed Dazai. Then, with a breath that sounded irritated- and understandably so- he asked, “...nightmares?”

.

..

No,he wanted to scream. But blood-stained ivory keys were playing over in his head.

“About… why you left the mafia?” Chuuya pressed, just a bit, and Dazai was so thankful for Chuuya being both perceptive and dumb.

“Not entirely,” he said, trying for sincere but only sounding stiff even to his own ears (it was a little sincere, a little true, but the nightmare wasn’t about something as silly and self-indulgent as leaving). “But…” he swallowed roughly,“yeah,”Dazai breathed the admission, feeling how it burnt his throat to speak even though it wasn’t the truth.

“Wanna talk about it?” Chuuya asked lightly, his tone speaking nothing about his preference. Dazai shook his head, feeling bone-shattering laughter splinting his lungs and crackling, knocking, shattering his vocal cords because how could heevertalk about it? “You said that wasn’t all?” He asked immediately after, the question freezing something hot and fiery inside of him.

He didn't want to, but ifChuuya asked,then-

Then-

“You really don’t stop,” Dazai spoke plainly, letting the fact sit in the air between them. Chuuya would never stop pushing, never stop reminding Dazai of the leash tied to his neck, but maybe that was okay. He couldn’t talk about the piano, he couldn’t talk about the voice or the doctor or the food and the sound, but… “It’s…” he whispered so softly he might as have not spoken at all.

“Hm?” Chuuya asked, leaning away to look at him.

Dazai met his eyes once and looked down into his cup of water, steadying himself. “The lights.”

“...what about them?"

He fidgeted a bit with his fingers before deciding that saying nothing would’ve been better after all. “Nothing.”

“Nope. Absolutely not. You don’t get to brush things under the rug anymore.” Chuuya gently tugged the cup out of Dazai’s hands, trembling gently. He tried to get them to stop doing that. They didn’t stop.

Chuuya stared at him very critically, the look in his eyes sharpening the longer he stared. Dazai, whose brain was still very firmly checked out, could only stare ahead, trying not to think very hard about anything at all.

It took a long few minutes for Chuuya’s eyes to widen slightly in realization. His tongue darted out to lick his lips, looking well and truly anxious. “sh*t, Dazai, why…”

Why….

Why.

Ah.

Of course Chuuya was upset. Dazai wasn’t good if he couldn’t even…. if he couldn’t even fall asleep when he was supposed to. Now Chuuya was awake and frustrated and tired, and Dazai couldn’t fall asleep because his brain would shut off and the light was piercing, the warm tint of it being worse, and now….

“I don’t…know,”Dazai bit out, the admission painful but doing his best to work out an explanation, an apology, he wasn’t sure. His brain felt so scrambled that he couldn’t even think right. “I can’t stop thinking when I can see, so…”

So, what? So what? He didn’t have an answer. He didn’t have anything else to say.

“f*ck, mackerel,” Chuuya blurted out, loud and upset and just the sound of it had him curling in on himself, too dizzy to do anything but weather it. “You’re supposed to tell me sh*t like this!” He raked a hand through his hair and kept the other firmly wrapped around Dazai, making him feel ore trapped than he’d felt in a long time. “If you told me we could’ve gotten like, I don’t know, blackout curtains or something.” What? “We don’t…” He watched Chuuya look around, something so upset in his expression as he did so. “We don’t need nightlights in here.”

But they do. They do, for Chuuya. “But Chuuya doesn’t like the dark,” Dazai said, because it was true. Chuuya hated the dark. He wasn’t necessarily scared, he just…. he just looked miserable in the darkness.

“It’s… it’s fine when you- when I’m not…by myself.”

Oh.

Dazai fell asleep that night in pitch blackness, tucked under Chuuya's arm, and wondered if Chuuya was trying to be mean. He was doing an excellent job of it, if he was.

In a world of fear – for love humane
A part of nature’s gift – I say
We struggled and strived – Sacrificed our strife
To reach each other – through this thorny path

In the sea of love – we shall emerge
In water, so pure – we shall submerge
Our emotions; So wild! and the meaning of true-
-love, As said shall never be false

Love so true and religious hate
The faith so fake! Never to Break!
With you my love, hell is heaven
We shall, with pride – rot together

To you my love, on our wedding day
I pledge in front of all portrayed
In tears and laughter, which you may face
Within your heart, Where I will stay.

-Jurelle White,A Wedding Vow

“Chuuya Nakahara?”

There were very few occasions where Dazai would get on a bike with Chuuya driving it. He wasn’t fond of moving things in the first place, and Chuuya drove recklessly. It would be a stunning suicide, complete with the two of them, but the awful reminder of just how painful it would be and how far Chuuya would go to keep the both of them from dying even if they did get into an accident meant that he was jumping at the opportunity. Really, he wouldn’t have agreed, but….

“Chuuya’s a horrible driver,” Dazai complained as they narrowly avoided a collision when Chuuya turned again despite the slower speed, voice muffled by Chuuya’s jacket.

“Get your license before you start talking sh*t,” Chuuya rolled his eyes (Dazai couldn’t see but he knew, anyway), pulling into a lot in front of the supermarket and parking the motorcycle there in the motorbike lot. He grabbed the padlock and swung his leg over the bike, chaining it to the rack. With a mocking flourish, he extended his hand to Dazai, who stared at it for a second, not entirely sure what to make of it. “Well? Come on princess, we've got sh*t to do.”

Princess.

Princess.

Haah-

Dazai felt his lungs wheezing and his breathe come short and every inch of him lock up and his face warm. He hated that nickname, he really did, and maybe if he told himself that he hated it enough times, he’d start to believe that he really didn’t like it after all. He took the hand regardless and got off the bike, his mind flitting through ways to smooth over the silence that had held for a beat too long. “Chuuya's an awful prince. Too short and slug-like- ow!”

“Shut up,” Chuuya dug his heel into Dazai's foot and used the hand Dazai accepted to adjust his hold to settle over his sickly thin wrist. He dragged him into the store by the wrist, then let go to grab a shopping cart. “Stay by the cart. Or better yet, keep a hand on it.”

“I’m not a child,” Dazai grumbled, but he did walk a bit closer to Chuuya as they walked through the bakery section. “You sure you don’t want to get a booster seat and sit in the cart? You might get tired with how short your legs are.”

Chuuya tried to kick him again, but Dazai danced out of reach. “f*ckoff,holy sh*t. Can you lay off for like two f*cking seconds? You can’t even talk when you’re a twig-”rude“-you sure you’re not gonna get tired? At least I work out.”

Chuuya was tossing in random foods into the cart, sweets and fruits that made his stomach twist just looking at them.

Dazai pouted. “Chuuya likes that he’s stronger than me though. It makes it easier for you to pick me up in the shower and-”

“-Blueberry or raspberry!” Chuuya shouted, cutting Dazai off and attracting more attention than he figured Chuuya wanted. He held up the yogurt jars, a strained and manic grin on his face that fully conveyed every empty threat Chuuya was thinking.

It was later, when he was comparing prices against the bags of sugar, that Chuuya had given himthat look.

By calculating the unit price, he could compare items with different prices per pound, price per ounce, or any other weight or volume unit. He could also compare multi-item packages with different weights or volumes, like a 6-pack of soda cans vs. bottles or half a dozen eggs vs. a dozen. Some of the bags of sugar computed theirs differently, and he noticed that some weren’t even filled all of the way.

It was weird. Dazai had never actually gone grocery shopping beyond picking up a few cans of food here and there when his body hurt too bad to ignore the pangs of hunger any longer. Now, with Chuuya, he was realizing that there was an almost art to it. Deals, sales, unit prices, calculations….

Suddenly he was realizing why Chuuya stared so long whenever he used to go shopping, when Dazai would follow him around (stalk him) to see what he was up to.

Unit price even included fixed costs, variable costs, overheads, direct labor, and a margin of profit to sustain the business activities and earnings of the organization. An organization could not sustain selling at lower prices consistently. Similarly, the customers would not purchase the product if the value perceived is lower than the price charged.

Some bags labelled the unit price (though he found it was incorrect on one of the bags) while others just slapped anew dealsign on them with little more information. A lot of the bags had different ingredients- or rather, ‘traces’- listed. It was likely based on the factory they were produced in. There were a lot of different types of each sugar as well.

One of the bags seemed hardly filled at all. He unrolled the package (not realizing until later, when Chuuya chastised him for it, that that was not something one was supposed to do in a grocery store) and sneezed at the little cloud that burst up.

“sh*t,”he heard Chuuya say from where he’d left him at the other end of the aisle.

“What?” Dazai asked, turning his head and squeezed the bag a little too hard when he did, more flour puffing up to cover him. He didn’t care, though.

Huh.

The look on Chuuya’s face was… it was sosoft.

“Nothing,” Chuuya said, face red. “Wipe your face, f*cking idiot.”

Not looking away from Chuuya’s face, his mind still running and rerunning over that expression, Dazai let a lecherous smirk stretch across his face. “Was it something dirty?”

“What-?!”

“Chuuya!” Dazai gasped with a faux scandalized expression. “In public? You dog~!"

Chuuya kicked him, then slapped a hand over his mouth. “Shut the f*ck up!” He hissed, eyeing customers who'd stopped to stare. He glared at them.

While Chuuya embarrassedly ran damage control on their surroundings, Dazai hummed a little in contemplation as he tried to dull his own reaction.

He knew, for all of his teasing, that dirty thoughts weren't the reason Chuuya had looked at him like that. Chuuya had a very distinct expression when he was turned on.

But…

Dazai blushed a little. That expression had been- well- he'd seen glimpses of it before, but never like that, never so open. There was no way getting flour on his face during a moment of distraction from the way the fluorescent lighting reflected in his blue eyes had put that kind of expression on Chuuya's face. He wanted to dig at it more, question Chuuya until he served every answer he sought on a fiery golden platter. But that wouldn't get him anywhere. That wouldn't make Chuuya happy.

He'd have to figure it out. If only because he wanted to see Chuuya look at him that way again, and again, and maybe for the better part of forever.

When they got back to the apartment, Dazai was tasked with putting up the blackout curtains. The blackout curtains Chuuya had insisted on getting despite his protests. It was too considerate for no reason, but whatever.Whatever.Chuuya was doing a lot of things he didn’t quite get. He messed with them for a long moment before gathering himself enough to go out to the kitchen.

Chuuya was putting the wine away in the fridge when he walked out, a few other groceries still scattered around for lunch. Lunch that Chuuya would definitely make him eat, whether he liked it or not. The yogurt was put away though, the dairy-free kind that Chuuya was obnoxious about, just as obnoxious he was about the coconut-milk ice cream.

There was some sort of poetic nihilism in the strongest ability in the world being used to put away groceries. If Dazai were any sort of poet, he would’ve come up with prose to reconcile the scene into literature- but between the two of them Chuuya was more likely to be into poetry and Dazai never claimed to possess any kind of linguistic elegance.

(But he did, though, thrumming through him darkly and scripting his thoughts into prose he couldn't ignore)

Dazai was entirely sure that Chuuya didn’t notice, but he could tell that he missed Kouyou almost desperately. Chuuya was the kind of person who loathed thinking about people not in his life- hence why he hardly ever talked about the Sheep or the Flags or Tachihara or Kouyou. It wasn’t like Dazai’s attempt at coping through avoidance. Some might call ithealthythat Chuuya didn’t tend to ruminate.

Still, it was a little bit obvious when the months rolled past and Chuuya put a bottle of red wine in the fridge.

Chuuya never refrigerated wine. He’d actually waxed poetic about it once while drunk that a refrigerator for wine was stupid and a regular refrigerator ‘ruined’ the wine. He had wine pearls he kept chilled, a fancy-looking bucket he filled with salted ice, and he kept grapes in the freezer for the purpose of putting them in his wine to chill it quickly at a moments’ notice. Putting wine in the refrigerator was something Kouyou did, lying it down on its side.

Dazai was entirely certain that Chuuya did not realize why he’d done it, but he did. Chuuya picked out curtains with a fringed trim that made them look oddly dated in their apartment. They weren’t his taste, but Dazai could remember seeing similar curtains in Kouyou’s office.

There were other things, dozens littered about their apartment that were adopted habits from other people who Chuuya had been close with. He wondered how many previously existing habits were from the Sheep. He knew some of Chuuya’s non-habits were because of them, like how he didn’t wear wrist jewelry and used to rub the space where his bracelet used to sit.

Chuuya missed the people he left behind. Dazai wasn’t sure Chuuyaknewhe missed them.

“Why do you have a chair?” Dazai asked as he walked over finally, grabbing a lollipop out of the small sweets bowl Chuuya set out on the counter.

“Because some people aren’t miles up from the ground,” Chuuya said as he stepped down from the chair, clearly anticipating a comment about his height.

Well, that wasn’t fun.

“No,” Dazai popped the sucker out of his mouth, a little smirk curling at the edge of his lips. “I mean, why don’t you just use your ability?”

“Did you hit your head putting the f*cking curtain up?” Chuuya muttered, eyeing Dazai suspiciously. “You’re the one who said we can’t use abilities.”

It’d been months since Chuuya used For the Tainted Sorrow, and it was obvious that the itch under his fingers was bordering on unbearable. Technically, abilities didn’t need to be used, but Chuuya’s was a bit… well, different, so before Dazai coerced him into getting on that plane, he usually used it for mindless chores here and there.

“Well yeah, when you’re outside,” Dazai raised an eyebrow, the fakest expression of genuineness he could manage spreading across his face as he watched Chuuya slowly get angrier and angrier. “Don’t tell me-” he put a hand over his chest, “did Chuuya misunderstand me? Of course you can use your ability here. Who would even know, anyway?”

A second.

Two, three.

Then-

“Asshole!”Chuuya shrieked, grabbing the pillow off of the chair and lighting it up with his ability. “You watched me do sh*t like this for months!” He launched the pillow at Dazai. His ability flickered out the moment it touched him, but Dazai’s ability couldn’t stop the momentum it gained as it just barely managed to put him on his ass with the force of it.

“Chuuya! It’s not my fault you didn’t- ah!” Dazai scrambled out of the way of another pillow Chuuya dove into the living room to grab and chuck at him. Dazai kept a hold on the first pillow and threw the other one back.

“You hadmonthsto say anything,” Chuuya shouted, catching the pillow tossed at him. Instead of throwing it back, he dove into where Dazai was sprawled on the carpet holding his pillow up as a shield. “You’re such a f*cking brat!” He yelled, reaching his hands out around the pillow, fighting away Dazai’s kicks- Dazai managed to kick him in the face once, leaning back and away as he saw Chuuya’s hands come closer, closer-

He started tickling Dazai.

Tickling was worse than torture.

Dazai wasn’t sure if that statement was true, or if it was only honest because he hadn’t been tortured in months, but it felt true.

Chuuya shifted both hands to gently rub Dazai’s stomach and sides with his palms, probably to help offset the cramping that was already making his stomach ache. “You’re unbearable,” he said, but it sounded more fond than anything else.

“The worst,” Dazai drawled sarcastically, nodding like he agreed.

“You make me want to scream,” he sighed with another upwards sweep to just below Dazai’s nipples.

“Chuuya does too,” he huffed, humming when Chuuya moved his hands over a particularly sore spot of his skin.

That made Chuuya pause. “The hell do I do that drivesyoucrazy?”

Whatdidn’the do? At that point, Dazai wasn’t sure if Chuuya was stupid or oblivious or both, because that was such a ridiculous question to ask when the answer waseverything.

Dazai peeked an eye open from where they’d fluttered halfway closed. He grinned teasingly. “None of your business!” He chirped, settling back into the touch.

“Bullsh*t,” Chuuya responded, but he pulled his hands away and stood up, ignoring Dazai’s pout at the separation. He put his hair up as he walked to their room to change, a half-up bun that made something gross tingle inside of him. “I’m making lunch, so put a show on.”

Dazai acquiesced and got up to sit on the couch, replacing the pillows before Chuuya flipped over it. He put on My Little Pony and sat back. Lunch was going to be awful, he could already tell. Chuuya was trying to make him gain weight, so the things he made were always packed with nutrients and stupid things like that.

There was something they got that might not be as awful. But Chuuya was already making food and asking for it wouldn’t yield anything-

.

The curtains.

Chuuya really was the most awful person Dazai had ever met.

“Can we have yogurt?” Dazai’s called from the living room, doing his best to keep his voice from trickling out at the end, but failing miserably.

There was a pause from the kitchen, during which Dazai thought he might be sick, but after a moment, he heard, “sure. I was making something light anyway.”

It was too simple, but Chuuya was too simple, so Dazai let the moment fade into colorful ponies and the smell of food he wouldn’t be able to finish.

Dazai ducked into an alleyway and pressed himself there for less than a second, taking off his hoodie and folding it around his waist to expose the sweater he'd layered underneath before walking back out and skirting into the large store.

He faked milling around the store and paintings before darting straight to the blankets.

His fingers danced along the fabric, cringing at the feeling until- bingo. Soft fabric that felt like it slipped through his fingers, not a single alarm bell ringing in his head.

Dazai grabbed it and paid quickly in self-checkout with cash.

And then his phone rang.

“Dazai where thehellare you?!Chuuya's frantic voice came from the other end.

He blinked, a weird fog he hadn't noticed in his brain dissipating a little bit. “....Orléans.”

Chuuya audibly took a breath to steady himself.“Dazai. Mackerel. Dumbass. Why thef*ckare you in Orléans.”

“I.. .”

He blinked down at the shopping bag on his arm, for the first time since he left snapping into some semblance of awareness.

Whatwashe doing?

“I got a blanket,” he said, simply because he didn't know what else to say.

“Why didn't you just do that in Paris?”

Dazai didn't answer, a lump building in his throat where logic was supposed to be.

“....okay, just come home. I'm making dinner.”Dazai heard the clanging of the pans from the other end of the speaker.“D’ya wanna stay on the phone?”The sound was muffled, and he could tell Chuuya probably had it balanced between his shoulder and face.

He did, but he felt a little too numb at the realization that he'd fallen into old patterns. After a moment of silence, Chuuya sighed.

“You wouldn't believe the sh*t Dubois tried to pull today with one of my designs…."

Chuuya chattered into his ear even as he got on a train and spent over an hour making his way back to their penthouse. Dazai never responded, but Chuuya didn't ask.

If he’d gotten nice things for himself in Yokohama, then Mori would’ve known about it. He would’ve known and then taken it away and made him hold while he did something…. something awful. He would ruin the object for him until looking at it made him sick.

Dazai looked down at the blanket and realized that Mori didn’t even need to be in the same country to do anything as bile built in his throat. He wondered how he’d started ruining things for himself, too.

(“That’s a nice blanket,” Chuuya had said, sounding very intent on being sensitive.

It’s really not,Dazai screamed for only himself to hear.)

If there was any downside to moving countries, it was that mafia spies really did exist anywhere. Only a few weeks in and Dazai was already finding bugs placed around the apartment. He destroyed them all before Chuuya noticed. He deserved to only focus on work. Getting rid of things like this could be left for Dazai.

I often surprise many people in many ways
With the words I say…with the actions I make…
It’s extraordinary how many seek high praise
With the words they say…with the actions they fake…

Neither will I…
Assume the worst in people in general
Will you hear my cry
Of a thousand cries combined? Not at all?

Frustrated by the insanity of our lives
We are bothered bees in their busy hives
If I sway away from the truth and be led astray,
I pray it won’t last long…I will live another day…

Neither will I…
Live another day with you in mind
Wingless and dry
Dampen my silhouette of glory find

Long live knowledge from the Word of Life with love above all
I am fixated on my downfalls, completely jaded by your ignorant grace
I am glad to say all is doing well for the most part…I'm on the top roll-call
Embrace the tribulations at hand and be brazen without a doubtful trace

Neither will I…
Embrace the abominations I have committed long ago
So low and high…
I know that I was worthless and weak, grazing to and fro

Wandering aimlessly into the night
What turned out to be darksome discouragement
Neither will I be disheartened by dismissed courage
I long for the uprising of the light
To guide me along the way with encouragement
I will follow your lead with debris under the bridge

I will either borrow your might or become my own Knight
However, if I am vacant and hollow like your ever-glowing victory,
I might fall into the gravity of my demise with all its might
In spite of all that, I will have faith that all will be alright frankly

And…I feel somewhat empty inside and I don’t know why strangely
Now, I am staring daydreamingly into your gaze endearingly
I want someone to lean on, but I need more than sympathy
I am haunted by the shadows of the past and its vile iniquity

Neither will I…will I…
Be tortured and ashamed entirely
By your begrudging eye
Uncanniness and unhappiness – you and me

So, concentrate on the road and never go back to where we used to be…
His Spirit of serenity is my abode that will ultimately give you sight of sincerity
I know you have roamed so far…there’s no where to flee, so save me
Your senseless words are still arrows that pierce my inner being…possibly…

Neither will I
Be pierced by your spears of shimmering shadiness
I want to die
Alive in your throne of your unchanging lack of radiance

Instead, I hesitate and sigh in irreplaceable relief
I won’t hate on you for your selfish grief
I am immensely happy for your joys' sake alone
I will always believe in you, even if It’s not shown

Neither will I
Cease from believing in you – no trust will do –
Despite the lie
That rue, angst and guilt wage inside you too

Relieve the sorrow from my scorching lips of fury
Oh, please don’t hurt me anymore by further injury
Your pride of past humility is making our hearts thump…in every road, there’s a bump
My appreciation of future goals and past accomplishments won’t lead me to the dump

Neither will my goals and accomplishments
Be something similar to yours
Neither will I submit to your sly resentments
Change our challenging chores

Run-on sentences and mindless shenanigans brew in my mind again
Thoughts and situations burn in me anger and embarrassment that embark against me
The dawn will make me move on till the dusk reminds me of where I’ve been
Tell me you care and you understand me wholeheartedly…frankly, that’s what I don’t see

I won’t be deceived by all the grays of your lies
I can’t be falling into the trap of denials and lullabies
Goodbye won’t mend my soul of saying 'hello' to happiness
Come to think of it, I am in this heap of ruins, sparked by madness

Neither will I
Be engulfed in your indulgence of arrogance
Trust in you is a lie
That will always cluster in our remembrance

Inspire me to sing the tune of tranquility
At the brink of excellent, delightful ecstasy
Yes, I surprise people at every angle because I am curious and intelligent
I will not be blind by following others in temporary trust…It’s hope-negligent

Neither will I
Drop my weapons and shields that protect me from you that guarded me true
I believed in you, can’t deny
Sorry, again, for misplacing our delicately desired deeds like a lonesome shoe

I am far from a genius' brilliance
I am near some form of resilience
Destiny is nowhere to be found when I am held down
Let me be me for once or I will weave my smile into a frown
You are precious as an emerald stone from the majestic, mighty mountains
I am in marvel every time you reveal to me your faithful frenzy of fervor fountains
That, my friend or foe, is true
But, I am not ardent like you

Neither will I
Be as ardent in authentic cheer
I will not cry
With fear accompanied by a tear

I am here
Hear me out
My dear,
You lead me to your route
Of harmful doubt and about
I do fear…
You hardened not only one ear,

But the other keen ear…as it will appear when the end of days draw near…

I am terrified by the fact that you doubted me
For the longest, I’ve been put down for feeling free
So, let me say this, I am sorry for your loss of prudent vitality
You do you for now on and I will hold my horses immediately

I am eager for what lies ahead
I am meandering in utter dread
Neither will I
Deny it or even try
To erase the memories
That we held dear for years
You are a shattered tease…
Drowning me in ancient tears

Let me fall if I must make a fall
Let me stand tall if I must stand tall
Don’t strand me in the wilderness on my knees
Don’t abandon me, oh dear God, and do as you please

Don’t sear me once more with your muffled murmurs
Of your magma-felt misery…it deprives me of cures…
It won’t help me to endure the engulfing endeavors of yesterday
It won’t even rescue me from the waters of my wretched way

The way I chose…
It scars me forever
It’s a poetic prose
Of a happily-ever-never
Of a miracle that won’t deliver
Of a curse that is only a blur

Neither will I
Mention it to you
Well, I can’t lie
Deny the lies so true

-J.W. Earnings,The Hardships of Honest- Neither Will I

In terms of age, gender and socio-economic status, the group most at risk of suicide in the UK are men in the lowest social class in their mid-years (Wyllie et al., 2012). In the UK men are three times more likely to die by suicide than women (ONS, 2018). More information on the issues affecting men is available in our report: Men and Suicide: why it’s a social issue.

For up-to-date suicide statistics you can visit our website: Suicide facts and figures. There are a range of psychological, situational, societal and individual background factors that can interact with and impact on a person’s suicide risk. It is helpful to convey this complexity where possible in suicide-related plotlines and avoid simplistic explanations which attribute a suicide attempt or death to a single incident. For information on the reasons why people can become vulnerable to suicide, see the guidance on our website: If you’re worried about someone.

Sensitive stories depicting mastery over a crisis and hopeful stories of recovery can help to encourage readers, who may be suffering in silence, to reach out for help. These can serve as reassurance that suicidal General considerations when writing about suicide and self-harm feelings can be worked through and will pass, particularly if the character seeks help and chooses to live. Indicating any ‘reward’ following a suicide death or attempt (Stack, 2005) can inadvertently promote the idea of achieving something through death which is not perceived to be possible in life.

Examples include storylines depicting separated parents reuniting following a suicide attempt by their child or suggesting people will be held to account for their actions, such as bullies being shamed and made to feel sorry for their behaviour. Similarly, describing a death by suicide as a release, setting a person free from their troubles in life, or providing peace can romanticise the idea. This can romanticise the idea of suicide and could lead to a vulnerable person believing a death by suicide could resolve the problems they face in life.

Young people are more susceptible to media influence and are more likely to imitate suicidal behaviour (Gould, Jamieson & Romer, 2003). With this in mind, it is advisable to avoid overly dramatising a suicide, as this can romanticise or glorify the behaviour and inadvertently promote it to people who may be vulnerable.

Portrayal of suicide methods

Research shows that portraying a suicide as easy, quick, peaceful and/or pain-free can influence a person’s decision to make a suicide attempt (Tsai et al., 2011). Care should be taken to avoid portraying a suicide attempt as something that can quickly be recovered from, for example describing a character returning to normal life within hours or days. Avoid introducing new or uncommon methods of suicide or self-harm into the public consciousness. Evidence shows that such portrayals can result in increases in the use of new methods…,

He could remember reading the pamphlet on Mori’s desk like it was yesterday. “I’m trying to address your habit,” he’d said, with that same simple smile stretching his lips and leaving Dazai empty. “I think we should start with that book of yours, perhaps.”

“No,” Dazai had whispered, feeling so dead and wishing it were more than just a feeling when Mori nodded too easily.

“I figured you’d say that. I think we ought to send you off somewhere, but I can’t imagine being separated from you for too long,” he had sighed like he really did care. And maybe he did, maybe something in him cared, but it wasn’t something Dazai wanted anything to do with. “If I tried to put therapy, you wouldn’t attend, now would you?”

“You know the answer.”

Mori nodded again. “Yes, I suppose I do. How about you come later tonight and we can further discuss the matter? Having someone trusted to speak to can’t hurt, now, can it?”

Dazai remembered going, but he also remembered having ducktape put over his mouth. They did not talk about him being suicidal.

They also did not talk about a remedy, but Mori did say he’d keep inviting him back to his bedroom if he made another effort at trying to kill himself. Dazai went two weeks without another attempt, but he ended up back there eventually. The attempt hadn’t even been that serious; maybe Dazai was too broken without Mori. Maybe he couldn’t figure out how to function without being useful to someone.

At the very least, he didn’t have to think about those things when he was in Mori’s bed.

He was useful to Chuuya, now, but even that wasn’t a perfect arrangement. Chuuya wouldn’t even threaten him with a knife.

Speaking of knives, Mori took away Dazai’s knife privileges years ago. Chuuya used to enforce it, but now Chuuya seemed sure that Dazai wouldn't grab a knife when he was really low. It wasn’t simple to say that he was going to kill himself with one of their kitchen knives, but he wasn’t going to refrain if he got to that point and he had the means to do it.

It was an hour and a reused length of bandages later when Dazai realized that Chuuya was home earlier than usual.

“Dazai,” He heard Chuuya swallow, walking closer slowly to stand in front of him, lifting up the wrist for closer inspection. When Dazai tried tugging it away, a panicked clarity seeping into his bones(don’t let him see, don’t let him see, you’ll be in his bed, and you’ll be hurt, and it’ll hurt, and there’ll be pain, and he’ll leave),Chuuya let him. “Did you at least wrap it with new bandages?”

He didn’t even try to ask about the attempt itself. It made some kind of tension loosen in his chest, but he still felt deep in his mind, but not so deep as to not speak at all.

“They're clean,” Dazai said simply, not making eye contact. It was true. Kind of.

Chuuya's lips pursed and he could feel the disappointment radiating off of him and it burned right down to his core. “Reusing bandages is how you get infections, mackerel. Sit on the counter.”

Dazai stared at him for a long moment. Chuuya hadn't been ordering him; it was more of a light suggestion than anything else, but that made less sense than if it had been an order. While he thought about what he wanted to do, Chuuya rummaged for antiseptic, bandages, and tissues. He set everything out, not even daring to compromise on it. Finally, he swallowed, something thick and heavy travelling up his throat to suffocate him.

He got on the counter.

Dazai would’ve joked about how it made him even taller than Chuuya than usual when his slug turned around, but it was all he could do to keep himself up there, feeling so wired it was impossible not to flinch when Chuuya reached out to touch him. Chuuya was patient as ever, waiting with his hand outstretched until he relaxed back into it himself. He unwrapped the old bandages slowly until his entire arm was bare and the injury was revealed to him.

It was ugly. He knew, even when Chuuya sighed and scanned the injury, every little crevice and slice and edge and the slow beginnings of scabbing.

“I'm gonna disinfect it, okay?” Chuuya narrated to Dazai, and, insanely, he pressed his lips to his knuckles, touching his skin like it was nothing. He always did, but it struck him as being especially odd, disgusting even, now. His skin shouldn’t be touched by someone like Chuuya. Chuuya, who didn’t deserve this, who didn’t deserve to have to look at him. “Colors are good here too. Let me know how you're feeling. If you don't want to talk, just tap my arm and I'll check in.”

.

…

And, that-

Well.

Dazai nodded numbly, caught between confusion and feeling so deeply surprised that it was all he could do. Was it really valid? Dazai didn’t really use the colors, even when he thought he might need to, because it was only a blanket offer, right? It was just there to make Chuuya feel better and less like he was f*cking a useless doll.

But for all his impossible requests, Chuuya had always been bad at lying.

When Chuuya reached for his arm, Dazai croaked out a soft, tentative, testing, “red.”

And ridiculously, impossibly, Chuuyadropped his handsand took a step back immediately, his eyes snapping up with what Dazai was suddenly very convinced was genuine concern. Concern for him.

Helistened.

He actually….

“Are you okay?” Chuuya asked, still scanning him, still looking worried. Dazai felt a little hysterical at that, because that was genuine. It had to be, for Chuuya, because…. because….

“Mhm,” Dazai hummed, light years away but entirely present all at once. “Green.”

Chuuya stared at him. “....you're sure?”

“Yeah,” he affirmed, his toes wiggling and his head feeling clear, all of his aches and pains on another planet because Chuuya was listening to him.

“....okay,” Chuuya reached forward carefully and held his arm as he reached for the antiseptic.

“Red.”

He dropped his hand again with the same step back as before. “Mackerel, are you sure you're-”

“Green,” Dazai interrupted him, feeling so deeply transfixed by everything that Chuuya was, everything he really, genuinely was. With a raised brow, Chuuya slowly stepped forward again and touched him, though he didn't reach for the antiseptic. “Red,” he said, and when Chuuya backed away and dropped his hands, he swallowed heavily.

“Green.”

He stepped forward. “Hey-”

“Red.”

He backed away.

Dazai's lip was trembling but he felt so painfully present and aware, the haze that had been building over the course of the day fading away like it had never been there. When he let out a softly whispered“green,”he saw Chuuya’s eyes widen.

With his hands on Dazai, Chuuya rubbed his thumb into the softness of his skin and said, voice shaking a little bit, “I'm never going to touch you if you don't want me to.” He paused, then remedied the statement, “unless you’re lying on the ground dying, I’m going to listen to what you want.”

Dazai

believed

him.

“Chuuya can clean it,” Dazai said simply, letting his arm lay limp in Chuuya's hold, barely registering how wet his eyes were and how warm his entire body suddenly felt. It was the fastest he’d gotten out of his head during an episode, but he honestly would’ve been more surprised if it didn’t do the trick.

Chuuya gently disinfected each line, inspecting them for severity and cleaning away the excess blood. He spent an extra moment on the fourth before shrugging decisively, “you don’t need any stitches.”

It was a good thing for both of them. Dazai could stitch himself up with one hand easily and used to do it for Chuuya (who knew how to stitch a wound in theory but couldn’t stand needles), but it was always best if he didn’t. He remembered a few wounds marked in scars on Dazai’s skin where he’d gotten impatient with it halfway through, did a half-assed job, and ended up tearing them open before the day was done. Dazai used to tear stitches a lot. Dazai liked the scars made from Chuuya’s stitches the best.

Dazai hummed in acknowledgment as he worked quickly, rebandaging the arm with a tender kiss to the skin that made him squirm, oversensitive and unsteady. He could feel a burn of embarrassment and shame and self-aimed hatred at having someone else wrap his arms. It was familiar but it washumiliating.

Chuuya finished wrapping it quickly, drumming his fingers against the back of his hand as he stepped away. He watched as Chuuya grabbed down a can of food and opened it with a quick glow of his ability, using it to get a bowl and a fork down too.

“Sit on a chair,” Chuuya nudged him as he walked past and set the bowl in front of one of their island chairs on the other side of the counter. Dazai, his eyes flitting between the bowl and Chuuya, followed him quickly after carefully getting down while using his uninjured arm, accurately guessing that Chuuya would give him an earful for using it if he even tried.

He looked down at the bowl set in front of him. Crab. His favorite. His favorite brand, his favorite food, the fork swivelled to his right- Dazai tended to eat with his left, but it was hurt, so Chuuya…. hm. He watched Chuuya go about cleaning up, not a complaint in sight until he turned and they made eye contact.

“What is it?” Chuuya eyed him briefly before turning to the dishes again.

“I had a lot of canned crab,” Dazai spoke distantly, his hand pausing halfway to bringing the crab up to his mouth. He wasn’t sure if it was right to share, but Chuuya…. Chuuya deserved more from him, if he was already doing so much. Chuuya deserved everything that Dazai was until he’d wrung himself out.

“Mmh, yeah I know,” Chuuya wiped down the counter. “It’s all you’d eat.”

Dazai sat quietly for a minute, breathing and thinking and putting his words together. “Not ‘cause I liked it, not at first anyway,” he shared eventually, speaking softly, “it just didn’t spoil.”

Chuuya froze. “The shipping container?”

“...yeah.”

The silence persisted for a long time as Chuuya cleaned.

“I’m sorry for putting my Chuuya through this,” Dazai said ever so quietly as he finished nearly the whole bowl of food set before him, breaking Chuuya out of his thoughts.

He’d gotten better at apologies, but Chuuya looked more sad than happy for it. “Don’t apologize. For once you don’t have anything to say sorry for.”

“But-” he did. He definitely did.

“If you feel guilty then let me do what I want tonight,” Chuuya said softly, the words a caress against Dazai’s ear with his fingers dancing against his wrist.

And that made sense. That made a lot of sense. Dazai wasn’t sure if anything that night made more sense than those words. Chuuya deserved it. Chuuya deserved everything. “I don’t think I can get….”hard,he didn’t say. He could tell that Chuuya still kind of heard it anyway. “...but Chuuya can have me.”

“Anything I want?” Dazai’s nod was slow and hesitant, a lie because he’d say yes in a heartbeat to just about anything if Chuuya asked right. “Okay. Then I want you to get in the bath after I prepare it, with your arm over the side to keep your arm’s bandages dry.”

His grin widened at the nonsensical way Dazai’s eyes widened, desperate surprise building. “Huh-”

“Mmh, you’re right,” he hummed, tapping his lips faux thoughtfully as he injected just enough sarcastic drawl to sound perfectlyChuuya,“if you can’t get your bandages wet then I guess you’ll have to let me wash you without lifting a finger. After…. I want you to lay down and let me hold you. I want you to stay in bed all night, and I want you to eat breakfast with me tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Dazai breathed, feeling choked but so stupidlyreal.

Mafia parties had always been stuffy, tense affairs. Even among those who'd consider themselves partners and friends, there was always a lingering suspicion behind every pleasantry and business deal, so they'd been something to tolerate rather than enjoy.

This party was…. different.

For one, it was in an actual ballroom, apparently. Chuuya had read off the details and put the address into his phone.

“Small office party?” Dazai asked from beside him, staring out at the blatant and familiar opulence of the ballroom. Not too much fancier than he was used to, but still pretty fancy. Fancier, at the very least, than Chuuya had been describing to him.

Chuuya winced, hiding it before it was too obvious (even though Dazai still knew) and smirking instead as he started walking ahead towards a group of his coworkers. “What do you mean? This is small, comparatively.”

“Comparatively, he says,” Dazai muttered behind him, trailing along dutifully until he was stopped by a man with dyed red hair.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around,”his stuffy voice drawled, almost flirtatiously.

He was speaking in French, of course, so Dazai only had a faint idea of what was being said. He tell it was flirty, though, as Chuuya turned his head reflexively with a very affronted look on his face before he was covered by the man’s back.

“You’re rather handsome compared to some of the models I work with. What’s your name? What department are you usually in?”The man continued, his tone remaining flirty and accentuating whatever he was saying with a wink (Dazai caughtyou’re handsomeandwhat’s your nameandwhat department,so he should try to brush up on his conversational French. He could read it just fine and would be fluent if he put in some effort, but Chuuya spoke it well enough for both of them.)

“Ah! How about this, I’ll give you my information and the next time you’re around we can discuss poaching you from your current project to model lingerie-”

Chuuya finally stepped into the conversation at that statement (something about information and projects and lingerie), wrapping an arm around Dazai’s waist. It tempered some of the discomfort he’d been feeling from the conversation as he leaned into the touch a bit.“Emil, how are you?”

Emilglanced between them with a contemplative eye before his smile brightened. Dazai noticed the way his eye lingered a second longer on Chuuya, eyeing the divot of his waist and his face. In his defense, Dazai mused, Chuuya had a very pretty face, but he didn’t appreciate other people looking at him like that. Though it would’ve been a crime if he was the only one who noticed, so he brushed it off.“Good, good. Is this man one of your hat models, Chuuya?”

….a model? Dazai ran over the statement one more time in his head. Huh. Chuuya squeezed his waist a little lighter, his hand curling around him a little more as he laughed a bit.“Dazai’s definitely not a model.”

Nowthathe understood.

“Hey!” Dazai pouted, knowing his scars weren’t particularly attractive, but Chuuya still f*cked him regularly anyway. It wasn’t like he didn’t know that Chuuya was lying whenever he whispered stupid things likebeautifulandbaby,but seeing Emil’s eyes as they roved over his body, looking at the bandages with a question lingering made himuncomfortable.

“Has he considered it?”He asked Chuuya before looking at Dazai,“have you considered it?”

Dazai grinned as genuinely as he could manage at the moment, understanding enough to answer.“No, the hatrack here is the one interested in fashion. I think he’d get jealous if I stole his trademark look,”he tipped Chuuya’s hat off of his head and plopped onto his own.

Chuuya used the hand around his waist to pull him around and grab the hat off of his head. He grumbled as he rearranged it to sit nicely over his hair with his ponytail again, elbowing Dazai when he just laughed at his expense.

Emil just watched them, a weird smile on his face,“well, I hope the two of you have a good night. I might catch up with you later, but I need to talk about the delay on the bralettes with Katya.”

“Good luck getting her to talk about work at a party,”Chuuya waved him off.

“Chuuya’s popular,” Dazai mused as they were left to their own devices in the meantime.

Chuuya glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

He fingered a stray curl from Chuuya’s ponytail, somewhat admiring the way he glowed under the lighting. “We’ve only been here for a minute and people are already swarming you."

“I think that’s your fault more than mine,” Chuuya rolled his eyes. That wasn’t true.

It was hard to ignore how magnetic Chuuya was in a crowd. Dazai didn’t fully understand every word of French that was tossed around, but he did understand that Chuuya was handling the conversation elegantly, so social and blindingly bright that it was hard to not want to talk to him.

He was just…. he was just perfection. In the way that perfection was so rarely ever reached.

He’d tuned out the conversations by the time someone else walked up after the crowd’s numbers had dwindled, leaving them to their own devices. He shook someone’s hand and stood back to let them talk when-

“My husband,” Chuuya blurted out.

Husband. Chuuya’s husband. Chuuya introduced him as his husband.

It made sense. HewasChuuya’s husband, technically, but for him to introduce him like that to his coworkers was something else. He could’ve lied; it wasn’t like they wore rings or held a sign saying they were married. Roommate, date, fling- all were simple enough answers that would’ve sufficed for one event, but he went withhusband.

The guy- Mael, maybe, looked surprised, just as surprised as Dazai felt.“Ah, really? I was under the impression that you were eighteen, Chuuya.”

“We both are,”Dazai answered, still feeling a little light and odd from Chuuya easily admitting that they were married.

“Oh wow,”Mael looked between the two of them.“Well, I suppose young love has its perks, yes? When did the two of you meet?”

The conversation spiraled from there as more people came to hit on Chuuya (though Dazai could tell that for all his flirting, Mael was not interested), until Chuuya dragged him off to the center of the floor.

“Are we dancing, slug?” Dazai asked after a short yelp at the sudden tugging.

Chuuya looked back and raised an eyebrow. “Is that a no?”

Dazai just grinned, using their conjoined hands to twirl him without warning once they were out on the floor. “As long as Chuuya’s ready for me to take revenge.”

Before Chuuya could properly register and figure out what he was referring to, Dazai twirled him again, and then one more time, and again for good measure.

Learning to dance wasn’t an uncommon lesson mafia members learned. It became more likely the higher up the chain of command one got. As a newly appointed executive, Dazai was expected to learn every style of dance that might ever come up during an event.

Which was fine, he supposed. Dazai didn’t hate dancing or having Kouyou as an instructor, but then Chuuya was assigned to learn with him. It was downhill from there. Their first dancing lesson was together at fifteen years old. Chuuya had been fitted into heeled dress shoes to match Dazai’s height just a bit better so they could take turns leading with ease. Dazai had always been trained to lead, even before the mafia, before dancing was something briefly unexpected of him, but Chuuya was better at it. If not clumsy and annoying and obsessed with twirling him around until he puked.

“You can’t still be caught up from that, right?” Chuuya hissed as Dazai finally stopped twirling him long enough for them to fall into some kind of step, working together easily with all the familiarity dance lessons with Kouyou beat into them.

Dazai blinked innocently, but he couldn’t hide the twist of annoyance decorating his brow. “Caught up from what, Chuuya?”

“A good lead is soft but not subtle; clearly stating his intentions by moving himself, inviting his partner to follow along,” Kouyou lectured as she tapped at their feet with what was best described as a riding crop. It wasn’t any more or less harsh than what was used to teach Dazai to dance, so he stood confidently.

She turned again, pacing the floor and shooing away curious subordinates who’d peeked through the door to the gym’s ballet studio. “He is alert, eyes scanning the floor ahead of him, watching traffic, but is constantly aware of what is happening right in his arms. He treats his partner with respect, never forcing movement from them, but following them through their every movement. If he leads a step or a pattern and they interpret the movement differently than he had intended, he adapts to them rather than forcing change. The partner should have a sense of security and safety, knowing they can fully depend on the lead.”

Dazai had never been amazing at leading with Chuuya as his partner, but he did it well now, with a hand to Chuuya’s back and firm placements of his feet. Maybe the problem back then wasn’t either of their skills, but their unwillingness to mesh the way they did now.

He still couldn’t help himself from spinning Chuuya every other moment. It was easy when Chuuya was trying to make the dance work despite it, but his face looked a little pale after one, two, three more twirls.

“Will you stop already? I get it!”

“You made methrow up,”Dazai tossed back with a little, pointed smile that promised bloodshed on the dancefloor for past grievances. It was awful, honestly, and even now he could feel the phantom sensation of bile rising in his throat and knew he wouldn’t stop until Chuuya was almost at that point- almost, because they were at an event and Dazai was trying to be better. And he thought he was, now, if only a bit, but he would never claim to be a saint.

“An ideal partner puts their mass into their movement, allowing their lead to feel exactly where they are and what they are doing,” Kouyou spoke firmly as they moved in slow, awkward steps together, eyes firmly on the floor between them. Chuuya’s were glued to their feet, but Dazai was mostly watching to make sure he wasn’t about to have a heel jammed into his toes. “They adapt quickly to changes in direction, allowing their lead to take command, and trusting him explicitly with their safety and well-being on the dance floor. They savor the movements, taking the time to complete each one before moving on to the next. They embellish their steps, with a wave of the arm or a toss of the head, but does not interfere with what their partner is leading.”

Kouyou’s smile turned into something bloody and sharp as she dragged her eyes across the two of them. “They will make things difficult if the lead is not treating them well. They demand respect.”

As Dazai attempted to pull him into another spin, Chuuya crossed his foot over and pivoted into an improvised dip instead, forcing Dazai to support him instead.

“Hey,” Dazai blinked at him, still holding Chuuya up, arm supporting his waist as his leg shifted to keep them balanced and upright.

“Hey,” Chuuya snorted. He used their joined hands to lift himself back up and, with another pivot of his foot, took control. He wasn’t tall enough to spin Dazai until he puked anymore, but he noticed that Chuuya was tightening his hold on Dazai’s waist, shifting his hand dominantly and swaying him faster into a practiced motion that made Dazai’s eyes widen and throat bob anxiously.

“Chuuya,” Dazai spoke warningly, following his lead easily but glancing behind him with trepidation. He wouldn’t actually try to give him a concussion, and he knew that, but-“Chuuya.Chuuya, Chuuya, don’t-”

When the music reached another crescendo, Chuuya grinned viciously and lowered Dazai into a dangerously low dip, low enough that he had to engage his core for it to keep them both steady through the embellished transition into it. Dazai’s eyes were half-shut in dread as his scalp was barely an inch from brushing the floor.

“Doesn’t feel great on the other end, does it?” Chuuya snarked.

Dazai just huffed as he tapped Chuuya’s arm to signal him to bring them both up. “Chuuya started it with the spinning.”

“Today or three years ago?” He bit back. “Can’t you let it go by now?”

“I would,” Dazai offered. “But that wouldn’t be as fun.”

He saw the playful grin that danced on Chuuya’s lips and answered it with his own.

(Dancing was always more fun when they had something to bicker over, like with most things that involved both of them.)

Kouyou stood in front of them from where they were panting, Dazai on the floor, dazed and dizzy, and Chuuya leaning heavily over his knees with a hand pressed to the back of his skull.

“At the end of the day, you are both there for a reason,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “Whether for leisure, seduction, assassination, or what have you, both of you must coordinate your purposes for being there into a single dance that satisfies the self and the audience. Because,” and she said this solidly with all the rigidity of a long-planted tree, “there will always be an audience.”

“Again!”

They were there for a reason, and Dazai knew that, remembered it even as Chuuya pressed a kiss to his knuckles in public and he conceded to losing a bet that meant nothing to him at all.

He would throw a million bets to hold Chuuya forever.

“Once I believed
love poems were foolish

Now I read love poems
just for the sake of it

And yet perhaps I want
to reach a higher state of poetry

I don't know if that's right or wrong
but such a feeling persists anyway

And sometimes irritates me
provoking outrageous desires

Once I believed
love poems were foolish

Yet now I do nothing
but dream about love”

-Nakahara Chuuya,“Exhaustion (II)” Goat Songs

“I’m taking you out to dinner,” Chuuya announced, walking into the kitchen and wrapping his arms around Dazai’s waist from behind, leaning up on his tiptoes to kiss a sliver of uncovered skin at the base of his neck.

“Hm?” Dazai tilted his head around from where he was focused on his cup of tea, then looked down at the arms around his torso. “Why?”

He heard Chuuya’s little huff, sounding annoyed and…. and maybe something else, another emotion he’d need to look at him to name. “Just feel like it. I left your clothes on the bed so get changed.”

That was odd. “I thought you didn’t want to go out to eat as much.”

Chuuya had just said that the other week, too. Something about Dazai needing more nutrients than whatever was being served in a restaurant. He’d cooked enough meals for them, now frozen and waiting in the freezer, to last a month just for that reason. Even if Dazai was used to Chuuya being indecisive at times, usually he’d wait at least three weeks to give in and take the both of them out to eat.

Chuuya bit his lip and looked away, “it’s been a while and I want to go somewhere nice and have a good night. You can stay here if you want,” Chuuya rolled his eyes, though he very clearly was bluffing. “I can always ask someone from work to get drinks-” another bluff since Chuuya wouldn’t go out drinking with his coworkers beyond a meal. It wasn’t like the mafia, where drinking each other under the table was common, and if he got drunk enough to forget about the secret that was his ability, then there would be a whole other jumble of issues to deal with.

“I’ll go!” Dazai chirped despite the way his smile turned smug. His hands went to Chuuya’s waist now with an interested hum. If they were going out it was definitely for a reason. “Are we celebrating your weird tiny feather hats?”

“Fascinator collection,” Chuuya’s eye twitched (Dazai knew what they were called, he just liked seeing Chuuya annoyed). “...but yeah, I guess we’re doing that too. Just get dressed.”

Too? So there was another reason, Dazai surmised. “You should wear one tonight. I think they suit Chuuya really well,” he said, rubbing his thumbs into Chuuya’s hips, a move that tended to relax his slug. If he worked him down just right, Chuuya would probably tell him.

“Really? You think so?” Chuuya looked surprised.

“Mmh,” Dazai hummed, stepping back to walk toward the bedroom, turning to hide the smirk that curved on his lips. “You’re so tiny that you make them look normal-sized!”

“You-!”

Dazai dodged the pillow thrown at him and went into their room. Sitting on the bed were his clothes that Chuuya set out, a light blue third-quarter-sleeve button up, black waistcoat, and white dress pants. Interesting, but looked…okay,he guessed, inspecting himself critically in the mirror once he was dressed.

The colors weren’t bad on him. He wasn’t particularly fun to look at, especially with the way the sleeves very stubbornly were not going to cover the bandages on his wrists. He’d thought some time ago that maybe that was part of the fun of dressing him up, for Chuuya. Covering all of the less-than-nice parts of his habits, leaving the illusion of a non-scarred mess. Now, though, it was obvious, especially with the cut of the collar and the bolo tie set there. It drew the eyes to the bandages around his neck. It was an interesting choice on Chuuya’s part; did he really want that to be the focus?

Chuuya was weird. He had weird tastes, too, if Dazai was desirable like this. He walked away from the mirror before his thoughts could start spiraling.

“Chuuya!” He called when he walked into their living room to find no Chuuya. He was already dressed, right?

After a moment, Chuuya walked out and they left the apartment. Dazai glanced over at his slug. The entire time, from the apartment to the drive to walking into the restaurant, Chuuya had been scatterbrained and silent, only participating in occasional conversation when Dazai got his attention. It only took a few minutes for his attention to go sideways again and it made Dazai feel…. maybe a bit upset, actually. He knew that with Oda’s coat set back over the chair that his bandages were visible, but he didn’t think it would make him that much more undesirable. Should he try to initiate something? At least when he got flirty, Chuuyalookedat him.

“Chuuya?” Dazai called out for the fifth time that night to get his attention back on him. His brow furrowed at the way Chuuya still seemed distracted. “Should I take you to a veterinarian after this?”

“A vet-?” Chuuya squinted, taking an especially long time to catch onto the teasing words. “Oh my gods-”

“Who else could treat a dog’s illness better?” Dazai asked cheerily, but even as Chuuya groaned in annoyance, he could see that he was still thinking about something else. It was weird, and now he was sure, when he leaned over to let the shirt drop and Chuuya didn’t even spare a glance to the bandages, that his appearance didn’t have much to do with it. What were they going out for?

Chuuya was wearing the fascinator hat, clipped to his red hair. Dazai hadn’t been lying; Chuuya looked good with it on, better than he did with his usual hat for all it covered his hair. He seemed to have paid attention to his words earlier, but now he seemed distracted enough that when the waiter came over, he ordered a water.

“You’re not drinking?" He asked with a deep furrow to his brow yet again, feeling his brain whirl a mile a minute, trying to figure out what was so important that Chuuya wouldn’t even drink. Was he…. ending things? That couldn’t be it- Chuuya would’ve been more snappy if that was the reason. "Has Chuuya decided to quit?”

“Huh?” Chuuya blinked. “I don’t always order wine when we go out to dinner-”

“Yes you do.”

“-just a lot of the time,” he defended himself with a pouting glare, taking a sip of the water as it was placed in front of him with a nod to the waiter, his fingers making an aborted attempt at fidgeting. “Maybe I’m not in the mood for drinking.”

Dazai stared at him for a long moment, something like concern building in his throat now, instead. “Are youactuallysick? We can go back-”

Chuuya huffed, giving in to the urge to tap his fingers against the cold glass. “I’m not sick! Just- order, okay?” It came out in a snapping tone.

Dazai raised his hands with pure skepticism written plainly on his face, put there purposefully for Chuuya to read. Maybe Chuuya really was ending things; he was snapping at him enough for it. Dazai felt a little burn of nerves in his chest at that thought. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t understand if Chuuya decided he wanted things to be over between them. Dazai wasn’t exactly cut out for anything long-term. It wouldn’t be hard for Chuuya to find something if all he wanted was sex, in any case. He didn’t particularly need Dazai for that.

It still didn’t feel like that was why he’d taken him out, especially there. The restaurant Chuuya had set a reservation for was fancier than the places they usually went to- not because they couldn’t afford it, obviously, but because Chuuya liked the smaller diners and the charm of it all. He knew Chuuya’s favorite place was the one down the street. It was an expensive cafe, but it had the wine he liked. It was weird that he’d take him here rather than a place like that, but it wasn’t too out of character for Chuuya to want to try new places, either.

When the waiter came by again, Dazai ordered some kind of crab pasta on the menu. Chuuya went for a beef dish. Another indication that something was a little off; usually, he’d expect for Chuuya to order the salad. He only really ordered beef when he was drinking a specific kind of wine- which was on the menu, at that.

Maybe hewassick.

“How are Chuuya’s tiny hats coming?”

Chuuya looked up, “hm?” Then, “fine, I guess. Dubois keeps trying to f*ck with the feathers, though. He keeps complaining that they’re too small even though the big ones completely throw it off and make them look stupid. He’s only drawing them on the bigger ones, too, which-”

As though breaking through a dam, Chuuya was finally going on about the first reason why they were going out to dinner. That could have been a reason for Chuuya being so weird the entire night- when someone messed with his designs in an assumedly irritating way, Chuuya could be frustrated enough to be as distracted as he had been the entire night.

It still didn’t feel like the answer.

When their food came around, Dazai took a few bites here and there- the food was good, but he’d never had a good appetite even on days when the food didn’t make him feel sick just looking at it.

“Which show are you watching now?” Chuuya asked after a minute spent eating a bit of the beef dish, looking distinctly disappointed by it. He should’ve just ordered the wine if he wasn’t even going to enjoy the thing without it.

“Johnny Test,” Dazai hummed. “It has a talking dog that reminds me of Chuuya.”

It was also one of the stupider shows he’d seen, but every online forum had at least one person claiming the show was an important part of their childhood, so he figured it wouldn’t hurt. At least the talking ponies weren’t covered in one-dimensional humor without morals or lessons that he could at least try to apply to his everyday life.

“Are you ever going to stop comparing me to dogs?” Chuuya asked, his eye twitching a little with the natural irritation that came with talking to Dazai. He wondered if Chuuya was planning to kill him tonight, but he knew that couldn't be true; that would be a favor to Dazai, not something for Chuuya to be nervous about.

“Of course not,” Dazai answered easily, seeing the resignation on Chuuya and feeling a bit of it himself. Chuuya would eventually let him know what else they were out for, but…

….no. No. He said he’d let Chuuya tell him things for himself.

Thankfully, they didn’t order dessert. Dazai had managed to finish barely over half of his plate and Chuuya, clearly feeling merciful, hadn’t made him take any more bites. He wasn’t sure if he would have been sick from it or not. Chuuya’s odd mood had only worsened the situation, making him anxious to justknow,already. They also weren’t heading back to the apartment. If he was trying to end their arrangement or kill him, he would’ve either said so or brought him back first, so something else was going on. Was it a surprise? Chuuya had been over-indulgent with the sweater and collar from Christmas, so it was out of character for him to be too secretive if he had something like that planned.

“Where is chibi whisking me off to now?” Dazai tilted his head expectantly, wondering if Chuuya would just tell him if he asked, but sure that he wouldn’t.

“You’ll see,” Chuuya said, tangling their hands together as they walked on the sidewalk. He had a weird little smile on his face that seemed equal parts nervous and somewhat excited.

Dazai huffed even though he’d already guessed that he wouldn’t be getting any answers from Chuuya. “Are you trying to be mysterious?”

“And succeeding,” Chuuya agreed with a soft elbow to Dazai’s torso, tugging him back in by their hands when he stumbled from that impact. Something about it made Chuuya’s shoulders relax a little bit.

“Such a bully,” he pouted, but let Chuuya guide them to a familiar boutique, then just past it. It was when they walked down to the sidewalks that lined the River Seine that his brain lit up with realization. It was dark and clear out, and he’d seen Chuuya checking the forecast earlier that day and all throughout the week.

“Chuuya’s taking me stargazing!” He chirped victoriously. “Such a silly dog, keeping something like that a secret.”

It really was a nice surprise, if not an anticlimactic one-

Chuuya just smiled. “Uh-huh.”

Oh.

Dazai looked over at Chuuya and squinted suspiciously. “....that’s what we’re doing.”

“Mmh.”

“...but notallwe’re doing,” Dazai decided with a sour tang to his voice. “Chuuya wouldn’t make a big deal over something we’ve done before.”

He could tell that they were getting to the point where Chuuya would give in and just tell him, but it still made him a little annoyed that he hadn't guessed what it was. Whatcouldit be? It clearly wasn’t anything bad or else Chuuya would’ve been a bad mood the whole night. And while, sure, Chuuya hadn’t been especially attentive or happy, he hadn’t been in a bad mood. He hadn’t mentioned any new projects or any present or event or holiday, either (he was confident that it wasn’t a holiday. Dazai was almost entirely sure it was the eleventh of January and that there weren’t any holidays going on).

Chuuya led Dazai out onto the same bridge with the lights shut off, flicking on his phone’s flashlight just as he did nearly two months before. They walked on with their shoulders pressed together, Dazai digging his elbow into Chuuya and avoiding all of Chuuya’s responding jabs with annoying ease and precision.

It was cold, but not too cold that his coat wasn’t enough to keep him warm. Even if he didn’t have it, Chuuya’s body beside him almost blisteringly warm. He could see their breath puffing out into the cold January air in front of them. When they reached the middle of the bridge, Chuuya tapped at Dazai’s hand, to which he laced their fingers together without pause, making his chest feel sore.

“I’m turning it off,” he pretended to warn Dazai despite him knowing that the words were for his own sake, still not comfortable in the darkness. Chuuya tapped his flashlight icon and Dazai watched him shut his eyes tightly for all of two moments before turning to make eye contact.

As always, Chuuya’s eyes reflected the starlight so clearly that he didn’t even have to look up. He had the sky memorized already, so there was no point. It was almost better, actually, to watch each constellation form in the expanse of glassy blue, clear and bright andnervous.

….why were they out here?

“Chuuya?” Dazai prompted, trying to relax him with their familiar dynamic, “what was the surprise? Or is your brain so proportional to the size of a slug that you forgot?”

His words seemed to have the opposite effect. Chuuya, bright and stunning and sunny Chuuya, seemed to curl in on himself, looking nervous enough to be sick. Dazai roved his eyes over him, lingering on places where he was especially lit up by starlight and trying to figure out what it was. The light? The lack of light? His hand twitched towards his coat pocket, for his phone-

Then froze and fell limp by his side.

Chuuya pulled Dazai into a kiss, something so deep and passionate that his eyes closed reflexively. Was this? A makeout session? Did he…. want sex outside in January? Just as Dazai hummed, leaning forward and sighing into the kiss, content to stay there for a lifetime, he felt a slight rustling as Chuuya rummaged around his…. his pocket. A gift then? Dazai tried to pull away upon hearing the rustle of movement, but Chuuya slipped his tongue into his mouth to distract him. Chuuya really was good at that, because he let him for a precious few seconds, feeling the soreness in his chest burn hotter and more painfully. He was okay with this pain, though. Chuuya pulled a hair away, speaking before Dazai could chase after him for more.

"You're smart," he breathed into the space between their lips, and he could feel the way Chuuya's mouth moved against the curve of Dazai's lips, the way he couldn’t help the small smile. "And annoying, but not always in a bad way, I guess."

"Hey-"

Rude.

"But you'remineto put up with," Chuuya said, leaning back to press their foreheads together, making his spine ache a little from the way he leaned down to make the position work, feeling overly heavy and syrupy sick from the wordmine."Mine to take care of. You.... you dragged me to another country, twice, so- so there's no getting rid of me," he breathed into his lips.

And it was sweet, it was, and the words were so pretty Dazai might even be able to convince himself it wasn’t a lie, but… Dazai's brow furrowed in vague confusion, his eyes flitting to try catching a glimpse of what it was Chuuya was holding.

He didn’t get a chance to see before Chuuya pulled away, stepping back anddropping his kneeto the ground of the bridge, opening the box to display

two rings

-familiar rings-

side

by

side.

….huh?

“Dazai Osamu…."

No.

"I..."

No, no, no….

"I love you, you beautiful mackerel bastard of a partner.”

nonononono-

“Would you marry me? For real this time?”

Ruby, aquamarine, blue, Chuuya,red, red, red,stars-nononono-marry?- marriage?-Chuuya-

Tears were streaming from Dazai’s painfully dulled out eyes as his face blanked out into nothing, nothing and no one. Because he was no one. It was nothing. There was nothing. Nothing but Chuuya and stars. Chuuya, stars, and poison. Because if he was anything, it waspoison.

(How did I trick Chuuya into thinking he’s in love with me?)

Chapter 11: carve me finite (part one)

Chapter Text

Chuuya hadn't gotten blackout drunk in months. Almost six months exactly, actually; not since he ‘left’. His usual bar was unfortunately in Yokohama, but the little dive bar he'd found on his phone definitely wouldn't be the worst place he'd ever gotten hammered at.

The alcohol wasn't great. Chuuya's usual pickiness was combated by his willingness to drink himself under the table to forget the way wine-brown dulled to dirt nothing. He just….

He took another swig and waved for another drink. He'd thrown down an obscene amount of cash beforehand, so they served him whenever he asked. It was easier. Chuuya felt heavy. So, so heavy.

Part of him wanted to scream again. Maybe he would, when he felt more sober than tipsy. He wanted to throw, to break, but the weight kept his hand glued to a chilled glass filled bottomless with whatever alcohol they were putting in it.

If he threw something, it wouldn't just be his macke-

.

If he threw something, it wouldn't just bethat mackerel bastard’sface getting cut up and (more than likely) bruised. It wouldn't…..

It wouldn'tdoanything. It hadn’t done anything for him since December, and even then he didn’t manage to get very far….

Chuuya nearly slammed the penthouse door open, then decided he didn’t care enough to catch it before it hit the wall halfway through throwing his work bag to the couch. His hands hurt, he was tired, and he really wanted to hit something.

Which was why he put all of his self-restraint into ignoring Dazai, who emerged from their bedroom at the sound of the door slamming back closed.

“Chuuya~!” Dazai trilled, walking closer without bothering to take in the mess.

He grit his teeth as he threw open the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of Petrus, which was usually reserved for special occasions but he needed it. That, and a cigarette maybe- a habit he’d never gotten particularly addicted to, but indulged in every once in a while on a monthly basis at most.

Unfortunately, Dazai didn’t take his hint, still walking around the island with his arms outstretched, wearing the blue sweater he’d gotten for Christmas. “Chibi should come and-”

Despite not knowing what Dazai was going to request, Chuuya decided he very much was not in the mood for it. Closing the refrigerator with a slam, he brushed past Dazai on his way to the balcony, snatching the Treasurer cigarettes tucked into their bookshelf where his favorite poetry was displayed.

“Just- f*ck off for a while, Dazai,” he spat, not bothering to reign in the vitriol. It wasn’t Dazai’s fault and he shouldn’t be snapping at him, but he was so pissed off from how tired the whole day made him that he really couldn’t care less.

Still, he could feel eyes on him as he slid the door open and stepped out onto the balcony, setting his wine down onto their small outdoor table and lighting a cigarette before taking a long drag. He closed his eyes into it, trying to make his muscles relax into the familiar sensations as he exhaled sharply, using his ability to pop the top of the wine bottle before taking a sip, not bothering with a proper wine glass.

After a few more indulgent inhales, he could feel the familiar itch building in his throat and flicked the ashes onto the ground of the balcony, knowing he’d have to clean them up later. Keyword later, he pinched his eyes shut tightly with another swig of wine. They didn’t have an ashtray on the balcony since he didn’t smoke often enough for it to be necessary.

At least Dazai was leaving him alone, Chuuya sighed, leaning onto the railing and swirling the bottle of wine. He didn’t drink enough to bat away the irritation, but at least his headache was subsiding in exchange for a sweet buzz as he could feel himself edging on tipsy. It was funny in a cynical way that he harped on Dazai for all of his habits and then went smoking and drinking because a word got to him.

It would take a few more sips to get a quarter through the bottle, which was where he usually started to really feel the dissociation from his problems, but thinking about Dazai hit him with a sudden wave of apathy towards aiming to be wasted.

Drinking to forget wasn’t exactly a foreign concept for him, especially back in their mafia days when the consequences for mistakes weren’t simply needle pokes or a slash from a seam ripper, when a mistake meant people died.

Now, he usually drank if he wanted to destress or have a fun night with alcohol. Both of those scenarios generally involved Dazai right beside him, drinking a single glass of whiskey on the rocks and keeping Chuuya from throwing his clothes off their balcony or buying something too ridiculous to justify the next morning or making bad decisions (like nearly cutting all of his hair off).

The longer he stared at the bottle of wine and pack of cigarettes the less inviting they looked. He felt less pissed and more empty, so he figured it was safe to head inside now that the temptation to hit another person had fizzled out to a dull ache. He stomped out the cigarette and headed inside.

Chuuya sucked in a breath, then another when the first didn't come easy to his intoxicated lungs, swelling and compressing, swelling and compressing, swelling and compressing in his chest as he downed the rest of the glass. He thought he waved for another, but it took a while before any more alcohol was dipping into the glass and filling it with warm liquid. Warm, warm, then cold as the ice clinked.

A tiny, angry part of him was bitterly happy for Dazai. He was out, away from his abusers, and at last had a chance to be happy for once in his god-forsaken life. But he couldn't help the rage, because he’d thought, for a second, that he had carved out a good enough place for Dazai next to him.

Dazai was an empty, gnawing hole of a person. Chuuya could stay right there next to him, trying to shovel happiness down his throat, but it would be years before he’d put a dent in that emptiness. The emptiness carved out by the people he’d left Chuuya with.

Chuuya had thought all those months ago that leaving would give Dazai a chance to be happy. He thought he was right, too, when Dazai was smiling, laughing,eating.

Maybe it was clear then that Dazai could not be happy. He wasn’t the type of person that knew how.

His head was starting to hurt. Or maybe Chuuya was just feeling the effects of the alcohol more now. He couldn't tell.

He should've been having engagement sex, not sitting here….

Sitting here.

Chuuya nearly let his head drop to the counter but pulled back up to sit somewhat straight before he could, knowing the breakout wouldn't be worth it.

….and then on second thought decided he didn't care enough and pressed his cheek to the cool surface.

Dazai huffed. “Are you trying to be mysterious?”

“And succeeding,” Chuuya agreed with a soft elbow to Dazai’s torso, tugging him back in by their hands when he stumbled. The easy banter was nice, knowing that they were both on the same page. It calmed his nerves a bit.

“Such a bully,” he pouted, but let Chuuya guide them to a familiar boutique, then just past it. It was when they walked down to the sidewalks that lined the River Seine that his eyes lit up with realization. “Chuuya’s taking me stargazing!” He chirped victoriously. “Such a silly dog, keeping something like that a secret.”

Chuuya just smiled. “Uh-huh.”

Dazai paused at that, another note of suspicion bringing his expression down again. “....that’s what we’re doing.”

“Mmh.”

“...but not all we’re doing,” Dazai decided with a sour tang to his voice. “Chuuya wouldn’t make a big deal over something we’ve done before.”

He’d feel nervous about the line of questioning, but, for some reason, it didn’t seem like Dazai was joking around while knowing what Chuuya was doing anymore. It almost sounded like he really didn’t know what was happening and wasn’t getting it even after half the night passed. Even though there was no way the proposal was a complete surprise, it was starting to feel like it.

Chuuya led Dazai out onto the same bridge with the lights shut off, flicking on his phone’s flashlight just as he had done nearly two months before. They walked on with their shoulders pressed together, Dazai digging his elbow into Chuuya and avoiding all of Chuuya’s responding jabs with annoying ease and precision.

The reason he waited to come out and do this was because the last few nights had been too cloudy, but now the only haze was the puffing of their breath in the cold January air. When they reached the middle of the bridge, Chuuya tapped at Dazai’s hand, to which he laced their fingers together without pause, making his heart flutter a distressing amount.

“I’m turning it off,” he pretended to warn Dazai despite the words being for his own sake, still not comfortable in the darkness. He tapped his flashlight icon and shut his eyes tightly for all of two moments before turning to face Dazai instead of the stars overhead. It turned out that he didn't need to look up at all.

The stars reflected so beautifully in Dazai's eyes that he felt his breath catch all over again. They seemed even brighter than before, twinkling against wine-brown and causing his heart to stutter in his chest. He had to remind himself to breathe as Dazai looked at him eagerly, waiting for whatever additional surprise there was to be had- waiting for Chuuya to confirm his suspicions about the night, more like.

His fingers felt numb.

Chuuya flexed his fingers even now, just in case he discovered that they hadn't warmed up at all. He didn't even feel a trace of the ache he must've felt earlier when warming them up. They were just as warm as they always were, matching his body temperature at last without a chilled palm pressed to his.

He couldn't decide why that was what startled the first sob out of his throat, only knowing that it did and the tears were overwhelmingly exhausting the second they started spilling out.

When they trailed over his lips, breathing shuddered and strained, he felt a bit insane because they tasted a bit like lazy mornings, non-dairy foods, and gross kids’ cold medicine.

“Chuuya?” Dazai prompted, “what was the surprise? Or is your brain so proportional to the size of a slug that you forgot?”

Sudden jolts of panic raced down his spine, because he really didn’t want to let Dazai talk for long enough that he accidentally punched him reflexively. Dropkicking the love of his life before proposing would probably be a bad thing, so Chuuya reconsidered his approach.

He’d gotten good at making Dazai shut up, after all.

No, no, no…. Chuuya watched the scene play out behind his eyelids and felt an awful ball of ice in his chest as it melted slowly to drip against his ribcage, dancing cold drop down to his stomach where they built there.

He needed to stop thinking about it. If he'd stopped there, then…

Chuuya pulled Dazai into a kiss underneath the stars, pouring months of emotion into the kiss. Just as his partner hummed into it, leaning forward and sighing into it, content to stay there for a lifetime, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the ring box. Dazai tried to pull away upon hearing the rustle of movement, but Chuuya slipped his tongue into his mouth to distract for a precious few seconds while he got himself together, reminding himself that if the worst came to pass he could always play it off as a joke.

"You're smart," he breathed into the space between their lips, smiling against the way Dazai's lips curved. "And annoying, but not always in a bad way, I guess."

"Hey-"

"But you're mine to put up with," Chuuya said, as seriously as he could muster as they stayed like that, foreheads pressed together with Chuuya on his toes and Dazai leaning down. "Mine to take care of. You.... you dragged me to another country, twice, so- so there's no getting rid of me," he breathed into his lips, watching the way Dazai's brow furrowed in vague confusion, his eyes flitting to try catching a glimpse of what it was Chuuya was holding.

Chuuya was sure that he'd never forget how he felt at that moment, especially since he was drunk to the nines and was still thinking about it. He'd hold on to the ruse of that night forever if only to delude himself sometime later that happiness with Dazai was possible, that getting married like any happyhuman beingwould be possible for him.

…..for Chuuya, too. (what ifhewas the problem?)

He pulled away, stepping back and dropping his knee to the kind of gross ground of the bridge, opening the box to display two rings side by side. “Dazai Osamu…." Chuuya considered his next words, his planned speech, but scrapped the overdone confession in that moment as he grinned, all lopsided nervousness. "I..." he swallowed, shutting his eyes for a second to decide whether or not to speak the damning words before throwing caution to the wind. Dazai would bully him into admitting it eventually, so- "I love you, you beautiful mackerel bastard of a partner. Would you marry me?" He swallowed. "For real this time?”

Chuuya must've been mumbling something because people were looking at him now. When he tuned back into his body enough to think about it, he realized it was some unintelligible mix of praise and Dazai's name, maybe a few‘don’t’s’slurred in there, a futile warning to himself as he watched both the bar wall and Dazai. They were blurring together now. The bartender was staring. Chuuya flipped her off (or maybe he just cried a little more- his hand wasn’t being very responsive).

The ruby and aquamarine winked under the starry sky, reflecting the dazzling constellations almost as beautifully as Dazai’s eyes. When seconds went by without a reply, he opened his mouth to speak-

And then he froze.

Tears were streaming from Dazai’s painfully dulled-out eyes as his face blanked out into nothing.

“I…. I don’t know.”

.

Chuuya had never considered his heart glass, but Dazai might have just shattered it.

It felt almost worse to remember, because Chuuya, despite watching as though a bystander now, knew exactly what he did next.

“What?”

He heard his voice ring about in some terrible echo around his head, vibrating his skull and slipping out of his mouth.

Dazai just…. stood there.

Chuuya could feel an air balloon blowing up in his chest and slamming against the walls of his lungs, threatening to implode then and there.

He swallowed, reworked his jaw, then swallowed again when there was enough spit to not feel dry and achy. He tipped back his glass of alcohol and barely noticed when it slid down like water. It was dangerous to not taste the alcohol, enough that it tended to speak towards impending alcohol poisoning.

“Why can't you just be happy for once in your godsdamned life?!” He was throwing something. Maybe it was the rings. “Huh?! Why, Osamu?”

The name still tasted like vitriol on his tongue, the way he said it so angrily that it felt more like a curse.

He hadn’t said it like that in almost ayear,but its harshness paled in comparison to what happened next.

Dazai was tripping back over his feet, but Chuuya didn’t let him get far, chasing after andgrippinginto his wrist so hard he felt something grind together. “What?!” Dazai wasn’t even speaking- wasn’t even explaining why the hell he was….

Chuuya didn’t think, his volume dying to be replaced by a low hiss-

“What? Too hard to explain yourself when you’re not off being a slu*t for someone twice our age?”

…..

He watched something die in Dazai’s eyes when he said that. Chuuya could still remember watching that piece of light, the part that hadn’t always been there but had slowly built in those…. gods, those eyes overmonthsof tireless worksplinter.Maybe irreparably.

Maybe Chuuya broke something in Dazai.

Maybe, at the time, he had been okay with that. It wouldn’t be the first time….

He tried to push himself up, and for a second Chuuya let him, but in the next moment, he was swinging him to his feet entirely, taking advantage of his drug-induced haze and slamming him against the wall. Dazai gasped in pain. “Hero complex?” He snarled into his face, leaning up to grab his jacket and slam him into the wall one more time to see the way his eyes crossed and legs trembled from effort to stay standing. “Even if I did have one, this wouldn’t do anything for me,” he leaned in even closer with a glare of his own pressing into dark, dead fish eyes. “There’s nothing in you to save.”

He knew it wasn’t the right thing to say. He knew he crossed a line. He knew that Dazai had been holding himself back when he started yapping about complexes- saw the gleam in his eye, the yawning hunger for blood and self-destruction, the reminder of the Sheep and Flags that lingered there, waiting to cut into him and goad Chuuya into finally killing him.

Sometimes Chuuya’s words aimed for the jugular with the intent to kill, even as Dazai’s sank into a non-vital point, bringing pain but not the death of their relationship.

Sometimes Dazai wasn’t the monster between the two of them.

It was true.

f*ck, f*ck,f*ckit was true and Chuuya’s head hurt because something had to be f*cking broken in him to saythatto him. Of all the godsdamned things he could’ve said…..

He wanted to carve himself open and rip out the part that felt good at breaking Dazai down. The part that watched and made it feel like hewon.It wasn’t winning; it was evil, it was horrible, and Chuuya would be surprised if Dazai ever spoke to him again, much lessmarrysomeone who would use something like that against him. He was still so angry, but at least all Dazai had said wasI don’t know.

Chuuya lashed out. He attacked Dazai with theworstpossible thing he could’ve said to him.

Apologies couldn’t fix that.

Chuuya couldn’t fix it.

He told Dazai helovedhim and then not even five minutes later was ripping him apart at the delicate seams he spent months convincing Dazai it was safe to expose to him.

His heart was being crumpled up into disgusting little pieces, crinkling and crackling like tin foil. Chuuya really did love him, he did, he just- he just….

f*ck.

A little hiccuped sob flooded from his lips. He wanted his Ane-san. He wanted Kouyou. He wanted a hug he didn’t deserve. He wanted to be intheirflat, intheirbed, holdinghismackerel. He wanted a too-cold hand to pet his hair. He wanted a smile from painted lips. He wanted to sit across from a decorated kimono and carefully styled hair and talk about anything and everything.

Chuuya wanted his sister.He wanted her more suddenly and desperately than he had in months. All of the grief for their relationship came crashing down on his drunken stupor until he was crying again, in genuine pain. It hurt so bad that he wanted to sit down and never feel again. He wanted to be brave enough to fall off of a bridge and….

….

The bridge.

Oh.

Oh no….

No, no, no….

The scene replayed over, suddenly and shockingly in violently high definition.

“Why can't you just f*cking- be happy for once in your f*cking life, Osamu?!” Chuuya screamed, and he wasn't going to cry but there were tears scalding his face and it didn't matter but hewantedit to.

He was too mad and he was going to make a mistake and say something he shouldn't but Dazai was too f*cked in the head to realize someone cared about him. The look in Dazai's eyes, the look that had been there for as long as Chuuya had learned to look for it, was love and Chuuya knew that, he just needed patience to understand his feelings. Dazai had never been loved before, not properly, so it wasn't something he understood.

Dazai was tripping back over his feet, but Chuuya, too angry, too hot-headed, didn’t let him get far, chasing after andgrippinginto his wrist so hard he felt something grind together. “What?!” Dazai wasn’t even speaking- wasn’t even explaining why the hell he had let Chuuya take him around, knowing he was going to propose, and not once letting Chuuya know he wouldn’t be saying yes for whatever godsdamned reason.

(If he’d look closer, he would see the way Dazai trembled from head to toe, overwhelmed and hurt andconfusedall at once.)

Chuuya didn’t think, his volume dying to be replaced by a low hiss-

“What? Too hard to explain yourself when you’re not off being a slu*t for someone twice our age?”

He watched something die in Dazai’s eyes when he said that. Chuuya could still remember watching that piece of light, the part that hadn’t always been there but had slowly built in those…. gods, those eyes over months of tireless work splinter. Maybe irreparably.

“Chuuya….” He heard his name escape Dazai’s lips in a harsh, wounded wheeze.

It was too far. Chuuya knew the second he said it that it was too far.

But Chuuya was angry, so he grabbed his keys and stomped off.

“This was such a waste of time.”

He left Dazai on that bridge in the dark and went for a drink.

Chuuya wasn’t a good person.

He knew that so intimately. It was something that would haunt him until the day he died. But, even though he wasn’t good, even though he might have never been more convinced of his inhumanity, he stilllovedDazai. Not the way he should, not the way Dazai deserved, but he did.

It was painful. It hurt. If he stopped Dazai from killing himself, if he was too late to do anything, he’d still have to come up with some way to think about him without it ripping his heart out.

They weren’t meant for each other and…. and that was fine, but Chuuya couldn’t let himdiebecause he was too much of a coward to face the repercussions of what he’d done. What he’d said.

….

(“What? Too hard to explain yourself when you’re not off being a slu*t for someone twice our age?”)

When Chuuya finally trudged back to their penthouse he was considerably less angry, the worry mixing with his exhaustion until it numbed his fingers all over again from the cold. He couldn’t bring himself to pick up the pace of his feet slapping against concrete even though he knew he definitely should. The city had begun to wake up, cool morning air painted the sky a slightly lighter blue and washing away the stars. Chuuya couldn’t tell if not seeing them anymore made him feel worse or better. He walked in slowly, feeling ridiculously like adogwith its tail tucked in between its legs.

The lights were all off.

“f*ck,” Chuuya muttered, his brain slowly catching up to what the empty penthouse implied. He’d assumed…. he’d assumed Dazai wouldn’t want to stay out in the cold, and his feet had just led him to their home without a second thought.

And yet-

Dazai was suicidal.

“f*ck,f*ck,mackerel, it's not funny.”

Chuuya told him that he was a waste of time(among other things).

“H-hey, Dazai! Where the f*ck are you?!” He tore through the living room and the kitchen, the closets, the laundry room-

He’d left forhours,so Dazai… Dazai might have actually just jumped off of that bridge or-

Chuuya's lip trembled when he faced their bedroom.“Osamu,”guilt stabbed him, swirling with him knowing he had no right to call him that after…. “you better not be dead or I'll kill you myself,” he hissed at the door, feeling indescribably evil for it, but his hands were shaking and he couldn't bring himself to open it. If he did, he’d have to apologize for that, too.

Dazai might not have come back at all.

“What? Too hard to explain yourself when you’re not off being a slu*t for someone twice our age?”

He knew the day might come when he would find Dazai dead, but he didn't know what he'd do if he'd done it in their bedroom. The place where they slept, and where he'd woken his stupid mackerel up after a long night with breakfast in bed. Where they held each other when they had hard days, where Chuuya put him in clothes he'd tailored just for Dazai, the ones he wore when he bought the rings.

“What? Too hard to explain yourself when you’re not off being a slu*t for someone twice our age?”

Did he hang himself? Slit his wrists on the bedsheets he'd gotten just for Dazai's sensitive skin? Maybe he did it in the bathroom to avoid making a mess for once in his life. Or maybe he just threw himself off the bridge the second Chuuya walked away.

“What? Too hard to explain yourself when you’re not off being a slu*t for someone twice our age?”

Chuuya couldn't sleep by himself anymore. Would he end up just like Dazai? A skeleton of a person until he decided to just end it all himself?

The words were slamming against his head, playing on repeat, a broken record going off in time with the way the light in Dazai shattered.

“I swear if you're dead I'll kill myself,”Chuuya shrieked at the door, and he didn't think Dazai was alive to hear it or maybe he wasn't even there but if he was then he better open the door or Chuuya would destroy the city, innocent lives be damned. Corruption broiled under his skin already, aching to be released. He had no right to demand anything after attacking him so mercilessly, but Chuuya was bad at not being selfish with Dazai.

And…

And then he heard theslightest

little

shiftfrom the other side of the door.

Oh.

A mountain of tension bled out and built up all at once. Chuuya tried to take a breath, tried to be rational, but alcohol was still flitting at the edges of his consciousness, so without thinking he was slamming it open, the plaster cracking from where the doorknob hit the wall.

And….

And there he was.

Dazai was justthere,curled on the bed in the fetal position, still wearing his clothes from the night before.

For a moment it was all Chuuya could do to just stand there, drinking in the sight.

“Gods, you're an asshole.” It slipped out unbidden, very much not what he’d wanted to say.

I’m sorry,he screamed with every ounce of himself.

Chuuya was across the room in a heartbeat, lifting Dazai up without caring if it was a bad time or if he was sleeping and sitting down with him curled in his lap instead, holding him close and closer, trying not to cry again. His ability flickered out before Chuuya could register the red glow of it having activated.I’m sorry, I’m so f*cking sorry, I love you, I’m sorry.

A sliver of wine-brown eyes peeked through brown curls at him.

“....Ch-”

“Shut up,” Chuuya gasped, a shuddering breath escaping him. He pressed Dazai's head into his chest and held him as tight as he could, digging his fingers intowarmskin and listening to his breathing because there was blood on the bedsheets and he wasn't ready to unpack the realization that depending on how deep Dazai cut himself this time, he might've been too late if he waited another hour, if he'd stopped by the bridge.

I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry.

“M’sorry,” Dazai slurred into him anyway because he wouldn't be himself if he actually listened to Chuuya when he wasn't drunk on pleasure. Chuuya didn't want an apology- he deserved one, for a lot of the sh*t Dazai pulled, but not for this. Not when he…. Not whenhewas the one who owed the biggest apology of his life. Dazai put his hands over Chuuya's and just held them, bringing attention to cold metal.

Chuuya looked down for a moment, and sure enough, Dazai was wearing a diamond and ruby ring. He sobbed out a laugh that felt too much like he was choking on glass.

I’m sorry,he wanted to say, unsure if he had the right.

“You don't have to- f*cking- marry me for real, it was stupid anyway. I can use the spare room, and we don’t have to eat together…. I…. just don't…” He swallowed heavily, selfish and unable to pretend to be anything else. “Just don'tleave me.”

Sleeping in the spare room would be hard. He really couldn’t sleep without his (not his, not anymore) leech attaching to him like a bony limpet, but if Dazai stayed then he could figure out how to fall asleep by himself again. Eating alone would suck too, all alone at the kitchen island, and it would make it harder to make sure Dazai ate, but again, he could figure it out. Chuuya just…. He just didn’t want to bealoneagain.

“What? Too hard to explain yourself when you’re not off being a slu*t for someone twice our age?”

His lungs caught fire and he hoped the smoke was a good enough offering to Dazai, because an apology would never be enough to put them out now. He’d…. he’dbegfor forgiveness if that was what it took. If Dazai had any self-respect, he wouldn’t accept Chuuya’s apology. It wasn’t like he had never jabbed at Chuuya with words before, but not his weakest point. Not the way Chuuya did.

There was a long moment of silence where Dazai's fingers curled over his hands almost enough to hurt. He was shaking in Chuuya's arms, so he reached to tug at the ring on Dazai's finger. It was such a stupid idea, honestly, how could he-

Dazai pulled his hand away like Chuuya had hurt him.

“Hah…” Dazai sniffled. Was he crying too? “Doesn't Chuuya know it's rude to take a gift back?”

Chuuya's mind went a little blank.

“What? You didn't want to marry me-”

Dazai snorted, and it sounded painful and fake and vulnerable all at once. “I…. I did- I do,” he shivered a little more intensely. “Chuuya’s the one who doesn't want to marry me.”

.

What?

“Iproposed?”Chuuya pulled back to make eye contact, but Dazai looked away, curled in Chuuya's arms and looking smaller than he ever had before.

“...you shouldn't have.”

His head hurt, maybe from the alcohol and maybe from the conversation. With a frustrated sigh, he tipped Dazai's chin towards him, feeling a bit guilty for touching him because he knew that he might as well have lost the right altogether(I do,Dazai said, and it made his chest flutter even though it definitely wasnotthe time). “You wanted to marry me. You wanted me to propose. You wanted a ring.” He pursed his lips, eye twitching, feeling stupid for saying it out loud when it felt so deeply untrue.“But you're trying to convince me I made a mistake doing all of that?”

Dazai swallowed sharply and he was looking around, desperately trying not to make eye contact. “Chuuya-”

“No,Osamu,”Chuuya hissed, feeling the way Dazai flinched (maybe flinching a bit himself, reeling in his tone, doing his best to leave out any true animosity or anger). “Tell me what I'm not understanding.”

“If you just want someone to f*ck,” Dazai started, his tone bordering on mean now, defensive and prickly.

Chuuya shut that down, because they both knew that wasn’t why he stayed. They’d been together for three bordering on four years; Dazai knew Chuuya could easily find someone for sex if he wanted and could leave Dazai at any moment without reparations now that they weren’t glued together by the mafia. “I could go the rest of my life without sex if I wanted to, so don’t bullsh*t me right now.”

“You're going to regret it,” he spat out next, squirming away from Chuuya, but he didn't let him, tightening his hold.

“Why?” He demanded, still feeling awful and twisted for it, but he needed to know.

“Itold you,I'mbroken,”Dazai gasped painfully. “I want to die, I can't just be happy like you want-”

Chuuya shook his head, swallowing around the glass in his throat. “I was saying whatever f*cked up thing I could think of because I was mad.” He breathed heavily, biting back the tears that wanted to spill over again because it washardto communicate. “I know you're tired and you hate yourself and you’re insatiable and horrible and watch kid shows all the time and don't know how to dress yourself or eat when you're hungry. Iknowall of that andI still want to marry you.”

Dazai was crying now, tears dripping down his face in full force.“No, no you don’t,”he sobbed. “You can’t.”

“Why?” Chuuya yelled at him, finally, trying not to lose his temper but failing miserably.Again.It scared him a little bit now because he knew what his temper could do when it reared its ugly head at Dazai (“What? Too hard to explain yourself when you’re not off being a slu*t for someone twice our age?”).“Will you justtalk to me?”He begged a little, pleading Dazai with his eyes and trying desperately to convey his sincerity to understand anything about his clusterf*ck of a partner who heloved.

Almost nothing made sense about Dazai- the few things he knew about him were the ones Dazai let him know after Chuuya found out about them by accident. Like the sexual abuse, the storage container, his insomnia- Dazai didn’t know how to tell him anything and they bothhadto learn before the lack of communication broke them apart more permanently than it almost had.

Than it alreadydid.

“What? Too hard to explain yourself when you’re not off being a slu*t for someone twice our age?”

Dazai stared at him, wide-eyed. For a long moment, all he did was watch Chuuya, his expression shuttering with a million and one emotions he didn't seem to bother keeping hidden. He looked away and swallowed, fiddling with his fingers.

Just as Chuuya had slumped, half-accepting the body language for refusal, Dazai's voice quietly drifted up to him.

“They called me Tsushima Shuuji and said I was nine.”

“Who?”

Dazai's eyes bore daggers into the blankets.

“The Hunting Dogs.”

Yokohama, Japan

February 3rd

2:54 a.m.

Ten years prior

Chapter 12: carve me finite (part two)

Chapter Text

Yokohama, Japan
February 3rd
2:54 a.m.
Ten years prior

The air was too cold to be walking around without a jacket. In February, Japan was usually frigid, but being so close to the ports only accentuated the temperature until anyone who the misfortune of waking up so early suffered iciness at the tips of their fingers.

The snowfall had come as a surprise to most. The forecast had predicted a bright, cold day. Now, the clouds left a sullen darkness over the ports, making the shadows cast darker stretches over the powder-covered concrete, the watery haze leaving a faint mist in the air.

Snowflakes still fell sparingly in swirling dances, from the great gray sky to the metal intrusions striking into the scenery obstructively. Silence hung in the air, only marred by the occasional razor hiss of wind or the distant trill of a bird flying overhead, only barely visible.

It was barren here. The cold had taken whatever life had been harbored and crushed it beneath at least a foot of snow. It was a surprise that anyone was out on the ports so early- or even at all. The section of the ports used (dominated) by the mafia stretched further and had a bustle that warmed the air with sweat and a looming pressure. This area wasn’t nearly so used, having been abandoned some time back after a series of unfortunate busts and general unsavory activities.

In fact, this would be the last time they were inhabited for a few years to come.

As the snow fell in its quiet storm, it fell slowly upon the pale skin and pale clothes of the boy lying spread-eagle in the drift. His eyes were closed, his hands and feet completely bare. His chest rose and fell in soft rhythm, a gently consistent tempo that stuttered occasionally with a sniffle.

How long had he been there? No one could say. The snow was smooth and gleaming. There was no longer any evidence to say how he arrived here. It was almost as if God Himself had just plopped him right in that spot, out of thin air.

Then, a little snowflake, almost too small to see or feel, landed right on the tip of his nose, a tiny bite of ice.

A tremor passed through his body, starting from his head and shooting down to his toes. His chest shuddered, fingers twitched.

His eyes flew open.

The boy surged upwards, his breathing coming out in sharp gasps, suddenly shivering as though his body remembered it should be cold. His head whipped back and forth, his gaze uncomprehending. These shipping containers were alien, the area unfamiliar.

And he had no clue how he ended up there.

A distant panic started to set in, his eyes wild and breathing continuing to increase in pace (staggering in, out, in, out,inoutinout)until it seemed sure that he would pass out into the snow again, this time to die for good. It lasted for what felt like forever but might’ve really only been a singular moment in time until a sudden calm washed over him. A single quiver, a blink, a transformation, and his breathing became regular.

He opened his eyes, and the world was clear.

The boy wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing his fingers. They had not yet turned blue. Taking a minute or two to recollect his thoughts, the boy looked around again, his breath coming out in little clouds.

Then, with a soft, more tired than panicked sigh of resolution, of a plan made, the boy leveraged himself to his feet. Took one step and stumbled. Shaky at first, he grabbed at a metal container to his side to steady himself, then hissed at the way it stung at his hands. He fell back again and worked himself instead to his knees, and then on shivering, stumbling legs stood up.

He took a tentative step forward, slowly pulling himself away from the snow-angel in the drift. He did not look around, instead keeping his gaze ahead, at some faraway destination.

All he left behind was a scarlet stain that matched the two holes in his back.

His feet trudged slowly but surely through the snowy landscape. He worked past a clearing, a misty breeze of water, a building, and then…

He woke again with a start.

A gray, cloudless sky. That was the first thing he saw, laying on his back and staring upwards. Next were the trees, slowly coming into focus, their bare branches reaching up towards the sky like skeletal, clingy fingers, omens of death he didn’t recognize.

A faint memory of waking up in a metal forest was replaced by this, some cold and distant paradise left to the sidewalk that he could feel underneath him. For a moment he felt horribly paralyzed and wondered if he was dead after all, dead and waiting for someone to find him before he could…. could move on to some place, maybe.

But he found that he could turn his head with relative ease, tipping it to the side and feeling powdery snow press into his cheek. His muscles protested against the movement, like he had been asleep for too long. The ground came into view, soft fuzzy white. Snow.

He didn’t remember winter coming so soon.

It was that thought that spurred his muscles in motion.

He surged upright, suddenly out of breath. What was going on? Why was it snowing? It should have been September, in the…. in what he thought should be his home (though the word wouldn’t attach itself to the place he must have come from). It shouldn't be snowing yet.

But the more he looked around, the more he realized that he very much wasn't in any place he recognized anymore. The trees and snow extended, limitless, into the distance, lining the sidewalk in a run-down area of the city. It was barren and still, so little in sight and no lights on, making the place seem darker than it should have been. In the distance he saw a building that stretched upwards into the sky, taller than any he’d ever seen.

Why was it winter all of a sudden?

Was it another one of those freak snowstorms in the summer, like the one that happened a few years ago? Weather was kind of unpredictable, but he found himself doubting that over a foot of snow could last in the Yokohama summer season, even if it was the tail end of the year.

It didn’t make sense, which only raised another, more reasonable question that might have slipped out of his mouth if he could convince his lips to part for any words.

What happened?

A scan of his recent memories gave him…. nothing.

Nothing at all. Maybe a summer, maybe green eyes, maybe books, maybe a piano(red, red, red)-but nothing substantive. There was just….

Emptiness.

That and now snow, he supposed.

He was wearing clothes he had never seen before. White pants, white tank top, things he knew (or at least thought) he didn't own. They were way too clean, starchy and made of cotton. They reminded him of the clothes hospital patients wear, or maybe inmates at an asylum.

It was also completely inappropriate for this kind of weather. He tried wiggling his toes with some success. They were stiff with cold and when he did manage to move them, it started to hurt.

He wrapped his arms around himself. His fingers brushed against something on his left shoulder. With a start, he frowned, tipping his head over to catch sight of the bandage wrapped around his arm.Oh, great,he thought with a small downturn to his lips. He picked at the tape, trying to see what was underneath – but as soon as he saw a flash of red and tiny raised dots, he pushed the bandage back forcefully. Too forcefully, he winced, gasping a little at the sudden pain. A fresh wound, on top of everything else.

At the turn of his head, he saw his hair out of the corner of his eye, flicking over his shoulder. He reached up, first with the injured arm and then with the other, feeling his hair. He was caught off guard by the long length, brushing his shoulders. He couldn’t tell much more about it, his hands too numb.

Maybe it was just from the numbness of being in the snow for too long, but his entire body felt strange, some kind of heaviness weighing down every limb in a way he wasn’t sure could be entirely attributed to being out in the cold.

What was going on? All this change, and no memory, no answers, no nothing. He was lost, he was cold, he was hurt, and, now that he was focusing enough to feel it, starving. His breathing was coming out in sharp gasps. He couldn't remember any of this happening to him. Was it even him who put these clothes on? What did he do to his shoulder? Why did everything hurt? It felt like he’d ran a hundred miles without taking any stops.

And now, more than anything, he wanted to go back to a moment ago when he hadn’t tried to take stock of the state of his body, because his throat felt parched. At least that had an easy solution. He reached for some snow, brought it to his mouth. He didn't care that it would lower his core body temperature- he was more concerned about needing hydration,now.

The cold was soothing and brought a new shock to his system. This time, though, it was beneficial. His thoughts cleared for a moment, and he allowed himself to indulge in the snow melting on his tongue.

He was alive, if nothing else. He was alive and the writing on a sign beside him was Japanese, so he was still there. He was still in the country.

Steeling himself, he got up. His legs were weaker than he thought- his knees almost buckled beneath him, and he had to grab at the building beside him (cold, cold, cold) to support himself. His feet felt too big, unwieldy, likely due to the fact that he couldn't feel them and control them as he thought he might have used to. Using the building to keep himself upright, he straightened his back, feeling a vague pop. His muscles were so stiff that it just seemed easier to stay hunched over, but that made it harder to walk. He forced himself to stretch his spine, earning only more pain for it.

What was he going to even do? He looked around, the world at least a little clearer now that he was standing up. He could see a greater distance, if only slightly. There were no footprints he could see that might've hinted where he came from, or if anyone else had been around. He supposed he really was on his own, unless he decided to knock on a door. It likely wouldn’t help- the area seemed like a shopping district and it was the middle of the night (maybe).

He heaved a sigh, pushing away from the building, stumbling a little on his own legs before regaining his balance. He swayed dangerously, but managed to stay upright. The snow drift didn't make it any easier to move.

He put one foot in front of the other. His leg sank into the snow. He was almost thankful for the numbness, since the pain the extreme cold would bring wasn't registering. He wondered if he already had frostbite. His toes seemed fine, not discolored or anything, but he imagined if he stayed out here for much longer, it wouldn't stay that way.

He had to find a house. Really, anything or anywhere that might have people, a phone he could use. He needed to get help. He needed to get home (the momentary pause that word gave him struck him very oddly).

He scanned his surroundings again. Which direction should he go? He didn't want to accidentally wander deeper into an abandoned area. There had to be a sign of a residential district somewhere.

His eyes weren’t focusing well, snow drifted down and making them water up. After another long few moments looking from direction to direction, trying desperately to read the signs, he gave up. He turned around and started walking along the sidewalk, hoping he wouldn’t walk over glass buried beneath the snow.

Not once did he think to look behind himself at his own silhouette lying in the ground. If he had, he would've seen the deep red staining the snow.

When he reached a crossroads of a road, he looked over at the signs and, despite the way his eyes struggled to see anything at all, saw arrows. Either construction or a residential area. He decided he would take those odds and turned to walk that way, kicking up snow as he did.

He didn’t feel optimistic when nearly an hour passed and no one was in sight, not even a car passing by.

As the sky darkened more than it had already, it got even colder. He couldn't stop shaking, and exhaustion started to take hold again. The world shifted and swayed with each step- dizzying, but became indiscernible when everything went black. The night was peaceful, but his mind fell into a stupor, unable to tell fantasy from reality.

Every so often he'd see a spark of light and stumble forward, suddenly hopeful, ready to maybe cry with relief. It could've been anything; like from a window, a car, even a distant lantern. But each time, the light would just grow farther and farther, before blinking out completely.

And he'd stop. And he'd cry a little bit.

And he kept walking.

When the snow suddenly began to fall more heavily than before, he only knew he managed to drift over onto the road by the roughness beneath his feet. It was only slightly better than the lumpy cold of the snow, but not by much.

Eventually he stopped looking. He just closed his eyes, hung his head, and made sure his feet were still moving, even if it was only by inches. Maybe it was just a slow, zombie-like shuffle to some distant, far-off dream.

He wantedmom.It was a vague thing to want, a desire he couldn’t place a name or a face to, but it came very suddenly and viciously and sunk its teeth into him.

Sounds started to blend into each other. He couldn't tell his feet from his fingers. He didn't even bother to hug himself anymore; he was so cold that it didn't even matter.

Suddenly, his foot fell in an unseen hole- he gasped, unbalanced, as his ankle twisted under his weight. He crashed to the tarmac, sliding on his hands. He heard cloth tearing as he skinned his knees. At the same time, there was an awful crack as his ankle gave out and he whimpered- he would've cried out had he the energy left to do so.

His breathing came in hard. He was on the verge of sobbing again- the pain was a harsh reminder of where he was, how lost he was, the utter hopelessness of it all.

He tried to get back up, but his ankle collapsed as soon as he tried to straighten it. Another stab of pain sent him down, face against the tarmac. There was dirt in his mouth, but he didn't try to get it out- his arms felt too heavy, joints stiff, fingers unresponsive.

And he felt so sleepy. The ground was soft, like a giant pillow, so warm and welcoming. It was almost like he was floating, and he didn't fight it. He didn't want to. He just wanted to close his eyes, rest for a bit. Maybe when he woke up again, he would be back in a bed somewhere nice, and find this all to be a terrible nightmare...

Even as he sat his head down on the ground, skin tingling at the invisible blanket being dropped over him, light flickered in the distance. Silhouettes, thin columns of trees, melding with the building to look scattered and thick like a line of soldiers, tangled with crooked, bone branches, washing over him like shadows of memories.

He opened his eyes again, disturbed to have his sleep taken away from him so quickly. What was that? Who turned on the lights? It was past midnight; he needed sleep. He had to wake up early tohelp in the sitting room tomorrow….

The lights grew brighter and brighter, accompanied by a growing roar and his head dropped, the world falling out from underneath him and he slipped into oblivion.

….and, like some distant omniscience Dazai Osamu would never remember-

The body appeared like a ghost beneath their headlights.

"Fuyuki, look out!" the woman cried, grabbing her husband's arm and pointing with her other hand.

He saw it a split second after she did and hit the brakes- tires screeching, wheel spinning around, and the entire car careening around the body. It swung back on two wheels, the passengers screaming as the car tilted at a sharp angle, before the car whirred and crashed back down on four wheels, coming to a complete stop.

The engine whirred, but all was silent within the vehicle. The both of them were breathing hard, exchanging looks of shock with each other. Then, a breath, a shared wavering smile, a tentative brush of their hands, they looked back at the body, unmoving on the road. It appeared stark white under the only lights within a twenty-mile radius- white and red and very, very dead.

The woman whispered, almost as though she were afraid of being overheard. "Are they... are they dead?"

The man, Fuyuki, blinked slowly, his shaking hand wandering to the door handle. His shirt was wet from spilled coffee. "I-I'll go check. Stay here, Himawari. Call your mother. I think... I think we're going to be late."

As the woman scavenged around the car for her purse, cursing as everything had managed to jumble itself around, the man stumbled out of the vehicle, his knees wobbling from the shock of the near-accident, the fear of what he might discover on this lonely stretch of road in the middle of the shopping district they’d turned on by accident.

The cold hit him like a brick wall and he shivered, pulling his jacket closer around his body. Maybe he should've gotten his gloves first- only they were almost definitely lost somewhere in the car.

He took hesitant steps towards the body, his body casting a large shadow as he walked out in front of the car, headlights dulling the contrast the blood had made. Bending down, Fuyuki held out his hands in caution. Now that he was closer, he could see the body was a boy. Young, thin, and dressed in what looked like cotton pajamas. His clothes were covered in red streaks.

It took him several long seconds to trace the blood to thetwo holesin his back.

Fuyuki gasped, stumbling backwards on his hands in a crab-walk when he realized what they were. His heart hammered in his chest as a million possibilities ran through his mind: was this a murder? Some sort of mafia hit? A kidnapping? The mafia was the most likely answer- though, with the number of brothels in the area, it could be a mix of the two. The only thing that was certain was that this was something that an average man like him, with a family and a job, couldn't afford to get involved with.

"Oh my god,"he murmured, drawing a hand over his face. What should he do? He wanted to leave the body, to just go home like he never saw anything, but there was no way he could convince his wife to do the same. Himawari was too…. agh, too well-meaning to just leave. It was why he’d married her- the woman who hadn’t turned a blind eye to a classmate being bullied. It was that quality that would curse them, now.

"Why me?" He muttered somewhere skyward.

If he didn't do something now, then it would only be someone else who inevitably drove down this road. Maybe it would lead into a real accident, with injuries and death. Fuyuki didn't want to touch the body, but he also didn't want anyone else to get hurt- he was never as well-meaning as Himawari, but he had a conscious to him.

Still unsure if he was going to take the body or leave it, he approached him once more. He'd have to contact the police. There would be an investigation. He might be a suspect. So would his wife.

They would be very late getting home.

He sighed. Well, it was too late now. Might as well get it over with.

Then Fuyuki, trembling a bit, rested his hands on the boy’s shoulder. His skin was very cold, just like a dead body should be.

Then he groaned in response, very much like a dead bodywouldn't.

Fuyuki yelped, jumping back again. He wrung his hands like he had just burned himself. And right before his eyes, the boy rolled onto his back, arms flopping against the cold ground, his lips and fingers a worrying shade of blue.

"Himawari!" he called, unable to hide his panic. He scrambled to his feet, cupping his hands over his mouth so the woman could hear him over her conversation on the phone. He saw her shift behind the dark window, her eyes wide under the dim light inside the car. "Himawari! Get the blanket! He’s-” barely believing what he was about to say, “he’s still breathing!"

As Fuyuki turned back around to look at the boy, he could hear a string of curses as Himawari unbuckled her seatbelt and crawled into the backseat to get their emergency gear. It was meant for the occasion that they might end up stranded with no gas, if or when it ever happened.

He leaned over the boy, tried shaking him awake. "Hello? Kid, are you okay? Can you hear me?"

Fuyuki could barely wrap his head around this. There was no doubt that the holes in his back were from bullets, yet this boy looked completely fine, if rather frozen, besides that. And he wasbreathing.Somehow, he was still alive.

His lips moved, but his voice was so soft that he couldn't hear her. Fuyuki brought his ear closer, but he was just saying gibberish, something foreign, spliced with things that might have been languages or nothing at all.

Footsteps beside him, and Himawari appeared, wool blanket in her arms. She sounded breathless, like she just had a fight with her mother. "Is he- is he still alive?"

"He's breathing," He said, which was true, although he didn't know for how long. "He needs a hospital."

Himawari nodded slowly. Although her face was in shadow, she had gone pale. "The nearest hospital is thirty minutes away. Unless you want to call for help-"

"-He'll freeze before then-"

"-Mother will be so angry-"

"-Your mother is always angry-"

"-Fuyuki!"

"What?" he frowned as his wife tossed the blanket over the boy, her hands flicking like she was afraid to touch the body. "Let's get him in the car. It'll be warmer."

The boy was lighter than he looked, and it could have taken only Himawari to haul him into the backseat. What made it worse was the boy’s struggling- somehow, after spending what could've been hours or more in subzero temperatures, he was still breathing, still moving. Fuyuki wondered if this was normal.

Himawari voiced his worries when they returned to their seats and he kicked the car into gear. "Do you… do you think he's one of them?"

A brief silence pierced them.

"Themwho?" Fuyuki pretended not to know what she was talking about, hoping she would drop it but knowing his wife well enough to know she wouldn’t.

"You know. Those people with the- the fire." Her voice stumbled over the words. "Like what they did to that town down south. The smoke in the mountains. Could he be-"

"No." Fuyuki said firmly as they got back on the road. It wasn't that he didn't believe his wife, but that he couldn't afford to at this moment. And maybe, yes, he hoped Himawari was wrong. "He's only a child. What could he possibly have to do with the attacks?"

Behind them, the boy muttered something, a language neither of them understood but recognized as a language nonetheless. Himawari and Fuyuki exchanged looks. The way he’d survived so long in the snow paired with the bullet wounds on his back meant that he was very likely one of them, one of the people born withcurses-or, ah, supernatural abilities.

"We didn't hear anything," Fuyuki said, the safest answer. "We take him to the hospital, then we go to your mother's house. We tell no one. And we pray. We pray that nothing happens."

"You are a fool, Fuyuki."

"And yet, you still married me."

Soft, warm darkness.

This time, he woke gradually.

Drifting in and out. Unable to cling to consciousness- catching a glimpse of pale green walls before slipping back again. Sounds, obnoxiously loud noises echoed in his head, rattling inside the hollowness before fading out, then coming back in loud bursts, making him jump. But he might as well have been comatose for all that his body responded to his thoughts.

That is to say, not at all.

His tongue felt thick and dry. He couldn't speak when he had the coherence of mind to try. It scared him- he thought he would choke on his own tongue, and in his momentary panic, he fell back into oblivion.

He felt blissfully weightless, like he was floating on lily pads. It didn't hurt to breathe, and as long as he didn't think about his hands or his mouth, he could enjoy the numbing sensation.

And then, just as he was starting to relax, it left him.

He wanted to cry out, complain, claw it back. Reality was a cold, uncomfortable truth that he couldn't face yet. A dull ache traveled up his arms, down his legs. Something was pressed against his face, but his arms were lead weights. He couldn't lift them to reach anything, much less bat away the uncomfortable sensation still on his cheek.

Light pierced behind his lids, and it was then that he finally opened his eyes.

He had never been in this room before in his life, but he could recognize a hospital when he saw one (though he really still didn’t understand why). The washed-out color, the shape of the gurney, the IV tower and the tiny TV set up in the corner. Directly opposite to him was a door. To his right, white curtains separated patients from one another. Pale sunlight came in from the veiled window to his left.

Beyond the door was a rush of people- doctors in white coats, nurses in patterned scrubs and clipboards, EMTs rushing past with stretchers on wheels.

It was loud and chaotic. Someone had left the door open, likely because he wasn’t exactly sleeping or anything. If someone told him that had really been in a coma, he would have believed them, the feeling of being disconnected from his body so stark that it made him shiver. The cacophony of shouting and footsteps and machine noises made it hard to focus on anything. The sounds entered his head and knocked everything loose until he felt like he was barely treading water, being pushed and pulled by a current he couldn't see.

His gaze slid to the TV, finding a news reporter and the captions beneath her. The letters looked strange to his unfocused eyes, like someone forgot what the Japanese alphabet looked like, but he could barely fathom his own confusion. They were too fast for him to read anyways, so it failed to leave an impact on him.

The reporter, blonde in a blue suit and microphone, stood in front of some smoking ruins of a building. As firefighters worked behind her, her voice filtered in, "...has been completely destroyed by the blast. Police have yet to determine the cause of this deadly explosion. Although response was quick, there are five reported casualties. No word yet on any suspects, but police believe that this may be a result of local terrorist uprising in response to the war..."

English. She was speaking in English. It took a moment to hear the words for what they were, to switch his brain to the part that heard it and insisted that he knew the language. The words were written in romanji, and now he was catching on to it. A battle? A war? Maybe…. that meant the UN was involved in something…. maybe, maybe, maybe….

He watched, only half uncomprehendingly now, as the report went on, showing different images of the building, before and after the explosion. It looked like it had been some sort of post office, now rendered a charred shell. In the center of the main room was a distinct circle of untouched floor, with black streaks radiating out from it. Against the walls were black silhouettes of people, arms raised like they had been pushed before their shadows were memorialized in smoke and ash.

There were also several civilian videos of the explosion as it happened- all from on the street, the various cameras shook and crackled as a bright orange cloud erupted from the doors and windows; glass shattered and cars shifted in their parking spots. People screamed so loud it overpowered the speakers and the shots became unrecognizable as everyone started running.

It was chilling to watch, but his body barely reacted to his thoughts. He could only watch in some distant, unfeeling, detached horror as the videos repeated themselves.

"Oh, good, you're awake."

He jolted, surprised. Turning his head, a concentrated effort, he looked up at the short-haired nurse who seemingly appeared out of nowhere. She had hooded eyes and nicotine-stained fingers; a general air of indifference that made him feel unwelcome there.

She gazed at him, entirely expressionless, the loose syringe in her hand dangling there. "Do you remember your name? Where you are?"

Still not in Japanese, and though accented, it was perfectly understandable. He worked his jaw, trying to find the right words, working on his English and only managing to speak in Japanese. "I-I don't... what day is it? What happened to me?"

"Just answer my questions, kid," The nurse replied slowly, counteracting his sluggish but curious voice, still speaking in English despite apparently understanding his Japanese. She held up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Three," he blinked hard several times, trying to grasp what was going on. Was this all real? Was he really in a hospital? Had he gotten hurt, or was it another…. another asthma attack (did he have asthma?)? He could feel the tubes in his nose, feeding him oxygen, and at first, he thought that was it. "M-my mom, where is she?"

Mom.He didn’t know why he was asking or even thinking about that faceless figure again, but the question felt right on his tongue.

"Do you remember your name?" The nurse asked again, raising one eyebrow. "Once we’re sure you can still identify yourself, we can contact your family. I’m not sure why they weren’t informed en masse yet, but we can rectify that soon enough."

The whole conversation wasn’t making sense to him. Who was his family? Why did it sound that they knew what was going on? Against all reason, his mouth moved in response to the question without his mind knowing the answer.

“Tsushima Shuuji,” he said.

It was then that he realized that she was not wearing a nurse’s uniform at all. She was dressed head-to-toe in red, and she had a gun in her hand, not a syringe. The open door had soldiers rushing around, not EMTs.

The answer came to him very obviously as he finally read the paper she’d handed him, a picture of him on the front, to its right his… his file, he supposed.

Name: Tsushima Shuuji
Age: Nine years (approx.)
Ability: No Longer Human
Assignment: Hunting Dogs (tbd.) (see pg 9)

“How did you get there?”

Dazai was not prepared for the question with how Chuuya had been quiet the entire time. He wrung his hands together, very stressed and very tired, wishing he’d forgotten about all of it so he wouldn’t have to answer questions. He’d been the one to offer up the answers, though, so…. “I still don’t know. I think… I think they took me at first and I might have ran away? I just don’t….”

Chuuya stared for a very long moment. “That’s fine. What happened after that?”

Dazai stared right back. “A lot, Chuuya. I….” he licked his lips, pulled at his fingers, “a lot. Can we not talk about it? Not now, at least? It wasn’t…. I was there for five weeks, I guess. That’s what they said. It was barely anything, but they kept talking about modifications not ‘working’ on me. I’m guessing they were ability based, so…”

It was selfish to ask Chuuya to settle for half-answers. He knew that and was fully prepared to be told to continue.

“It’s fine,” Chuuya interrupted him again, his eyes trained keenly on the way Dazai had tore open the skin next to one of his nails in his rambling. “What…. do you know how you got there?”

His hands dropped when he followed Chuuya’s gaze, only faintly registering the little sting. “I… I do now. It didn’t start there…. or, I mean-”

When he looked up at Chuuya his eyes were more red than brown.

“Tsushima Shuujididn’t start there.”

(Shuuji was born in a pretty picture frame.)

Tsushima Shuuji was the sixth son (eighth, if his mother were asked, but the others didn’t survive, so his father didn’t call him the eighth).

Bunji was the oldest (Tama and Toshi were older, but they weren’t boys, so his father called Bunji the oldest).

Eiji was the smartest (Tama was the smartest next to Shuuji, but she was a girl and Shuuji was the sixth-eighth son, so his father called Eiji the smartest).

Keiji was the troubled one (everyone agreed except for his father, who said that none of them were troubled unless the doors were closed).

Ai was the prettiest (but only their father agreed; Kiyau took the most after their mother among the girls).

Reiji was the youngest (which was worse than being the sixth-eighth son, but he would die at seventeen and he was three years younger than Shuuji, so he wouldn’t suffer being the seventh-ninth for long).

Kinzaburou and Soichiro were dead. There was a girl, too, but his father didn’t let his mother name her since she wasn’t a boy and hadn’t made it five months in his mother’s stomach (Hana, or Himawari; his mother had been talking about naming her something spring-like, even though she was due in winter. She loved incongruous things like that). None of them were talked about.

They were all smart,their father said,because they all took after him.

But Shuuji knew he was lying, because he wrung his hands tighter and always started shouting matches with their mother after too many visitors asked. His father was the sixth son too, which was why he didn’t like Shuuji, less so than even his older brothers whose pictures were hung in the family shrine. They survived for several years past birth before dying.Their mother’s genetics,he claimed.

That might have been true, because she was sick. It was one of the reasons why Gen’emon hated her. He tookherlast name and became the head ofherfamily, so he was angry at his birth order and angry at her. She was the eldest daughter of a wealthy family that’d grown from moneylending and a certified genius of a century, so she was allowed to be called the oldest if anyone asked, unlike Tama who planned to run away because she liked dancing instead of science and used her intelligence to be good at that instead. She was loud and obnoxious enough about it that that was the only thing people remembered about her instead of her being at the top of her class and invited to study abroad.

She would be good for France instead of the dreary traditional walls. Tama had always had eyes too green for the everlasting winter that made their house run cold even in the heat of summer.

Tsushima Taneko loved Shuuji very much. He was her favorite child and he was smart enough to know it. He was also smart enough to know that no one else minded because no one else wanted to be Taneko’s favorite. She read him books- textbooks and fiction in languages he learned to recognize because she would not translate for him after setting down a foreign dictionary in front of him.

“This is how my mother taught me,” she would insist with her curly brown hair messy around her shoulders, perpetually tangled and unkempt though never drawing away from her bright, red-brown eyes that sparkled like garnet when she was especially drawn away with her tangents. She had a beautiful face, one strikingly similar to his own.

She spoke about many things, some that Shuuji suspected he wasn’t meant to know, like plots and monetary affairs and unsolved cases she figured out after sneaking glances at her uncle’s work from when she was young, the work he used to do before he died. Shuuji’s grandfather took over entirely after he died, reinstated despite having retired. She wouldn't talk about him, usually. She only drank wine unless persuaded by his aunt into a glass of whiskey, but it always left her calculatedly loose-lipped. He wondered if she drank to give herself an excuse to properly entertain him. She never even looked tipsy after several glasses at family events.

The library became their home together, with the window seat dredged up with a flowery cover for the seat’s padding, sewn messily by Keiji as punishment because he was playing with the decorative knife he’d been gifted. Luckily, he was not told to sew up Shuuji’s leg that had been in the crossfire. That was done by the good doctor, who’d been in and out, tending to his mother’s illness.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” she would say after her depressive fits, lying through her teeth to the older children. She never made eye contact with Shuuji (and sometimes Tama) when she made her excuses. They weren’t fooled.

Shuuji was eight years old when he first met Mori Ougai.

“Wait,” Chuuya blinked rapidly. “Mori?! I thought you met him like a year before I joined, though?”

“I thought it was the same person,” Dazai said, eyes dizzy and distant. “I… I could’ve sworn…”

And it was then that Chuuya finally reached out to touch him, rubbing his hip reassuringly, albeit briefly. He pulled his hand back, feeling guilty for touching when it so obviously felt off limits in such a vulnerable moment. “What do you mean?”

“Ah…. well,” Dazai breathed, trying to fight the urge to curl up in Chuuya's lap and never leave. “He introduced himself as Rintaro-sensei. I ended up spending more time with him than anyone else. For some reason my parents let him walk around the house however he pleased. It didn't help when he diagnosed my mother.”

It's genetic,the good doctor explained her depression before exclaiming to their father that it must be luck that none of the children showed signs of it. He did not look at Shuuji when he said so. He did not take back his words when Kiyau ‘fell asleep in the bath’ after a long week of silence in her bedroom.

A tumor.

Taneko had a tumor.

Her brilliant mind began decaying little by little. Shuuji kept track in the window seat, watching her fumble over her Russian that he supplemented for her occasionally when she took too long to remember a word. Her Spanish curled failingly over syllables until she stared blankly into space. He caught her in the library, scribbling equations and algebraic topography, stopping to play the piano every hour on the hour, her shaking fingers twitching over symphony arrangements and foreign musical delicacies. He watched her every day, day by day, slowly but surely, until she missed a note in Beethoven’spiano sonata no. 29for the first time since he’d first heard her playing.

It was only then that he believed the good doctor when his smile waned as he told Shuuji she had three months.

Shuuji talked with the doctor often. While primarily Taneko’s physician, Shuuji was born sickly and needed him to monitor whatever chronic illness he may have had.

He didn't like the doctor very much, but the attention was addicting. When Rintaro-sensei asked, Shuuji obliged.

Dazai fell silent for a long moment.

Chuuya didn't want to ask, didn't want to interrupt again, but, “what…. what do you mean?”

“I…. It was my ninth birthday and he said it was a present.”

“Dazai, what-”

“He touched me,”Dazai wheezed out.

Chuuya felt cold. So, so cold. He…. Dazai wasnine.He was ababy.

“He took pictures,” Dazai whispered like a secret into the space between them, like he was ashamed to say it. “He asked if he could and I-”

“Dazai-”

“-I saidyes,Chuuya,” he whimpered, tilting his head up to show off vulnerable eyes. “He left those marks on my thigh and I wasso happy.”

Chuuya felt sick when he realized what Dazai was trying to convince him- maybe evenhimself-of. “You were nine.”

“I still said yes,” he argued for the sake of arguing. “And, and it- I- Ilikedthe attention.”

“Osamu,”Chuuya nearly whined, cold disgust washing up his spine at the implications that a nine year old could ever beresponsiblefor an adult doing something so vile. “You were neglected and abused. You-” he stuttered on a breath. “You didn’tknowbetter.”

A beat, a silence he didn't know how to breach, and then;

“I wasn't abused. The maids…. they were meaner,” he insisted. “They dressed me up and bullied me, and it….”

Chuuya wanted to say something, insist right back that Dazai couldn't be responsible for what adults had done- for the man who'd assaulted him, the women who did something to him- but there was so muchconvictionin his words that he didn't know how to break it down. It wasn't something he could do in a day or by himself.

Dazai needed therapy.

Chuuya didn't think he could convince him to go.

“The maids?” Because the only way they could heal was if they ripped everything back open.

Dazai’s pained little whimper made him regret asking.

Shuuji was wandering around again.

No one liked it when he walked around aimlessly. They commented a few times that he was weird and strange and creepy, even. It was usually a good thing, since they didn’t pay attention to him, but even Shuuji needed someone to look at him every once in a while. His mother was stuck in the hospital again for another few days, so he took the chance to finish the books she wanted him to read.

If he’d known how bored he would be now, he would’ve taken his time reading through them.

He strayed towards the kitchen for a snack, since it was too early for dinner and too late for lunch. He would grab something to snack on and then head back to the library to pick out another book.

A hand slipped into his collar and tugged him away from the doorway.

“Master Shuuji!” The maid was tall and mean and even though her name was Ai, just like his sister, she rarely ever suited it. She bounced between being harsh with him and sickly sweet, insisting that the girls were too old for dress up now. “What do you think you’re doing in the kitchen?”

“....grabbing a snack,” Shuuji murmured after a moment.

She frowned at him. “You should know by now that it’s already too close to dinner-” it wasn’t- “for a snack. Do you want to spoil your meal?”

“It’s only three,” Shuuji said, maybe a little too petulantly but it was true. Dinner wouldn’t be for another four hours. Everyone knew that.

“Have you been keeping yourself up in that library again?” She argued back, just like she always did. “You can’t even remember the time.”

It started normally. It wasn’t even…. there wasnothingto indicate that she was about to do whatever it was that she did. All he remembered after that was the singular, damning sentence.

“Let’s go into the study and look at the clock again.”

“....and then she took me into the study,” Dazai murmured softly, rubbing at his wrist.

Chuuya didn’t want to ask, didn’t want an answer, but…. “What did she do?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember what happened.” A long moment of silence passed with Dazai’s eyes glazed over. It took three minutes before he spoke again, but Chuuya didn’t know how to breach the silence. Maybe after this he could learn.

(Dazai had been lying, kind of. He did, in some respect, remember the occasional snippet of what had happened in that room, in the study with the maid and the clock and the way she touched him, insisting it wasn’t a big deal as she made him sit on her lap. He just didn’t want to tellChuuyathat. Not yet.)

“So, ah, he diagnosed my mother with the tumor. She had three months to live, so…”

She missed their reading time the next day.

“Kaa-san?” Shuuji called, toeing around Ai’s colored pencils in the hallway of the main building, her dull-toned green eyes only sparing him a glance before returning to her work.

“She said she was taking a bath,” Ai said, firmly looking at her artwork. She, like their other siblings, didn’t like to look him in the eyes. They wouldn’t hold his hand either, even when he was little and would get lost if they didn’t. He got very good at following without it. She was the only one, aside from sometimes Eiji, who would say anything to him without him talking first.

(Tama would sometimes slip him fruit for snacks when the maids tried to play around with him. Genius recognized genius, however, so she was smart enough to skirt around any particular conversations.)

It was fine. He was nine and didn’t need to hold a hand across the street. He was only going across the house, after all. He definitely didn’t need Ai to hold his hand. She didn’t even remember that Taneko hated baths just like him. They made her skin crawl.

“Kaa-san?” He called again, knocking on the bathroom door. It was her personal bathroom in her own room, the one she told most of them to never bother her in, but Shuuji wasn’t usually included. He let her talk about differential equations as long as she liked, so he wasn’t included in many rules.

When she didn’t answer, he shifted the book in his hands, the big and heavy English one with five novels by Charles Dickinson. They hadn’t gotten to Emily Dickinson yet, the woman his mother called her favorite English poet. They needed to finish all five novels first. It was a rule she’d made up for him, just like the rules about going to bed and snapping and clicking his tongue three times before doing most things. He'd picked up other habits like talking to or about people in the third person from her. With the novel tucked unsteadily under his arm, slipping under the sleeve of his yukata, he called a warning and opened the door.

Locked.

Hm.

Someone like his mom wouldn’t lock the door without a reason. Even with her declining mental and physical health, missing their reading time and then leaving a door locked would have to be another mystery she’d left just for him. Or, Shuuji considered, it was his own curiosity that insisted on it.

Either way, the bobby pin tucked just under the doorway where he or his mom could grab it was what he was looking for. She’d shown him herself the right way to unlock doors, a cloudy look in eyes as she said that if she or his father ever had it in their minds to lock him in somewhere, he ought to have just as much wit about him to unlock it and give them a piece of his mind. He slid it into his hair after the lock clicked open, the book ready at his side-

Oh.

She left the water running. She always told him not to, what with the age of the house. Flooding the bathroom would ruin the floors. He collected her towel from the rack and placed it down after turning off the water. He turned to stare for a long time before sighing.

“Bye-bye,” he bowed to the bathroom.

(For years after, Shuuji would remember this moment. He would remember the shadows that were cast around the room, the dripping of the water that had just barely started to spill over the edge of the bathtub, a chill to the air without the heater she usually had running. He would behauntedby the memory when it was finally explained to him. When he finally understood what he had seen.)

Shuuji shifted the book to both hands and walked back towards the library.

He finished the fifth novel just as sirens flooded the sanctuary of the cold Tsushima manor, colder still without the only real Tsushima there to ramble on to them about the mastered angle of her neck as it hung from its noose to increase the likelihood of a successful suicide as she preserved the dignity of her rotting intellect.

Shuuji would move on to Emily Dickinson as soon as the sirens stopped.

The noise was bothering him.

“Was that the first time you saw someone die?” Chuuya wasn’t being malicious in asking that, but it made some thick and inescapable feeling bubble up in his chest.

Death smelt a little bit like fruit left out to sour, but at some point Dazai could only smell sick, thick, musked dog’s drool even when it had no reason being there.

Quickly, scrambling, Dazai could hear the scraping of the dog’s nails skidding across the concreted flooring, the sick shriek of chalkboard as they fought against Mori’s grip on their leashes and he knew they were getting closer. The body would keep them off him. It would-

Huffing, panting, shaking with blood-slick fingers and frozen palms, Dazai pushed at the caved-in side of the girl who was around his age and realized with a manic twange that it was actually all wound. There was almost no skin left. He let out a little cry as he tried to pry her up to roll her to the far corner and only managed to slip from the wetness and drag his palm against what could have been a bone fragment on the floor. It made his hand stung but the dogs were closer and he heaved her over again and again until she was finally propped on her side against the wall, almost dead and gone as her chest heaved just barely with her brown eyes partially open and looking just a bit like runny eggs

He didn't want to know why they looked like runny eggs.

Dazai tried to stand to run back to his little alcove, but his feet were slipping over the drag of red over to her body and the door was cranking open, too well-oiled at the hinge to squeak but too low-hanging to not scrape against the concrete. The dogs were rampant, now. Mori didn't feed them nearly enough. That was why Dazai was here, but usually he had to huddle himself up and try to stay awake as they snapped at him. He barely managed to leverage himself up and into the divot in the wall as they nipped once at his shoes, getting the lace for a moment until the man who was bringing them this time- some face he didn't recognize and didn't need to- shouted them off. Finally, he tethered them just as the first dog, the smallest one, caught scent of the girl.

Dazai had never watched someone get eaten.

He wished he could forget that, too.

“No.”

Seeing a dead body was very different from watching someone die.

They didn’t interview him immediately. Ai had been the one to check on him and their mother because she hadn’t noticed him leaving to go back to the library, so she was the one who sounded the alarms throughout the house with her screaming. They couldn’t interview him until Ai stopped screaming, because only Ai knew that he must’ve found her first.

He asked to bring the poetry book with him. They looked at him strangely.

“It’s a trauma response,” one of them whispered tiredly, glancing back at him wearily. “He’s shutting down emotionally.”

Was he really?

He walked with the officer when he led them to the police car.

“Do you want to hold my hand?” The officer asked when they arrived at the station in silence, Shuuji working through the poetry dutifully, holding his hand out to him.

“Shuuji doesn't get to hold hands,” Ryuuji explained, six and not understanding the situation. He was sad only because the rest of them were sad. “It's ’cause he feels weird.”

The officer looked at Shuuji with something different in his eyes, like Shuuji was a curious puzzle. His mom looked at him like that often. “It's okay,” he said, warmer now as he crouched down. “I have a special ability, soIdon't think you're too weird to hold hands with.”

Shuuji stared at him for a long moment, then at his hand. Like a magnet pulling him in, there was a warm tingling that grew the closer he got to the man. He swayed forward andgrippedonto his hand.

“That was the first time I used my ability,” Dazai muttered softly. “I wish…. I wish he'd left well enough alone.”

Chuuya didn’t have the words. He… he’d known, in some sense, that Dazai’s obsession with suicide had to come from somewhere, but the way he’d described it…..

‘Preserving the dignity’ ofanythingcouldn’t have been called a valid reason to take one’s own life. He wondered if that was how Dazai felt, that committing suicide was a way to keep things exactly the way they were; the way he thought they should always be. Death was a form of stasis for Dazai and it was heartbreaking in a million ways.

Heartbreaking even now as he glanced down at the fresh red lines on Dazai’s arm.

“Why?”

“It happened in front of my Father.”

Dazai spoke about his father as though the simple word was meant to carry more weight (the damaging kind) than it should.

“...what does that mean?”

“It means that after my mother died, I wasn’t exactly welcome back there again,” Dazai said softly, something that could have been mournful lurking in his eyes. “He decided that he’d use the ability to get rid of me.”

Chuuya sucked in a breath, then, “how did he do that?”

“He made a deal with the government.”

“But you were only-”

“Nine,” Dazai breathed. He looked away and sighed. “I was nine. The war wasn’t very widely televised- probably because the government knew it wouldn't get enough public support to be worth trying at propaganda. They were desperate for ability users. Age didn’t matter.”

There was a beat of silence. Dazai was about to force himself to continue, but then, “so where did you end up next?"

Dazai looked back at him, back at those blue eyes for a brief and stilted moment of eye contact, then looked away when it made him wish desperately that Chuuya would hold his hand. He couldn’t be that selfish anymore. “He sold me to the government for the Hunting Dogs. But, ah, the modifications didn’t work, and the Hunting Dogs were still a new concept, then, so they gave up pretty easily. The ministry of justice decided they wanted a new ability user, but they weren’t told what my ability was, only that I had one….”

Cold.

Mouth dry.

Wheeze. Rattle. Shake.

Bright white light filtered through his eyelids. Shuuji squinted, wondering if he was back in the ambulance.

But there was nothing. No movement. No sound. Nothing aside from the beeping of a machine, the rhythmic press and release of some sort of gas, and the faint creaking as he shifted on the soft mattress he was lying on, the metal cot beneath.

His chest felt heavy, too heavy on one side. Something was in his mouth, pressing down on his tongue, extending irritatingly into his throat. He couldn't close his jaw or swallow.

He could barely breathe.

Something was wrong.

His teeth rubbed against hollow plastic. He tried to bite it, to get up, to do anything, but he barely had the energy to blink. There was tape on his face; maybe to keep the tube in place, maybe just to annoy him. He couldn't do anything but wonder why the world was spinning around him.

Then there was a bang echoing in the room, loud and metallic. He tried to pick up his head, but it was soheavy.Everything was so heavy. Shuuji had never been heavy, but now it felt as if every bone in his body was made of marble or lead. Heavy, hard, and so, so brittle.

A shadow slipped over him. He blinked, squinting again, his breath rattling soft and wheezing in his throat. It was a doctor, wasn't it? He figured it out. He was back in the hospital again, back with the good doctor. This was the part that always came after the ambulance ride. The tubes, the prick in his arm, the blankets thick over his too-cold feet and hands.

Then came the squeak of wheels, a swivel chair pulling up next to his cot. His eyes tried to focus on the blur, but he was struggling to focus on anything at all.

"Hello, Shuuji,” the voice of the black silhouette said. Male, smooth and low. An accent speaking perfect English, and then… and then he realized that he mightrecognizeit. "I suppose you're wondering what's happened since the operation."

Operation?He didn't remember it. He remembered a hospital. The ambulance ride, after…. after something. He remembered the sirens and the blood. Nothing else.

He thought he shook his head, but he was so weak he wasn't sure if thought was translated to movement. He tried to say something- "Where's my mom?"- but the thing that came out of his throat was not a voice. It was a sound, some weak animalistic cry. Pain and anguish. He didn't want to be there.

The reflexive request for someone again was startling, especially for someone so abstract, someone he couldn’t place.

"I know, you have many questions,” the man kept speaking, and his voice was so soothing that it settled him, for some reason. There was a tone to it that made him feel safe, but he didn't understand it. His mind chased this thought as he continued, "and you'll understand everything, in due time. Right now, though, the priority is your health. Your father-”huh?“-informs me that you have a collapsed lung, and are suffering from internal bleeding.”

The words made him go still, and he barely registered it as the man leaned his elbow against the mattress, right next to his hip. He was still too far away for him to make out any details of his face. "For now, you will live. We have very good doctors here, and they have extended your longevity for about a week with no further intervention. We have you on life support, and it's doing most of your heart's work for you. It's very weak, I'm afraid. It's impressive it's even lasted this long at all. You're very strong, Shuuji. I’m surprised your father went so far, but you’ve held on and played your role rather impressively."

Shuuji blinked slowly at him. He didn't really understand the words he was saying, because they made no sense. He was in a hospital. There are doctors. But this man was... not a doctor? Who was he?

He wanted to ask, but the words did not come. Would not come, because he still couldn't speak, the plastic tube still in the way.

His fingers twitched, though. Towards him. Shuuji wanted to know.

“What was he talking about?” Dazai looked over at Chuuya, confused. “When he…. when he said he was surprised you were so hurt. What was he talking about?”

“Oh,” Dazai sighed. “I don’t remember too much of it, but I think…. I think an accident was staged. You know, so that I ended up with them at all.”

"Me?" He said, understanding. How he perceived it at all surprised him. He didn't expect his questions to get answered at that point. He determined his accent to be Japanese, but was still confused why they were speaking English if they were both Japanese. "Do you not recognize me?” He asked, wonderingly. Shuuji’s eyes were still struggling, but the dark hair felt so painfully reminiscent of something he felt he was supposed to recognize.

The man must have realized the name game wasn’t going anywhere. “I'm someone who's very interested in your well-being, Shuuji. I think you have much potential, and that potential is of great use to me. And I have the means to save your life. There is no question to it- you are dying. You will not live much longer if there isn't intervention. The fact that we reached you when we did was a miracle. Had we been any slower, you would surely be dead by now."

He shuddered at that, choked on the plastic in his throat.

It was more honest than anyone had ever been with him.

The man clucked his tongue, and Shuuji felt a touch against his cheek. "Oh, come now, there's no reason to cry, Shuuji. You are in good hands here. I promise you; we will not let you die. Fate is on our side. Your salvation is already in your blood. You were born with it, with that ability of yours.”

It was terribly optimistic when measured up with how Shuuji actually felt. Still, he cried, because he wantedmom.He was scared, and he felt very instinctively she was the only one who would make it better. This not-doctor wasn't helping, no matter how kind he sounded.

"I know you must be afraid." The chair squeaked and shifted, and suddenly a face was over Shuuji’s. He saw him.

Shuuji couldseehim.

"It's in your eyes," he said, and Shuuji stared. Red eyes. Dark hair. Clean-shaven and high cheekbones. A handsome face. Just less than middle-aged. A sharpness in his expression that was more striking than anything he had ever seen before. Maybe it would have been scary had Shuuji been born different. He smiled and suddenly Shuuji knew that he recognized this person without knowing anything about him at all. "It's in your face. I knew you were young but... I never imagined just how small you would look finally sitting here. To think you had to live nine years of this. I'm sorry for all the torment you had to endure," he continued.

And that's when Shuuji got it.

The way his voice sounded, why it didn't scare him like it should. It sounded like that faceless figure he called mom. It sounded the way she did when he was sick, when he was hurt, when heneededher.

"I'm sorry for the pain you are in right now."

It was a voice cultivated only through practice, through years of experience. It held the same awkwardness he felt deeply that hers did, the same unfamiliarity balanced with instinct.

The voice of a parent. Afather.

His hand brushed against his forehead, pushing hair out of his face. It sent a chill down his back, racing like spiders down his back. "But soon, it will be gone. You will never experience pain like this again. I will make you better.”

The scene shifted before he could understand what was happening. In the back of his mind, he knew this wasn't real, that this wasn't happening real-time, and that he was experiencing a memory. Or rather, a collection of memories haphazardly sewn back together again. The kind man's face flickered out, his voice fading into an unintelligible jumbled mess that he could no longer make out- he strained to listen, trying to gather as much information as possible. That man was important, he knew, he just wasn't sure how.

He found himself in a different, but similar cold white room. This time, however, his comfy cot had been replaced by a much less accommodating metal table. An operating table?

He discovered it was a little easier to move, shifting a few more inches only to find that his wrists and ankles were bound by leather manacles attached to the table. There was also bracing on either side of his head, which kept him from turning and looking around the room. He stared at his wrists, struggled weakly for a moment before giving up. Breathing too hard still hurt. The tube in his mouth had been removed, although the IV in his arm remained.

It was then he realized that what he was lying on was no table. On either side of the surface were hinged covers, and it was with a lurch of faint horror he realized he was lying in some kind of metal coffin. There was a faint hum of electricity in the air, and it was impossibly cold. Why was he strapped in this? Were they going to bury him alive?

He didn't know if he’d already been awake for some time, or just woke up in this memory. The last he remembered was the man's face, his kind voice. It took him a moment to register that he was not alone.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" said a feminine voice- a thick accent layering it in a way that was nearly soothing. Shuuji lifted his head up strainingly, surprised to see the tall, lean woman standing in the corner of the room. His vision was still blurry, but he could still see that she had her hands clasped behind her back, and he could pick out the shimmer of medals along her lapel. She wore a white apron over a gray uniform. She gestured to what Shuuji lied in. "A small technological marvel, meant to make those at the top of the food chain all the more powerful.”

It definitely wasn't the same person who spoke to him earlier. The voice was a dead giveaway, but he could tell that though this woman also had dark hair, it coiled against her head, styled in a way he thought might have been old fashioned; it was hard to say with how he still struggled just to see her properly.

He blinked slowly at her, still pushing the sleep away. "Who are you…?"

"Ah, yes," The woman said- an actual doctor this time? Shuuji could just barely make out the stethoscope slung around her neck. "I suppose you wouldn't know. I am Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley. You should be very grateful, you know. Without us, you would be dead.”

Shuuji stared.

The woman stared right back, something curious sparkling in her eye. “Can you not see me properly?”

"I- no?" He made a face, caught off guard by the question.

"A developmental disorder, I presume."

It wasn’t. Maybe. Shuuji’s sight had never been perfect, but it was never so fuzzy. "I was born premature,” he said anyway, because it was true. “Twenty-six weeks."

"Twenty-six weeks old?" Mary Shelley chuckled. "Well, isn't that a miracle? What is it, Shuuji, that has made you so determined to live, against all odds?"

He didn’t. He wasn’t. And yet,

"I…I don't know. I just want to live. Don't most people?" It was a flat answer, nothing too passionate about it.

"A few, I suppose," The doctor nodded slightly, as if appraising his answer, looking amused, at least, by his tone. "But that is not what I meant. Why do you still continue to live? Why have you made it this far, when all you have ever faced is opposition and discouragement?"

"How could you even know-"

"I know many things. What I don't know is what pushes you to keep fighting."

Her watch was engraved. When her hands moved wildly with her words, he managed to read,“Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.”

Shuuji didn’t want to answer, because he really didn’thavean answer. It wasn’t fighting- sitting there, lying down, not bothering to really interrogate anyone for answers wasn’t fighting. It was passivity, a nothingness that tainted his everyday life. He didn’t really care.

And so he flippantly considered her question, quiet for a long moment. If he was going to answer, he might as well be as close to truthful as he could get without not answering at all.

Shuuji didn’t come up with an answer in time for the drowsiness to return. Mary Shelley politely pretended she wasn’t disappointed.

“Dammit, dammit,dammit!”

Someone was screaming behind the glass. Shuuji heard them screaming, knew it was about him, decided he didn’t care, and rolled back over. It wasn’t private, but the room at least had a bed. His arm hurt, so many needles having been jabbed in it that the skin was permanently red and irritated, raised bumps littering it from the failed attempts.

It was those failed attempts that fueled the way a fist banged against the glass now. Aside from that, it was an altogether nice living arrangement. They never underfed him, always made sure he had water, and cleaned the sheets regularly when blood got on them.

“Calm down,”another voice hissed. “There are others waiting to be tested. We can keep trying- that f*ckichi kid is willing to go through it, so it’s not a lost cause. This brat’s ability is just…. incompatible with Dr. Shelley's. She couldn't evenstartthe process.”

Shuujicould have told them that weeks ago.

Finally, after a long moment, “right. Right, it’s not lost yet. Just get rid of the kid and get Dr. Shelley down here as soon as possible before she starts tearing apart the new recruits again.”

“Sir-!”

“Your turn to calm down. I don’t mean anything distasteful; we still need more abilities in this war. Dump him with the ministry- they don’t need to know his ability isn’t combative. Understand?”

“....yes, sir.”

Shuuji buried his head under the pillow and tried to hold in the way he wanted to lob off his arm if it would make the pain go away.

"Get up."

The floor was cold.

"I said," a female voice, even colder, “get up."

A steel-toed boot slammed into his ribcage. He gasped uselessly, diaphragm spasming, as his ribs cracked. Bruises on top of bruises. His knuckles were sticky with blood and broken skin.

He didn't want to move, but he didn't have a choice.Wantdidn't matter here, he already knew that, and he was stupid for resisting.

Get up,he told himself.Get up or they'll kill you.

Would that be so bad, though?

As he stood, arms weighed down with exhaustion, his lungs burning, his knees shaking, a distant part of him realized that his nose was bleeding.

That knowledge didn't help much, and he was soon sucked back into the consciousness of the moment. The room was made of concrete, hard gray walls and a floor marked with paint. Or blood. It was hard to tell. The lighting was a dim, sickly yellow, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The ceiling was unusually low. He felt like he had to hunch to fit in. Although that may also have been the exhaustion, because Shuuji wasn’t close to being tall.

As his eyes refocused on the blonde-haired woman in front of him, he was momentarily distracted by the cloud of breath in front of his face. It was always cold down here. Deep in the bowels of the god-awful building, nothing had ever seen daylight. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun. He'd been so cold for so long, he stopped feeling it a while ago.

How long had he been here? Weeks, months, maybe longer. It all felt like a blur. No one told him the date. Even that would give him too much power, too much knowledge.

(He was meant to be better than that. He found out a while later that he wasn’t nine anymore.)

In front of him, his trainer readied herself again. They'd been going at this for hours now, but she was hardly slowing down. Her skin radiated in heat waves, visible around her silhouette. Her pupils had a faint orange glow. She wasn't allowed to use the full force of her ability on him during sparring matches, but she liked to try to singe a little, sometimes bringing something else in when she got tired of her ability leaving no damage, just to keep him on his toes.

She struck out, just as he raised his fists to defend himself. He blocked the blow with his forearm. Her knuckles didn’t burn his skin, but they maybe felt warmer than they should before stuttering back to an average temperature.

Still, the blow and the pain knocked him back, and he stumbled to keep his footing. Despite the cool air, he was sweating, gasping for breath. Deciding not to let the pain slow him down, let her think he was weakening, Shuuji retaliated- brought up his leg in a kick, forcing her back, before following it up with a fist.

She had been expecting that. She dodged his kick, and grabbed his arm as he came for her. Before he knew it, her hot grip was around his wrist and she flipped him on his back. His head cracked against the cement floor.

He wanted to pass out, but his body didn't know when to stop. He was stronger now. He could take a beating and still keep going, even when he didn't want to anymore. But he couldn't make himself give out. Something deep within him refused to give up. It didn't matter rhat that was exactly what they wanted from him. He had to win, somehow.

Still, the takedown left him rattled, and he heard her call out, "That's it? You come here with a useless ability for war and still think you have the right to lay there?” She leaned in close, her face nearly beside his. “That's all you got,prodigy?”

“Mori wasn’t the first to call me that,” Dazai supplied wanely when Chuuya’s eyes darted back to him. “It really wasn’t as bad as it sounds, though. That was the worst they ever were- and they really only trained me a handful of times just to see if they could.”

“Dazai,” Chuuya muttered, a horror of sorts slipping from his tongue. “They stillexperimentedon you.”

Dazai looked up and saw something worse than hatred in Chuuya’s eyes. He saw understanding.Solidarity,even. He thought…. he thought they were similar. Chuuya thought that a couple weeks of useless jabs and the occasional (and he reallydidmean occasional) training session wasanythingcompared to what had happened to him.

He was poison after all. Howelsecould he have convinced Chuuya to compare them like that?

“The ministry wanted to keep me anyway even though my ability wasn't the best suited to a battlefield,” he said over the sudden mountainous lump in his throat. “I decided I didn’t like doing that, though, so I figured I’d leave.”

“You… You justleft?”

“Ah…. something like that.”

Shuuji made it across exactly one roof before the ground in front of him exploded and two gunshots rang through the air. His heart skipped, the sound piercing his ears like thunder, rattling and rumbling deep in his head.

"Stop right there!"

Before he could make another attempt at scrambling away, someone he recognized- a guy who always wore a red bandana around the facility, the kind that looked too large to be made to be around his neck- lunged forward, grabbing him by the arms.

"Oh, no, no, no!" he grunted, smirking as he spun him around. He cried out, tried kicking him, but he had him pinned in a second, one arm around his neck and another his middle. "You're not getting away from us this time."

"Let go of me!" Shuuji snapped, twisting this way and that, getting hair in his face. His chest hurt, and the sob that he was holding down was threatening to break free. The only thing keeping him from totally breaking down was a strange electric feeling in his veins, the same feeling that had him kicking and fighting. It was weird, though, because Shuuji definitely didn’t carethatmuch. If he had to choose, he’d choose a painless life, so- "I don’twantto! Let me go!"

"I can't believe it's still alive," A man to his right in a Red Bandana grunted, trying to keep a hold of him. He had to readjust his grip every few seconds. "You'd think two bullets would be enough for us normal folk, but I guess not, huh?"

"Didn't you read the file?" The bearded one asked, throwing Red Bandana a skeptical look as he holstered his gun. "This thing isn't normal. None of them are. Lucky for us, it's not as smart as the other ones whosigned upfor that sh*t."

Rude,Shuuji hissed internally. Neither of them had abilities, though, so he didn’t try running initially. Abilities tended to be more useful in closer quarters, but people without were more likely to use guns.

Then, to Shuuji, the bearded one sneered and said, "did you really think you could escape the ministry so easily? The war doesn't need deserters or rebels."

"It's alright," Red Bandana man said, in what seemed to be an attempt at kindness, but only came across as condescending when he looked at Shuuji, who might have seemed a bit lost. Everyone seemed to think Shuuji was lost in one way or another. "Once you're back under our roof, we'll make sure you'll never be confused again."

"Just make it easy on yourself, Shuuji," Red Bandana said in his ear and it made something in his system shock itself back to life.

His head continued to pound, worse than before. He watched blankly as the bearded one pulled out a case from his pocket. Unzipping it, he revealed a syringe, needle, and vial of clear liquid. Shuuji seized at the sight of it, but Red Bandana held on, continued, "don't fight this. If you can admit your shame for disobedience, we’re not unreasonable. You won’t be punished too badly.”

The bearded man fixed the syringe and needle before drawing up 30ccs of that strange liquid. He brought it up to Shuuji’s arm, and Red Bandana pulled up his sleeve to reveal the skin underneath. He tried to fight it, but he still had him pinned, and it only made the bearded man draw closer.

The man looked him in the eye and said, very purposefully trying to seem menacing, "last chance, Shuuji. Would you kindly be a good little soldier andshut the hell up?"

He paused, meeting the bearded man eye to eye.

"No."

Then his legs raised, knees bent, seemingly of their own accord. Red bandana swayed back, surprised, as his weight was suddenly redistributed entirely onto him. Shuuji watched in dazed bewilderment as he locked his ankles around the bearded one's hand.

Thensnappedit to the left.

It was a move he’d failed at before, but now it worked for him. His muscles felt weak and theyhurtat the strain that came with the effort."Augh!"The bearded one grunted in pain, bending down over his broken wrist, having dropped the syringe.

At the same time, he whipped his head back, heard a loud crunch as the back of his skull connected with Red Bandana’s nose.

Red bandana cried out, but the blow only loosened his grip instead of releasing him. But it was enough. One arm came loose and Shuujislammedhis elbow back into his gut, heard the gasp as he knocked the air out of him. Thrusting out with his arms, it was hard but just barely manageable to break away from the hold. He had done it with just enough force to knock Red Bandana away, and he stumbled back, one hand over his bleeding nose.

Shuuji raised his fist to finish him off, but just as he did, already anticipating the way his knuckles would bruise, he heard a click behind him.

He tossed a quick, adrenaline-pumped glance behind his shoulder. The bearded one was getting back up, pulling out his gun with his good hand, bringing it up on him. He looked into those eyes, those hateful eyes, and saw a resolve to kill him. He was going to die. If he died, he wouldn’t go back to the ministry, so Shuuji closed his eyes, ready for it-

The bullet shot wide, past his head. The gun fell, an earlier injury finally catching up to him.

And the bearded man grimaced, his mouth opening in a shout of rage. It ended when Shuuji, not happy, not sad, not much of anything, really, hit him with the gun that had skittered to hit his foot.

He dropped, face-first, into the ground.

"Dammit!"Red Bandana cried- Shuuji whipped around, startled by the sudden switch to Japanese. He almost forgot what it sounded like, but reacted immediately when he whipped out a metal baton.

Nose still bleeding, he lunged at him, swinging hard. Shuuji thought it'd hit him, crack against his skull- instead, he ducked, fueled by some distant goal of not dying. His arm swung over Shuuji’s head and he reached up to grab it. He twisted himself around so his chest slammed into his back, a move that would typically leave him crushed but instead had him bending down, taking Red Bandana with him. It was reckless and it hurt, but it worked.

His weight and momentum sent him flying over onto his back in front of Shuuji, landing on top of the already fallen bearded one.

The baton had dropped. Red Bandana was still moving, reaching for the fallen weapon. Without thinking, Shuuji grabbed it first, jumped to his feet, and struck him across the head.

He went still.

“....so you escaped?”

Dazai nodded slightly. “I ran off with- oh, who even knows how many broken bones after the adrenaline wore off. I ended up back in Yokohama eventually after getting on a couple trains- I was pretty sure I wasn’t there anymore, but I got back.”

Chuuya was nodding back, eyebrows pinching. “So…. so you joined the mafia after that?”

A snort, then, “Chuuya,” Dazai said, laughing so humorlessly that it made him shiver, “what doyouthink I did?”

A beat. And then,

Oh.

“You tried to kill yourself, didn’t you?”

The orphanage had all eyes on Shuuji from the moment he set foot through the doors.

A loose cannon, they called him. They wouldn’t even let him go to the bathroom alone.A ten year old shouldn’t be so entitled about his own life,one of the directors sneered. Shuuji didn’t know why he shouldn’t be just as entitled to his life as he well pleased.

They were a part of a church. The stained glass windows were tall and imposing. He wasn’t ‘allowed’ to use his ability.

Shuuji couldn’t turn it off, but no one he interacted with in the orphanage had an ability as far as he knew, so it wasn’t like anyone was ever going to find out. Explaining it was useless. The only person he came across with an ability there was some kid with scared eyes who flinched and hid his food. His animalistic purple-yellow eyes tracked Shuuji across the room, but he didn’t bother talking to him.

They set him to work. A busy child couldn’t be a suicidal one- that was what they had told him. The hospital was taking its time trying to identify him since he couldn’t quite keep a hold on the memory of his last name. It was supposed to be a temporary situation.

“I spent maybe three months at the orphanage before someone in the family finally made a bid for me,” Dazai said. “My father refused to take me back, so he ‘graciously offered’ to sign parental rights off to my grandfather.”

“....your grandfather?”

“Tsushima Kyousuke,” Dazai supplied. “The old boss of the Port Mafia.”

Chuuya’s mouth was parted open around words he couldn’t find.What?

“There’s really not much to say about the orphanage before I ended up with him.” He sighed and it was tired but not dishonest. “It was just…. a blur.”

They took a break for tea.

Dazai had long since shifted out of Chuuya’s lap, having slid away when they first started talking. The distance was maintained now, some impenetrable divide that felt wider than valleys, miles upon miles of impenetrable weight held there. Chuuya didn’t try to cross it, mostly because he didn’t really have the right and partially because he’s sure that Dazai wouldn’t want him to.

It was hard because Dazai was…. notfragile,but something like it when he got like this.

Chuuya put one sugar in his tea and six in Dazai’s with a stir of honey and a tip of non-dairy creamer. He still knew exactly how Dazai liked his tea.

(It would be weirder if he didn’t, since they were supposed to be properly engaged almost ten hours ago now.)

Dazai himself was shaking. His hands, at least, were trembling softly in a way he couldn’t suppress. He was cold, cold enough that he would’ve grabbed his sweater (the soft, perfectly soft one Chuuya had gotten him, embroidered withmackerelon the back) but it wasn’t really his. It belonged to the person Chuuya thought he was proposing to, not him.

If he were shameless, he’d curl up in Chuuya’s lap the way he very desperately wanted to when he saw Chuuya sit on the left end of the couch. Dazai sat on the far right, bringing his legs up to his chest and taking the cup of tea Chuuya made for him, knowing Chuuya was being too indulgent with someone like him when he sipped at it and it was perfect. The sweetness paired with the peppermint taste he really liked and the honey soothed his throat from the excessive talking.

When the silence stretched too long, he sighed, clutched his hands around the cup to try to absorb the warmth, and braced himself to explain. It was hard, but he knew he owed it to poor Chuuya for living a lie for months.

“How…. what really happened with the boss, then?” Chuuya beat him to it, asking around the steam of his mug. Dazai hummed questioningly. “I just…. I know there was, like, a rumor or something that you were there, and you basically said it yourself when I first teamed up with you.”

That was maybe the first thing that night that Dazai felt was easy to explain.

“Think about it, Chuuya,” he hummed, squeezing his knees closer to his chest. “Why would Mori choosemeas a witness? Why would anyone believe the word of some kid? I was his grandson, so I had credibility. When I said he died of illness, no one cared to ask more questions. It wouldn’t have been too hard even if we weren’t related, though; I mean, he was a senile old bastard and no one liked him very much, but it soothed the fanatics that were in the mafia at the time into turning a blind eye.”

It made sense.That was maybe the worst part. It was calculated and genius- though simultaneously immoral. As horrified as Chuuya was when hearing about even the ‘highlights’ of Dazai’s pathetic excuse for a childhood, he knew intimately that it probably couldn’t have been compared to the mafia.

There was something about the mafia- and, though no one told Tsushima Shuuji directly, he knew it was the mafia- that made everywhere they walked feel cold despite the man reassuring him that the heater was running.

The man.

Hisgrandfather.

.

It was still as strange to think as he remembered- stranger still than when he was told it to begin with. He fully remembered at least most of who he was, remembered hismomsmirking on wine-soaked lips as she told him all about his uncle, his death, his grandfather’s rise back from retirement- all the things Shuuji was definitely not supposed to know.

Not that it mattered when he had no one to tell.

The room he was led to was large- windows, bed, dressers, books, toys he’d never used before. There was a lot of black and green, from the bedspread to the drapes on the windows and the black-white-green clothes on the bed. He wondered if it was decorated to suit his grandfather’s tastes or if it was meant to make feel comfortable in the nostalgia it provoked- after all, his mother loved green.

Shuuji walked in when his grandfather stepped in to hold the door and promptly had it shut behind him with vague instruction to ‘entertain’ himself.

An hour later he realized exactly two things.

1. The windows did not open.
2. The heater was not running.

“He kept it off even when it snowed,” Dazai murmured, hands trembling slightly from the memory.

Chuuya stared. It…. it didn’t make a lot of sense. Dazai had definitely gone through horrors, but something like that didn’t feel too bad- at least, when put on a scale against everything that came before. Why did this stand out in his memories?

“Why?”

Dazai sighed. “Control, probably. There were a lot of things he did like that just because he thought it would make me miserable. He never went so far that anyone said anything, at least not at first, but it made everyone uncomfortable to be around me.”

Shifting against the pillows on the couch, Chuuya stretched out his legs. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he sighed again, weaker maybe, “he’d make them come with gifts. Random things, from doll houses to knife sets that I always eventually got in trouble for even having, usually because I used them to carve up my arms.”

Dazai was just a kid. He’d been a little kid. It made Chuuya feel some deep and unsettling sadness on the behalf of someone else, curling and writhing miserably. It set off the guilt that had been burning in his stomach since earlier that night.

“What? Too hard to explain yourself when you’re not off being a slu*t for someone twice our age?”

Chuuya called Dazai aslu*t.It was different from degrading names in bed that they were both fine with, far different from anything positive. It was meant to hurt and Chuuya was realizing nowexactlyhow deep he had cut at Dazai.

Dazai felt guilty too, but for wildly different reasons.

Shuuji was twelve and had gotten it in his head to try to go to school.

He’d always been home schooled, so the idea of being in a classroom, surrounded on all sides by people even if they were his age made his skin crawl from head to toe. Even so, it had to be better than staring at the same four walls day after day, even if he had the room to start moving around.

Shuuji had been on his best behavior- or, at least, how ‘best behavior’ had been described to him. He even briefly sat near the toys around the room just to entertain them being put in there. He maintained that they were stupid and objectively unecessary. Still, he wanted something, so he had to do something in return. That was how the world worked and it was how this would work now.

He sat very primly on the bed, back straight and eyes forward. His grandfather opened the door nearly five minutes later, slipping in very old and wraith-like but with a hard stare to complement his black coat.

“Shuuji,” he greeted awkwardly, enough so that Shuuji wondered how he had kids.

“Grandfather,” Shuuji greeted right back, a sort of impatience trailing up his spine now that they were in the room together.

He walked across the room to sit on the chair set in front of the small table. “I see you cleaned,” he commented stiffly.

“Yes.”

Silence.

It was broken a moment later by Shuuji’s footsteps as he got off the bed and sat in the chair across from his grandfather only to continue on. It plagued the room again until a maid knocked and entered silently, teacups clinking as they were set on the table. She bowed and left, shaking with nerves.

She must’ve been new.

“Grandfather,” Shuuji started as the man was sipping at the tea. He waited for a nod to continue. “I am thankful for the education provided to me.”

He cleared his throat. “You should be,” he said, tightly with a glance to the door. Shuuji only had a few minutes before he’d be leaving.

“Well,” he shifted his knees, “would it be possible, since I have only ever been homeschooled, to go to the school nearby?”

Shuuji waited with bated breath for a long moment. Stern eyes slid over to Shuuji with something accusing behind them. “You said you are thankful for the education you’ve gotten already?”

“Yes-”

“Then be grateful.” His grandfather stood up from his chair and started towards the door and Shuuji knew as the teacup neared the table by the door in passing that he only had a second. He couldn’t stay in that room.

It was stupid. It was impulsive. His grandfather was, if not the boss, in the mafia and wouldn’t react well, and yet Shuuji lunged forward and, with only the tip of his pointer finger, curled into the black coat. “Please-”

Instinctively, every muscle in the body in front of him was tensing. His grandfather whirled around, teacup in hand, and smashed it into his face.

“I wasn’t innocent,” Dazai spoke quickly when he saw Chuuya’s horrified expression. “I stole drugs from him whenever I got a chance to be out of that room. I was usually in there by myself, so it was easy to hide them in the bookshelves and in books. I didn’t evenusethem most of the time- it was just to piss him off.”

“You were- what? Eleven?” Chuuya couldn’t really imagine an eleven year old in that situation being anything but a victim, no matter how weirdly formal Dazai used to apparently talk (he remembered some situations, back when they were still fifteen, when Dazai would talk that way outside of purposeful missions, when he’d slip and say things in a way Chuuya used to think was pointedly pretentious). He never thought he’d get the answer to the question of Dazai’s eye bandages, and though he should have expected it to be something like this, it still came as a disgusting surprise.

And yet, “twelve, but that doesn’t excuse anything.”

It was said so very seriously, with all the conviction Chuuya still wasn’t sure how to break through. So he stayed silent, watching as Dazai licked his lips, flicked his eyes somewhere off to the side, and wrung his hands.

“Anyway, he wouldn’t stop giving me presents, so when I was fourteen-”

“Shuuji,” his grandfather said, his tone just as strange as Shuuji felt when he thought of them as family in any context. “Why aren’t you playing with the things I gave you?”

Shuuji looked up from the book he was reading on the little window seat, large enough to stay put when he opened it and let it rest over his legs that were bent up towards his stomach. “Because I don’t want to,” he said, maybe a little bit too sharp, but he hadn’t left the room- his room, he guessed- in over a week. Shuuji thought that he might deserve to be a little short with the person who made him stay.

“Watch the attitude,” he croaked right back, old as he was. “I can’t give you anything more expensive. You seem to be a bit too interested in just hanging yourself on it.”

Rude. Shuuji hadn’t tried tohanghimself on anything.

…yet.

“Maybe I wouldn’t if I could leave.” It was muttered under his breath, but his grandfather still heard it.

“Maybe you could leave if you didn’t try to kill yourself, boy,” he snapped, clipping him over the head, hard enough to hurt. “You should be a little more grateful to someone who is giving you everything you could possibly want.”

Ugh.

Shuuji had sat through this lecture too many times to reasonably count, but the words still made something sticky drip down his spine, gross and gooey. He hated when words like ungrateful and undeserving were aimed at him. He didn’taskfor anything that was given to him. Why should he be grateful for it? All it did was make other people take any excuse to be cruel towards him.

Oh.

Oh…. ohf*ck.

Chuuya stared as Dazai recollected his words, taking a moment to remember what happened next. Chuuya was a bit too busy drowning in his own thoughts to care for the silence.

Kindness, for Dazai, meant future consequences. Kindnesswasconsequence, for Dazai. Did he…. and there was no way, but- did Dazai think that Chuuya was only doing the things he did, like taking care of him, because he thought Chuuya wanted something?

(Did Dazai even believe Chuuya when he told him he loved him?

“What? Too hard to explain yourself when you’re not off being a slu*t for someone twice our age?”

It ran through his head like a record and insisted that even if Dazai believed it in the moment, there was no way he believed Chuuya’s words now.)

“While he showed up, he always gave the impression that it wasn’t his idea, and that he would’ve rather been anywhere else when he looked at me,” Dazai murmured, a reflexive and childish sadness lingering there. “He was gone most of the time, so I spent a lot of time alone until I was fourteen. The gifts were basically just a way to maybe make up for it. He thought I was being disrespectful or something, and since it wasn’t the first time he ‘had’ to give me that lecture, he left me there for nearly three weeks."

“And then he let you out?”

Dazai’s eyes twinkled with mischievous defiance. “No.”

Shuuji fingered at the tail end of the ribbon tied around the box. It was big. Probably expensive since even the ribbon would’ve cost quite a bit on its own, real silk and decorated with little crystals at either end and a darker swirling pattern covering the whole thing. He didn’t particularly want to open it.

Maybe it was another china set. Shuuji did like tea, but only iced tea so he didn’t care about the dainty little cups. The most recent present that Shuuji might have enjoyed was another set of books added to his collection. There were so many now that they pooled off of the bookshelves to three separate teetering piles. He’d read all of them, the majority reread a second time. If his grandfather (and the title dripped only a little more naturally into his head) really insisted on giving him gifts, he preferred things like that that he was likely to really even use. The toy drum settled off to a corner, stuffed animals (though those weren’t…. they weren’thorrible),and the other various kid-things like rocking horses and puzzles were wasted on him. He knew he wasn’t little enough for the rocking horse anymore anyway.

With every new gift, there was a choking feeling stifling up his throat. There was too much. Too much in the room, too much expectation, too much that he was apparently supposed to be grateful for. He couldn’t even leave the room, so the stench of lingering sweat that had gone stale forced itself into his lungs and had drums going off in his brain, rattling and raking.

He had a bathroom, but he wasn’t allowed inside unless someone was sitting there next to him. He couldn’t even lockpick it because of the sensor. It was designed to keep him out and away from anything he could use to kill himself.

Shuuji couldn’t stand it when they sat there watching him, so, starting since about a year ago, he had elected not to bathe at all and tried his best to not eat or drink often so he didn’t have to use the bathroom. It made it easier not to notice the smell when he was dirty too, but his grandfather had put his foot down andmadehim the other night. He’d been held there and washed. Hands had been all over him- in his hair, over his stomach, his thighs, his feet, his face. He’d been soaked and scrubbed and rinsed three times over before they deemed him clean enough.

He wanted to peel off his skin.

Now, he could smell everything and feel himself. The windows wouldn’t open, the vents were on the ceiling where he couldn’t reach, and if he tried he’d just be punished and told he wasungratefulagain.

Shuuji’s most recent punishment had been because of the closet. The bar that held up too many clothes on too many hangers had been knocked down when he got irritated and started destroying things at a record pace before someone barged in to stop him.

The woman that ran in had left the door open as she dashed to grab a bandage for his hand that had gotten cut. The door was wide open but Shuuji had only dared to go a foot within it just to breathe in the air and he felt guilty for even that much.

In any case, the bar had been replaced- some kind of steel, he assumed, strong enough that he couldn’t break it if he tried.

He wasn’t going to try.

The consequences would-

.

..

…

Shuuji wondered when he started caring about consequences. The ribbon’s little crystals winked at him again.

He finished the fifth novel just as sirens flooded the sanctuary of the cold Tsushima manor, colder still without the only real Tsushima there to ramble on to them about the mastered angle of her neck as it hung from its noose to increase the likelihood of a successful suicide as she preserved the dignity of her rotting intellect.

The sirens started up again, but this time they were coming for Shuuji.

“I hung myself in the closet,” Dazai said, shifting on the couch, the sky now having slowly lightened into an early morning in the windows behind them. They’d been talking all night.

“Right….” Chuuya didn’t know what else to stay, staring down at the cup in his hands, cold now. He wasn’t sure where he would put his hands if he put it down, so he kept holding it. His eyes drew over to Dazai, to his face briefly and then down to his neck, where he knew a long, dark line laid under his bandages.

Dazai caught his gaze. One of his hands went up and palmed over the bandages over his neck. He smiled bitterly. “Apparently, when you get bruised badly enough it can leave a scar. Who knew?”

He would say something if his mouth wasn’t too dry to get another word out.

“So, I hung myself,” Dazai started again. “I almost died, maybe did for a minute or so before the ambulance got there, but there were cameras in the room so I only managed to hang there until they noticed they couldn’t see me in the camera view of the room. I was put in the ambulance and carted off. On the way, the ambulance crashed into another car and it ended up tipping over.”

Chuuya nearly choked on air. Dazai must have seen it, because he laughed a little. “Yeah. My back was messed up. I don’t really remember it happening. No one died, miraculously. One of the responders was almost paralyzed, but that’s about it. The delay is why my throat ended up bruising. I think that's why I started wearing the bandages down my neck, too, but...” he shrugged.

Oh.

Shuuji came to slowly, syrupy numbness coursing through him from what he guessed was an IV drip. He didn’t die, which figured, but he wondered if there was a scalpel nearby that he could use. It would hurt pretty bad if he did it after the drugs wore off, but for now the drugs would make it as painless as possible to slit his throat. If that didn’t work, he’d need to run away.

If he didn’t die now, he'd have wished he did when he found out what his grandfather had planned for him.

Staying in the room was bad enough. Would the books be taken away? Would he make it even colder? Make sure there was always someone with him? That wouldn’t betoobad, and could even be an advantage if he manipulated whichever mafia grunt was put with him into being his minion. That could be funny, but not worth staying alive for.

It took him a while to realize the door had opened. He slid his eye- his one working one, anyway- over to the door, then down to the floor, at dark shoes, and up to the hem of a white coat, and finally-

“Good evening, Dazai-kun,” the man with long, dark hair and pristine white coat greeted, his face partially enshrouded in shadow. “You’re here because of a suicide attempt.”

“Was that-”

“Mori,” Dazai nodded, curling his legs right back up to his chest from where they had stretched out, trying in vain to comfort himself. The only thing that could’ve done better at it would be if Chuuya would let him sit in his lap. He probably would, but then Dazai might make him feelpitywhich he couldn’t bear. “I met him as Mori there. He was my grandfather’s physician, which was why- if they were the same person- I met him in my childhood.”

Chuuya breathed out slowly, and Dazai looked over and saw what was maybe exasperation. “He asked me all kinds of questions and actually listened. You know, I never got anything that would play music, so I spent so much time only listening to myself breathe. It made me happy enough that I let him call me whatever he wanted. Dazai Osamu. I was Dazai Osamu.”

The thing was, when they were younger Dazai had had a habit of talking out loud. If they were watching a movie? He had to talk through it. Chuuya was cooking? Dazai had to blab all about his day in the background. He didn’t feel as much need now, but Chuuya remembered those days and wondered if this was why. The silence used to bring him back to that room.

Once upon a time, Chuuya had thought of it as annoying- he’d gotten enough of noise anytime he remembered the distant and constant whirring of a hospital’s neverending activity and the buzz of voices and beeping of a monitor. Eventually it just bled into a constant, comforting white noise. Now, it made him feel uncomfortable to think back on.

If Dazai wanted to keep being calledDazaithen Chuuya would let him. There were nightmares attached to the name Dazai Osamu, buthellfollowed Tsushima Shuuji.

There was no easy solution. Dazai would always be Dazai to Chuuya.

“He gave me clothes to wear over the brace and brought me back to mafia headquarters,” Dazai said stiffly. “Apparently the old man had been put on bedrest because of a sudden decrease in health. Mori made me stand there and promised me a reason to live as long as I confirmed his version of events. It was the first time I watched someone get killed that I could remember.”

Chuuya wasn’t entirely sure how to feel. Mori was, objectively, a better boss than the old one from what he’d heard. He wasn’t as fanatic or volatile and actually made decisions with his brain when necessary. Maybe that was why so many people overlooked Dazai’s situation- because either Dazai used to be a much better actor, or it was easy to ignore the fate of one over the benefit of the many.

That didn’t mean Chuuya was above razing the entire mafia to the ground for Dazai.

“After my mother…. I think I had it in my head that for intelligent people, suicide was necessary to preserve the mind before anything could take it away.” He laughed, and it sounded like broken glass. “And then I went and joined themafia.”

“Dazai-kun,” Mori said, the name falling unnaturally off his tongue, “what are you doing by the balcony?”

Shuuji looked over the edge from where he was sitting on the railing. Dazai looked up at him. “I don’t know,” they said at once.

“Are you thinking of jumping, by any chance?”

Yes.

“No,” Dazai stuck his tongue out at him, twisting over on the railing- nearly falling, which made Mori stutter into an aimless attempt at catching him- and settling his hands on his hips to hide the way they were shaking miserably.

Mori raised an eyebrow at him after a puffing sigh of relief that he hadn’t actually tumbled off the side of the balcony. “Please come down from there,” he breathed, exasperated to his core. “Why are you out here, then?”

It really was just like Mori to try to call him on his bluff. Still, there was a half truth to be told. “You got blood all over the walls. It’s so messy now!” Dazai complained very loudly, because he’d noticed that the more childishly he acted, the more attention he got.

“Would it help if we hurried along and got the room all cleaned up, Dazai-kun?” Mori asked, that indulgent little twinkle in his eye, the one that was a little uncomfortable as he walked over closer. “Was it a little scary?”

Dazai pushed at his face when it got too close. The movement pushed him a little too far back and, in a move he knew in theory was meant to keep him from dying, Mori put a hand on his knee to keep him in place.“No.And-” he dared to be just a little more petulant“-you’regoing to clean. I didn’t make a mess so I don’t have to!”

“You’re so mean,” Mori said with a sigh, thankfully seeming more exasperated than anything. He also didn’t end up making Dazai clean, summoning his ability, Elise, and having her do the majority of the work. She was old and young looking all at once. He didn’t even seem a little bit shaken up over having killed Dazai’s grandfather.

Ah, well…. he supposed Tsushima Kyousuke wasn’tDazai’sgrandfather.

Ten of swords, death, ace of pentacles.

Dazai, fourteen, blinked at Mori’s guest, with her green lip ring that the good doctor would call ugly but he would just call green. Its fluorescent sheen winked merrily in the lighting as her fingers wiggled subtly with stray words and light flickering from it. It didn't distract from the simple fact that she was beautiful.

She didn't have eyes. Dazai was missing a working one, so he didn't mind looking up at hers.

Her ability worked on him. Sort of. It worked on the concept of him, she explained in not so many words, stray curls of an accent and simpering lilts of Hungarian and occasional Irish phrases accompanying her. She was Romani somewhere in her bloodline.

She smiled. Dazai smiled too. Neither of them mentioned that his wasn't working. It was fine; she couldn't see any better than his eye could.

“Dazai-kun, stop playing and come here now,” Mori simpered, a hand beckoning him over. Dazai looked back at the woman, down at his tarot reading, then stood up and walked over. “Right here,” Mori indicated to the ground beside him when Dazai stopped a few feet away.

Dazai put on a pout for show, but sat down anyway. “Gross old man,” he muttered purposefully loud enough for Mori to hear, all childish petulance coloring his voice. Mori’s expression tightened severely, but Dazai knew he enjoyed the way he insulted him so very characteristically for his age. He stuck out his tongue to accompany it and got a reprimanding hand setting in his hair for his efforts. It started to pet back and forth and he swayed minutely with it.

He didn’t mind sitting there on the ground so much. At least, not when he got the soothing touch to go with it. It was better when they weren’t alone, because his hand stayed above the waist then.

“Dazai-kun dear,” Mori crooned affectionately, “I want to introduce you to Hyotaro. The mafia is a dangerous place, so he’ll be accompanying you for a while. Make nice now.”

Dazai’s eyes trailed over to the man who’d stepped out of the security positions around the office. He thought it was odd that Mori was doing this now when they had a guest, but she didn’t seem to mind, still without eyes but smiling a little wider than most people would consider natural. Hyotaro was tall and plain-looking. Brown eyes, brown hair, dressed head to toe in black and a gun in hand but still looking inconspicuous.

The gun was handed to Dazai, still kneeling there on the floor and having to crane his neck up to look at his plain face.

“I hope to get along well,” Hyotaro said very simply, nothing particular behind his gaze.

Dazai decided that he didn’t dislike him.

It was weird to wake up exhausted, but it was happening more often than not when he woke up sunk into plush bedding. He sat up slightly and rubbed at his eyes, only managing to make his sight more blurry.

Dazai reached for his underwear but was stopped by Mori’s hand. He didn't realize he’d been awake. “Dazai-kun,” he said, some amount of gravel in his voice, “you’re too tired to dress yourself just after waking up.”

He sighed but laid back down, deciding that if Mori wasn’t going to let him dress himself, then he’d have to do all of the work to put the clothes on him. Dazai stayed still even when it came time for the button up, just staring at Mori judgmentally.

“You really are too cute,” Mori sighed fondly with some amount of exasperation in his voice. He was gentle when he lifted him up and sat behind him to prop Dazai’s limp body against him while he maneuvered Dazai’s limbs into the shirt.

Dazai waited until they faced each other again to roll his eyes. “And you’re really super gross, you know. You gave me a gun, so I can shoot you now.” It was said flatly, no passion to it to make it sound as serious as it would need to to be a threat.

Mori raised an eyebrow. Dazai eventually gave in and leaned in slightly, lips puckered and waiting. He was treated to a short peck before he got down from the purposefully high-set bed and walked out of the door to greet the already-waiting Hyotaro.

They walked a bit aimlessly for nearly ten minutes before Hyotaro broke the silence.

“Has anyone taught you how to use it?”

Dazai looked over, mildly confused. “What?”

“The gun,” he clarified. “Has anyone showed you how to actually fire it?”

“No,” he answered now as they passed by a woman sitting outside of an office on the first floor, battered and bruised.

“Do you want to know?”

“Not really.”

The conversation tapered off for a long time after that. All Dazai’s days consisted of were building checks to keep him busy, so he worked his way back up the floors, watching with scrutiny and some apathy. It was when they were approaching the upper floors hours later that Hyotaro spoke again.

“You know,” Hyotaro said very kindly as the elevator took them up again, “you might have a gun, but you never have to take the safety off if you don't want to. Think of it as a prop.”

“....a prop?”

“Yep!” Hyotaro groaned as he stood up and cracked his back. “Just a bluff on your hip. Not a lot of people can keep their cool when they’ve got a gun to their head.”

He pressed his pointer finger to Dazai’s forehead and curled his other fingers into an imitation of a gun. Dazai stared at Hyotaro for a long time before slowly nodding.

“He sounds kind,” Chuuya said to try to avoid addressing the casual way Dazai talked about waking up in their old boss’ bed.

Dazai shook his head. “Don’t make any mistake. Hyotaro wasn’t explicitly horrible, but he worked with children in the mafia. Training, trafficking, exploiting- that was his expertise. He just wasn’t unkind to me because of the extra pay.”

Chuuya swallowed around the thick burn of disgust in his throat.

“But you aren’t wrong,” Dazai murmured, fiddling with his hands. “I was a little fond of him, I think.”

“This is Kyuusaku, Dazai-kun,” Mori said very simply with that waning half-moon smile. “He’ll be your little brother starting today.”

Hyotaro nudged Dazai forward when he just stared into the mismatched eyes of the kid standing in front of him. He was so little- five years old, nine years younger than Dazai- and was wearing a little sweater. Mori was bent down to hold his tiny little hand and Dazai felt the smallest, briefest rush of sick, disgusting jealousy.

Dazai did not like Kyuusaku.

It was just a bit unfortunate that KyuusakulovedDazai the moment he saw him.

“Say hi, Kyuu,” Mori encouraged briefly, nudging a little forward with their intertwined fingers. He caught Dazai’s eye and a little flash of pleased surprise crossed over his face as he must’ve read the reflexive sourness.

Kyuusaku tumbled forward a little bit, and Dazai felt a bit of panic when he reached him, standing about three feet away and looking up expectantly. “Hi,” he murmured; shy, maybe, like little kids apparently were.

“Call him Osamu,” Mori stage-whispered fakely, his eyes trained on Dazai with a knowing, cunning glint.

“No,” Dazai hissed when Kyuusaku opened his mouth to do just that. “I don’twantyou to.” He looked down at Kyuu and felt very distinctly grossed out. He turned on his heel. “Hyotaro!”

He heard a vague apology being thrown out behind him before Hyotaro rejoined him.

But it wasn’t the last time Dazai saw Kyuusaku.

Dazai opened his mouth to talk more, to keep talking, but found his throat was a bit sore. He could feel Chuuya’s eyes on him, but he knew that Chuuya would let him be silent for a few minutes before pestering him to continue. Chuuya was too indulgent like that.

There were so many moments he could tell Chuuya about, so many anecdotes that he thought both mattered and were ultimately inconsequential.

Ones to do with Mori.

“I don'twantto-!” Dazai shrieked very loudly as Mori kicked at his feet, still holding onto his wrists, until he caught his ankle and forced his back to bend into a dip.

And, despite his best efforts, they were dancing.

Ones that featured Kouyou.

She watched him from the other end of the hall, her eyes following him with a sick mix of pity and fear that scalded him, dancing along the hickies that littered his neck and stung between his thighs.

Dazai turned tail and ran. He hated being looked at that way.

He very carefully did not mention anything that had to do with Shuuji and mafia activities. Those two entities had to be separate, because when he remembered too much about them together it made his head feel as though it had been bashed against a wall.

“You think you can kill someone…. from fear?” The man laughed, and Shuuji didn't know why, but he swayed forward to walk around him, and as he did- “I don't think you can do that, boy.”

-he brushed his hand against the bare skin of his upper arm and watched as the man convulsed violently.

Shuuji’s fingers twitched loosely around his neck, not squeezing, not suffocating, but teasing him with a glimpse of aching mortality.

“I disagree.”

Ones that might convince Chuuya of his guilt, but haunted him too closely to be allowed to spill from his mouth.

“Okay,” Dazai said, grumpy from the meds and too high to really temper his reactions.

His distaste must have shown very obviously on his face, because Mori sighed and leaned over to try to kiss his forehead. He rolled away with a wince at the stitches. “Dazai, dear, I took off the whole week.”

….

Oh.

“....really?” he still asked, suspicious.

“Yes, darling, the whole week,” Mori reassured.

He finally rolled back over, still maintaining the frown on his face even as his scowl faded. “So you won’t leave? Even if someone asks?”

“I….” Mori hesitated, but sighed all the same. “I have to keep my phone on to answer questions, but I trust that Kouyou-kun can handle things without me physically there. Yes.”

Dazai pretended to think on it, letting Mori sweat in his skin a little more before puckering up his lips with a little pleased pout. Mori acquiesced to the kiss from his grossly underaged lover.

Dazai was no stranger to pulling pranks in the mafia.

Mori wasn’t particularly a fan, but Dazai was used to getting away with a lesser punishment as long as he stayed nice and still in the boss’ bed that night. One of the pranks he had seen online since being newly acquainted with a personal electronic was invisible ink.

“What are you doing?”

Dazai looked over to his side and saw Kyuusaku standing beside the table, having snuck up at some point. “None of your business,” he rolled his eyes, turning his head away and-

Ah, yes, Hyotaru was so judgmental. “Dazai-san,” he reprimanded very quietly with a pointed stare. Blah, blah, blah…. Dazai tried to pretend like he hadn’t seen or heard him, but Hyotaru just raised a single brow.

Ugh.

“I’m pranking Mori,” he pouted, just a bit miserable.

Kyuusaku perked up. “With the ink? How’s he gonna know?”

Dazai huffed but did kind of want a round of applause for his pranking expertise. “It’s disappearing ink, see?” He splashed one of the little vials over onto Kyuusaku’s white button-up.

“I just got this!” He whined before watching with poorly-hidden awe as the stain quickly started fading altogether. “Huh….”

“Yeah, duh, it’s called disappearing ink.” He rolled a label out onto the table and grabbed one of the pens. “I’m making it look like one of Mori’s pens so he can’t get any paperwork done tonight.”

He waited for the continued awe, but Kyuusaku just hummed. “That’s kinda boring. He’ll find out super fast and just grab a new pen. It’d be better to swap it in for a meeting or something.”

Which was…..

Huh.

Well f*ck,that was a good idea.

“Strange,” Dazai decided, speaking slow and quiet. “I'm smart but it seems I'm still lacking in other areas….”

“Like parents?” Kyuusaku chimed in cheerily.

.

Ouch.

“Not what I was getting at, but that's true too, I suppose. Well done Kyuu,” Dazai said halfheartedly. Hyotaro’s reminder blared in his head, a reminder that little kids werefragileand he wasjust trying to get Dazai’s approval.

He caught a small, approving smile out of the corner of his eye and it made him feel just a little bit fuzzy. Dazai just had to get things ready for the meeting tomorrow.

Approval wasn’t worth anything in the mafia, but somehow that kept being untrue in weird, obtrusive ways.

Something about Mori was that while he very much hated having meetings interrupted outwardly, it was a secret of his that he could not keep his attention focused on a meeting for longer than an hour at a time before his attention started drifting away. He had a decent enough poker face, but it wasn’t nearly good enough to keep Dazai from digging his claws viciously into what little scraps of weakness he found.

It was for that reason that Dazai very pointedly interrupted the meeting about half an hour in, just before Mori would start to get bored and before he’d notice the ink on his papers disappearing.

“This is boring!” Dazai groaned childishly, slamming open the office door and ignoring the meeting that was very clearly taking place.

An interesting facet of mafia decorum was that everyone had gotten so used to Elise existing within Mori’s presence that their reaction time to Dazai was delayed enough that they had only just started to reach for their guns before Mori acknowledged him being there.

“Dazai-kun,” he sighed, very put-upon but not angry. Maybe a bit annoyed if Dazai were to stretch it, but the meeting wasn’t important enough to make a fuss over his interruption. “Did you skip floors for your examination today?”

Dazai huffed, strolling across the room very casually and arrogantly like it was his right (and supposed that, blood-wise, it sort of was) and seated himself on Mori’s lap. Dozens of eyes looked away in a shameful attempt at ignorance as they made assumptions about what Dazai’s relationship with their boss was. They wouldn’t be wrong, per say, but it still grated on the edges of his awareness. Still, Mori’s hands found themselves dutifully on his waist, so Dazai knew he was allowed to be there.

“No,”he rolled his eyes. “Hyotaro was being boring so we just got through it fast. It’s soboring,too!”

“Not enough to entertain you then, hm?” Mori chuckled just a bit fondly, but his hands were going to leave bruises on his waist with how they gripped just a bit punishingly. “You can sit in on the meeting if you’re quiet.”

“You’re boring too,” Dazai grumbled more for show than anything else, using the opportunity and position to grab at the papers on the desk. “What are you doing anyway?”

He caught a sum and a billing statement.

Uh-oh.

Dazai thought the meeting was just going over the beginnings of the deal, not the deal and checking itself…. and, of course, despite being placed to Mori’s right, they were all blank.

“I’ll show you,” Mori said patiently despite the quiet sighs of more than a few of the dignitaries. “See here,” he pointed before Dazai could make a serious effort to move away the papers. His hand stalled. “It’s…. blank?”

It was then that Dazai miscalculated just a bit. He’d assumed that he’d be made to rewatch the security tapes of the deal to rewrite everything himself under Mori’s careful eye later as punishment. Maybe he’d have to let the old man f*ck him with less of his usual complaints. If he’d really need to get back into whatever good graces he could’ve lost, he might need to finally agree to conduct his own torture session.

And so he let out a few tittering, incriminating laughs. “About that…”

He was shoved unceremoniously off of Mori’s lap, nearly bashing his head into the edge of the table as he was thrown to the floor, staring up at the boss of the port mafia.

Mori might have let the pranking go- might have even encouraged it for all that he enjoyed the childish attitude Dazai wore for him- if Dazai hadn't mistakenly done so during a meeting like this.

“Strip.”

“Dazai, what-”

Dazai stared up at Mori, eyes blinking wide and confused. The rest of the room shifted uncomfortably.

Mori’s eyes gleamed ruby red. “Need I repeat myself?”

“Sir, I don't think-”

A gunshot.

Sound came through hazily. Dazai's ears were submerged in cold, suppressive water. He was hearing wrong. Hehadto be.

“Dazai.”

A bedroom was one thing. A bedroom was different and private and Dazai could pretend he didn't want to peel his skin off with a cheese grater as long as the only ones to see it were himself and the doctor.

A dozen eyes stabbed into him.

“Mori?” His voice was too fourteen to belong to him.

The good doctor’s grin stretched a bloody mile. “If I have to ask again, you will not like the consequences.”

“Dazai, you don't have to-”

His fingers weren't catching on the buttons properly. They kept slippering, rubbing red and bleeding from the way he picked at his hands. His shirt was staining a bit red, but there was no sound in the room. Silence greeted him over the static of his brain.

Dazai was too present in his own body to stand it.

His shirt was falling off of his shoulders too fast.

“Your pants.”

No one spoke up, but Dazai wished he had the presence of mind to do it himself. Maybe he'd get a bullet in his brain, too. The belt fell to the floor with a loudclang.His mind wouldn't check out of his body properly, so he felt the button of his slacks and the bony jut of his hips as they slid down.

And, because the eyes felt both too much and entirely not focused on him, Mori addressed the room. “Watch him. It's not a proper punishment for dear Dazai-kun otherwise.” And then, to him, “underwear and bandages.”

“But-”

“Those are a privilege, darling.” The word was a weapon of war and it was waged mercilessly against him.

His wet fingers slid against cotton-

“Dazai!” Chuuya’s hand brushed against his arm.

Dazai flinched violently back into the present and met frantic, wet blue eyes. “Chuuya?”

“Stop,”Chuuya gasped. It made sense. It was gross, he was gross. “You keep- you're not- I don't want to hear that.Please.”

Chuuya felt selfish for it, but…..

“Sorry,” Dazai whispered to himself. He'd forgotten to spare some details. Chuuya wanted toscreambecause that wasn't what he was asking for. “Um, so after- afterthat…”

When Dazai stumbled out hours later, Hyotaro was there.

“Hey, kid, are you alright?” He asked, voice as sympathetic as ever, eyes as warm as ever, hands as big anddomineering and overbearing as-

No. That wasn't a good place to leave off.

“Did you…. not talk to him after that?” Chuuya asked, hearing the unspoken visceral fear in Dazai's words that lingered in the sudden pause. The trauma paired withthathappening right after probably had Dazai running off. It had happened to him more than a few times.

Dazai tapped his fingers together. “I never saw him again.”

Hyotaro was avoiding him.

Dazai didn’t understand why.

Dragging himself out of Mori’s bed had become second nature, even following the events of the previous afternoon. He pulled on his own shirt, laced his shoes, and was heading towards the door all without waking Mori for a second. He hissed at the aches and bruises that he already had scaling the length of his body, so he wasn’t exactly interested in finding out what kind of mood the doctor would be in when he woke up.

Opening the door to an empty hallway was not sticking to the routine.

He peeked around the corner of the hallway, the windows lighting it up slightly from the early morning sunrise. Ordinarily, he would open the door and Hyotaro would be dutifully standing to the left, waiting for him to come out. No matter how early Dazai got started with his day, Hyotaro was always there.

Except for that day.

Dazai dragged his feet to the end of the hallway and peered around that corner too, like he expected ever-stoic and serious Hyotaro to magically appear, teasing him just a bit by waiting so far away. He wasn’t there, either.

Weird, but not… not too strange. Surely, Hyotaro had things to do as well. Those things just typically didn’t come before Dazai. In fact, ‘babysitting’ Dazai was an order from the boss, so Dazai would have to reprimand him for it!

He nodded to himself. He’d go about his day and when Hyotaro finally showed up, he’d blackmail him into buying Dazai some kind of sweet in exchange for his silence.

.

..

…

Hyotaro did not show up.

It was nearing the evening now, and Dazai hadn’t seen a hair of Hyotaro since the day before. It was weird, the kind of weirdness that only followed when Mori ordered it.

….was this an extension of Dazai’s punishment? He’d pranked him poorly and was humiliated and forced to be alone? Nothing in life was ever fair, but this really was out of line even for Mori who’d been assisting that he’d atoned for his actions already.

Was Mori lying, then?

(Dumb question; Mori was always lying. It was better to assume he was never telling the truth, really.)

“Dazai?”

His head tipped up to face Chuuya. “Hm?”

Chuuya stared very seriously at Dazai, serious enough that it was out of place on his features. “What…. what really happened after that meeting?”

Dazai laughed just a bit humorlessly. “Impatient as ever. I’ll skip the build-up, then.”

“Oh, Dazai,” Mori simpered so very sweetly, standing in the torture room Dazai had tracked him down in, standing just a foot away with the knife still in his grip, “don't you remember? You killed him, darling.”

“No I didn’t,” Dazai insisted very blankly, staring up at red eyes and wondering what Mori saw when he stared back. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

Mori tsked like he was a child behaving poorly and spun him around with a hand to his waist. “Maybe you just need a reminder, huh?” The man in front of his was hunched over to guts spilling out of his stomach, a rancid cottage cheese smelling filling the air as he gargled and made a loose attempt at screaming.

He wrapped his arms around Dazai’s and slowly, gently, pushed him forward, forcing the knife in his hands into the gut of the man.

“See, honey? Do you remember now?” Mori let go, but Dazai felt so briefly stunned that he lingered a second too long at the corpse before stepping- almost stumbling- back. “He was drugged this time, but I won’t give you a crutch next time, okay?”

When Dazai stumbled out hours later, Hyotaro was there.

“Hey, kid, are you alright?” He asked, voice as sympathetic as ever, eyes as warm as ever, hands as big and domineering and overbearing as-

The gun on his hip found its way into willing hands for the first time. He let three bullets loose- one in each hand and the final in his skull.

His aim was perfect.

“And then I met Odasaku and later you.”

Chuuya nodded numbly. What else could he do but listen, at this point?

A bloody corpse of a young man is lying on my front porch.

I look down at the corpse, then at the front of the house. It is a quiet morning. The apartment across the street is casting a long black shadow on the pavement in front of me. The trumpet vines planted in the hedge are rustling in the breeze and whispering to each other in a way that a human cannot decipher. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear the sound of the long-distance trucks scraping against the road surface.

And there is a corpse in the middle of the stairs in front of me.

In any case, to our eyes, a corpse is always a strangely exaggerated presence. But this time it is different. This corpse blends in with the landscape, becoming one with the everyday peaceful morning scenery. After a while, I realize the reason. The corpse’s chest is moving up and down faintly. It is not a corpse; it is alive.

I look at the young man. He is all black. A high-collar black cloak, a three-piece suit, a black tie. The few things that are not black on him are his button-down shirt and the bandages around his head, those being a mottled coloring of white and red. This color pattern reminds me of some ominous Chinese prophetic characters. The place he is lying is the middle of the stairs that leads to the front porch. The blood stains continuing down the cracked concrete stairs make it look like he has been crawling.

Question. What should I do with this near-corpse in front of my eyes?

The answer is simple. If I touch him with the tip of my toes and put some weight on him, he will just roll down to the ground below. If I do so, then he will not be on my premises anymore. He will be on a public road. The country’s territory. All those who are in trouble within the territory of the country should be saved by the mercy of the country. An ordinary postman like me should go home and have breakfast.

I am not doing that because I am a cold and heartless person. I am doing that because it is a survival necessity. The young man’s wounds are clearly from gunshots. He has been shot multiple times. There are probably more holes in his body than I can see from here. And to top it all off, he is holding a bunch of new notes in his left hand.

What can this mean? Nothing. It means nothing, except that his existence is a big problem and that nothing good will come out of getting involved with him. In other words, he is clearly not someone that an average citizen should get involved with. A normal person in his right mind would have fled to the next city at the sight of him.

I look at the young man, at the road, and the sky, and at him again.

And then I start to act. First, I approach the guy and lift him up by his sides. Then I drag him by his heels into the house and lay him down on the wall-mounted bed. He is much lighter than he looks. Carrying him alone is not that much of a problem. I check his wounds. There are many deep injuries, and the bleeding is more than concerning, but if he receives immediate proper treatment, it is not likely that he will die.

I take out my medical kit box from the back of the closet, and give him some simple first aid treatments. I put a towel under his upper body, cut his clothes with a pair of scissors to expose the wounds, and check if there are any bullets left inside. In order to stop the blood flow, I apply pressure on the pressure points: below the armpits, inner elbows, ankles, backs of knees, and tie them tightly with a clean cloth. Then I put disinfected bandages to the wounds to stop the bleeding. Fortunately for him, I can do this kind of first aid even with my eyes closed.

After I am done with the treatment of the wounds, I look down at the young man and cross my arms. His breathing has stabilized. His respiratory system and bones seem to be intact. But he does not seem to be waking up. ‘It’s fine already, just kick him out,’ I can hear the voice in my head. There is nothing more stupid than treating a suspicious guy like this. I guess I should listen to that voice. That is what a wise man would do.

Before following the angel’s advice, I take another look at the young man. I don’t recognize his face. Probably not someone I know. I say probably, because the bandages covering half of his face makes it almost impossible to make out his features. But he is much younger than what I first thought. He is probably young enough to pass as a boy.

Then I remember the wad of cash he was holding. He is still holding it. If it is actually as much as it looks, it must be a fortune for someone with a miserably cheap wage like me. In this situation, it should be okay to have some of them gently transferred to my pocket as a thank you for saving his life, right? Thinking so, I pick up the wad of notes and finally realize that I am the biggest idiot in this town.

I feel a bitter taste spreading inside my mouth.

That is an unused bundle of notes. There is some blood on them, but the paper strap, the proof that they are new, is there. There is no bank’s name printed on the strap. There is no printing of any kind. And the notes are neatly lined up by serial numbers in ascending order.

I feel like someone just punched me in the stomach.

There are two possibilities that I can think of. First, this bundle of notes has been taken out of the Reserve Bank of Japan Mint, before it hits the market. That would mean this man is a plague. There is no chance that an ordinary person could get his hands on such a thing. The notes printed at Japan Mint are first sent to the Ministry of Finance, where their serial numbers are scanned to become usable notes. Then they will be sent in cash transport vehicles to branches of the Reserve Bank. From there, they continue to be subdivided and distributed to city banks. At that point, the straps will be switched with those of the city banks.

However, there is no printing on his trap at all. The only way to be able to carry out a wad of notes in that state is to steal it from the Reserve Bank. The most likely way is to attack a cash transport car. Could it be that he just returned from a raid like that?

But if so, I will just breathe a sigh of relief and go back to making coffee in my kitchen. The cash car robbers are violent guys, but only violent. Violence alone cannot create a storm.

There is another possibility, a much worse one.

These are counterfeit notes.

I take out a magnifying glass from the back of the room, and carefully examine the wad of notes in my hand. I become so completely chilled that my fingers are tingling. I try comparing them with the notes in my own wallet. I can’t tell the difference at all.

A supernote.

I feel dizzy.

If that is the case, the thing in my hand right now has become as dangerous as a small nuclear warhead. Counterfeit currency is a tool of warfare that has been used way before bows and arrows. If one can bring an amount of well-made false currency into an enemy country, the value of that currency will drop due to the increased amount of money in circulation, leading to inflation. A country is, in a sense, its own currency. By skillfully fueling distrust in a country’s currency, it is possible to destroy the economy and bring down a whole nation. For that reason, the National Security Agency is always on the lookout for counterfeit notes. If this level of a note is to be brought into the market, it would not be the city police’s business. It is much higher- the National Security Agency, or the Military, even.

I put the wad of notes on my desk as if I am throwing them away. I don’t want to leave my fingerprints on them anymore than I already have. I head to the phone. If I report the incident right away, I might be able to argue for some extenuating circ*mstances with the authorities. There is no time to waste.

When I pick up the receiver, I hear a faint voice. It isn’t coming from the phone.

“Put the phone down.”

I turn to the direction where the voice came from. Before I knew it, the young man has opened his eyes and is looking at me. I look at the receiver and the youth in turn. “What if I don’t?”

“I will kill you.”

Those words are as bland as unsold packs lining up in a deli, at least to this young man. I can tell from looking at his eyes that when he utters the word ‘kill,’ it is nothing more than an ordinary, everyday word for him. Just like cutting your nails, or going out to buy more cigarettes- as ordinary that

“How?” I put down the receiver, but I have not returned it to the base station. “You’ve got holes all over your body. You can’t move anything. You’re bleeding everywhere. You don’t even have a gun. To kill me in that condition, it would take two hundred of you.”

“I don’t need that much,” he says with a chilled tone. “I’m Port Mafia.”

Those words alone are enough.

…

“You don’t want me to die in this house, do you? Then if I leave, you’ll have nothing to do with it. No need to help me. No need to ponder anything. Just stay there and watch.”

I ask him, still holding the coffee, “Do you want to die that much?”

“Of course I do. I joined the Port Mafia, but there was still nothing.” replies the young man in a voice that sounds like a soul-deprived gasp. “The only thing I want now, is death.”

…

Our words eventually lose their connection and become a bunch of disjointed words drifting between the two of us. Just like the way music sometimes has meaning in every single note, rather than a series of notes, every single one of our words seems to take on a meaning of its own… If I am to put it in a poetic way, we have turned into instruments, instruments that play words.

“Wow, it has been a long time since I last talked this much.” Dazai says as if he is relaxing after speaking for a long while, as if he is tired.

“Good to know.” I say as I deal the card, for what time I don’t remember. “But we have been here a little too long. It’s almost closing time. You are going home after this, right?”

Dazai’s wounds have already crossed the most critical time. If he will leave them like that, then they will heal on their own. My role here is over. So is our relationship.

Dazai nods and takes the cards from me. Then in a casual tone, he says the fateful words.

“When are we meeting next?”

I stop what I am doing and look at Dazai.

Dazai must have known that it is not a normal thing to ask. Those should be some sort of magic words, more special than any line I have ever heard. But Dazai is just waiting for my answer with his light and innocent smile. As if it is just like inhaling and exhaling for him.

“I wonder.” I let my gaze wander while I search for the right words to say. “I don’t know. You seem to be very busy. But if you want to…”

“Hahaha, interesting. It is surprising to see you make that kind of face. Okay! Showdown!”

He says so, then turns all the cards over.

“Four Kings. I won.”

I look at the cards in my hand and then the ones in Dazai’s hand. It is indeed his win.

“All the games up till this point have been to figure out how your skill works.” Dazai smiles happily. “Generally, the future you can see is only within five to six seconds, so if I wait for seven seconds or more after the last bet to open and switch my cards at the same time, you will not be able to see that future.”

Dazai holds up the King of Clubs in his hand and shows it to me. With a flip of his hand, he turns the card and the moment he turns it back, it has become an Eight of Hearts. He flips his hand again and the card turns back to the King of Clubs. I can’t tell where the cards are coming from even when looking at it up close.

“Of course, you would be wary of the switch. So, I had to distract you by conversation.”

“So, the games and the flow of conversation till now were both according to your plan, you mean?”

“Hehe. Saying important things as a camouflage to get what you want. That is the basis of the negotiation technique.”

I ask as I organize the cards, “Which is camouflage of what?”

Dazai's expression turns blank for a second, as if he has been caught off guard. But it is only for a moment. He turns his head to the side to hide his expression and smiles. If I am not wrong, there is an embarrassed expression on his face. It is under the dark lighting of the bar, so I might have been mistaken.

“‘It is foolish to die without coming here’… you really said something nice to me,” Dazai says, keeping his expression hidden.

I sort out the cards one by one. “Sometimes I say the right thing, too.”

It is time for the bar to close and the guests are starting to rush out. It is time to leave. The night has fallen outside. Silence is absorbing everything.

I look at the deck of cards.

Poker is my forte, but it doesn’t mean I will never lose. There is nothing absolute in this world. It is inherently impossible to control anything in this world. All we can do is to accept it and at the very least enjoy it as we resist it.

In a corner of a bar, somewhere in the past, in a whirlpool of future uncertainty.

“Even if you flip a card a thousand times, and a thousand times it comes out as you expected, there is no guarantee that it will come out right the 1001st time,” I say.

“Yeah. I’ve learned that this time too.” (TN: Dazai switches his pronoun from “boku” to “watashi” for the first time here. “Boku” is usually used by younger boys while “watashi” is more formal and neutral. It can be considered a sign of growth.)

“Watashi?”

“Does it sound strange?”

Dazai smiles, a smile that seems somewhat more mature from what it was just a moment ago.

I shake my head. So many things happened today.

“As to your question,” I say as I am standing up. “I can’t be sure if I can meet up next time. I am a pretty moody guy; you know it too. And I still have my own problems to deal with.”

Dazai nods, “You mean those ex-cops?”

“Those guys won’t give up. Even if they do, I don’t think they’re gonna be the last. We should assume that the information about the ‘painting’ has been leaked to others also. Even if I flee to the other side of the world, the information will eventually catch up to me.”

People in the underworld always have horizontal connections somewhere. I don’t know how the guys of ‘48’ found out about my past, but they probably bought the information from another criminal organization. Even if they didn’t, there is still a chance that ‘48’ will sell my information to yet another criminal organization. If that is the case, then I will have more than just them to take care of. There might come a day when it becomes too much for me to handle.

“Come on. You’re still worried about that?” Dazai folds his arms. “Isn’t there already a simple solution for that?”

“There is?”

“If the other side of the world doesn’t work, you can run to a deeper place,” Dazai speaks in a light tone and shrugs. “A place so deep that no criminal organizations can reach. And it’s not that far away from here. The place is right here in Yokohama.” After saying so, he smiles, “If you die because you didn’t go there, you are a fool.”

I ponder for a while and can come up with only one place that Dazai can be talking about. It is true that if I go there, no criminal organization will be able to meddle with me anymore.

That is the darkest place in Yokohama. Covered in a black storm of violence, a shrine of the night, the people there are tied by an iron rule. If one of their members is attacked by an outsider, they will turn into a nasty row of fangs and bite the enemy mercilessly.

“No one can run away from his past,” Dazai smiles as he says it. “But if you go there, it’s a different story.”

“Are you saying that I should join?”

“It’s up to you,” Dazai smiles. “But I promise you that if you do, you will no longer be bothered by anything from your past- because no past can touch that place.”

“Where is this place?"

Dazai smiles with pride. Then his arms open invitingly and he says the words that will change the future and decide their fate.

“The name? That organization is called…”

-The Day I Picked Up Dazai

The communal days of Odasaku and Dazai had come and gone quickly.

But without question they had an impact.

“You mentioned something a while back about…. about me living somewhere else?”

Mori smiled.

“You started living in the shipping container because of Oda?” Chuuya’s brow was furrowed. “I thought you didn’t start drinking with him until we were sixteen though? You were already living in that dumpsite when we met.”

Dazai nodded. “Yeah…. I didn’t run into him for a long time after that. I just…. didn’t want to be warming Mori’s bed the next time we ran into each other, is all.”

There was definitely more to it than that, some deep ache, a scab Chuuya hadn’t picked at before, but now, he couldn’t help but wonder. Dazai felt weary anticipation build at the searching look to Chuuya’s eyes and braced himself for more impossible questions.

“Mackerel,” Chuuya started, something hesitant and nervous on the tip of his tongue. It sounded unnatural on his Chuuya. He hummed questioningly. “I…. how did you grieve- I mean,” he fumbled, the direction of it icing over the pit in Dazai’s stomach. “When the Flags- theSheep….I never asked because….” Chuuya swallowed(I didn’t ask because I was glad he was dead, if only for a bit, because I don’t think we’d have gotten this close in a world with him in it,Chuuya didn’t say, knowing it was too harsh, if not entirely truthful).“Haveyou grieved Oda Sakunosuke?”

Ah.

The name sounded strange on Chuuya’s tongue, spoken with all the familiarity of a stranger and the sympathy he heard for Dazai. It was odder, still, because Dazai hadn’t heard that name out loud in months, hadn’t properly rationalized it as belonging to a dead man.

“It made me stronger-”

“You were a child, you didn't need to be stronger,” Odasaku shook his head, not even looking at Dazai, speaking casually even as the words burned. “You needed to be protected.”

And then,

The thing was that in a place like Dazai's family- and even more so in a place like the mafia- everything was a test. Every smile, touch, glance over the shoulder, and misstep could be used against you.

If you were weak enough to show those weaknesses in the first place, they probably already had been.

Oda Sakunosuke was a weakness. Nakahara Chuuya was a weakness. Dazai having a heart to begin with was a weakness. It was all being used against him.

And again,

Dazai stared long and hard at Oda Sakunosuke’s back and tried not to think about how no one had ever stood between him and a dog before.

He failed, and the ice casing around his heart chipped a devastating bit more.

And without fail,

It wasn't like before- Odasaku wasn't going to be easy for Dazai to destroy. Not impossible, never impossible, but not easy.

He sipped at his tea and tried to come up with an answer, wedging it out of the empty hole in his chest and coming up just a little too empty to share.

“I…. I don’t know.”

Sensing the end of a saga, an explanation, the end of the story- Dazai’s life story, Chuuya hummed consideringly and set his mug down on the table. Dazai’s fingers caught against the ring on his hand and he waited for scathing words to demand it back. He forced out the final words lingering on his tongue to drive home the knife that would wedge Chuuya away from him for good.

“Mori gave me so many drugs meant to make me feel things… anger, happiness, sadness. I never wanted any of it. He asked me what Iwantedto feel, if not any of that.”

Dazai looked up, emotions flooding his eyes so disastrously that it looked painful. “Nothing. I saidnothing.”

In the end, Mori never needed to traumatize Dazai into remaining in the Port Mafia.

He only exploited the damage already done.

Chapter 13: carve me finite (part 3)

Chapter Text

There was something gross and sticky clawing its way down Chuuya’s throat, clogging up his airways and inciting reflexive panic from his lungs as he tried to breathe and found it come only with some intense, sickly difficulty. He was confused, maybe, because…. what did Dazai think Chuuya was going to say? What did he think Chuuya would do?

Did he really think that Chuuya was any better off?

“You know,” Dazai nearly giggled at the end of the story- hislife story.“The first timewehad sex, I thought I was dying because I didn’t know it was supposed to feel good.”

.

Which was just so much to unpack. So much that he couldn’t come up with a real reply. Maybe Chuuya was silent for a bit too long, because he watched in real time as Dazai curled right up into himself.

Dazai stared at the ground and hated how he wanted so badly to be back in Mori’s bed. It wasn't that he was as kind as Chuuya or ever as gentle and knowing and fun and sharp-tongued, but he never let Dazai make his own decisions.

Everything was easier when he had no autonomy. He was not made to be a self-owned doll.

“That’s f*cked up.”

“Huh?” Dazai let a little noise slip, turning over at Chuuya.

Chuuya, maybe a bit disgusted, maybe wanting to puke a little bit, stared right back. “It’s really, really f*cked up, Dazai. Not- notyou, gods not you,but Mori. And Hyotaro. And your f*cking parents.GodsDazai, it’ssof*cked up.”