Work Text:
Chuuya wakes up to honey-gold morning light streaming into the room, leaving traces of dappled sunspots all over the silk sheets and the person lying next to him; his eyes shut, lips softly parted.
Dazai.
If someone told Chuuya a few years ago that this would be his view in the morning, he'd have laughed, bitterly, and maybe punched them in the face for uttering such crude jokes. He doesn't know either how it happened. Like nearly everything to do with Dazai, their actions don't really make sense; they just happen.
So here he is, staring at the sleeping — and unfairly adorable — face of his ex-rival slash partner slash best friend slash something and —
"You're staring," Dazai mumbles out, voice lost in the fabric of the pillow, his eyes remaining treacherously shut. "'s creepy."
Chuuya flicks his nose. "I just woke up and admired how peaceful it is when you're asleep and not being annoying for once."
"... so you were staring."
"Shut up," Chuuya murmurs, lifting his hand to trail it down the bare flesh of Dazai's arm. He might be a little addicted to the tender shiver that follows it every time like a ripple in the water. "How'd you know, anyway? You have a third eye you never told me about?"
At long last, Dazai cracks one eye open and crankily scowls at him. "I just do. It's like waking up in the night to discover a spider watching you from the ceiling. Instinct."
Chuuya's fingers halt at the base of his shoulder, a particularly sensitive spot. "Are you comparing me to a spider?"
"Yes." Grabbing that hand, Dazai brings it to his mouth. Chuuya expects a kiss, maybe a lick if the idiot is already feeling frisky; instead, he gets a bite. Not a really soft one either. "You're small like a spider, but also dangerous, and you're all legs and head, and I'm hopelessly tangled in your wicked web."
"Stop biting me, you weirdo!"
"I'm fighting for my freedom!"
Chuuya withdraws his hand from that criminal mouth and climbs on Dazai, pushing down on his arm just firmly enough to keep him pinned to the topper. "You're being a brat, is what you are. A grumpy, oversized brat that bites people when he's scared."
"I'm not scared of chibi," Dazai says, his tone just as unimpressed as the flat look in his blood-brown eyes.
"You should be. I have a monster inside me."
"And I can tame him with the snap of my finger, just like I can tame you."
Chuuya rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Why have I let you stay over again? I can't for the love of me remember."
"I'm pretty fuckable, according to you," Dazai replies and wiggles his hips. "And sexy, too. A delight to be around —"
"— never stop speaking, are a smartass, annoying, and yet..." Chuuya pauses. And yet what? The words are there. On the tip of his tongue. Tangled between his ribs. Carved into his bones. Everywhere. "And yet," he forces out again, "...I tolerate you."
Dazai's smile is goofy and rosy, making him dizzy with the sunny warmth that fills every possible corner of his chest. "You should reconsider your taste in partners then."
Chuuya returns the smile before leaning down and kissing him. It's sweet, at first, but Dazai makes a greedy sound in the back of his throat and surges up into it, wordlessly demanding more as he bites Chuuya's lip. There are far too many things Dazai deprives himself of, but kissing Chuuya has never been one of them. At least, not since this — whatever it is — started again.
Dazai's warm, lovely mouth makes his head spin, but they were up for a long time yesterday, making up for nights lost to impromptu agency cases and undelayable port mafia missions, so Chuuya pulls away, breathless before he gets too worked up to stop himself. "You..." he murmurs, panting a bit, "are trouble."
"You started it," Dazai refutes and shamelessly grabs his boxers that are keeping his morning-wood trapped. "Don't you want a morning quickie?"
He does; his appetite has always been pretty much as insatiable as Dazai's, but... "If I were to fuck you right now," Chuuya murmurs, "I wouldn't stop. And I have some plans for today."
Dazai huffs out a puffy breath, tilting his head. "It's Sunday. There's no need for plans on a Sunday."
It's Sunday.
Life doesn't care about that, though.
"I'll fuck you later as much as you want."
"Until I can't walk anymore?" Dazai wants to know.
"Whatever you want." The thing is, he means it. He'd climb a mountain, pull the fucking moon closer, travel back into the past and punch himself, just to make it last a little bit longer.
Grinning, Dazai stretches his hands over his head and lets out a yawn. "I want mindblowing orgasms until I pass out. And breakfast in bed. And a new job! Kunikida has been so strict with me lately ~"
Chuuya listens to the brat complain about his agency partner while going to the bathroom attached to the room and doing his morning routine, only to end up with two arms around his waist. They make out against the sink, and they make out in the kitchen, drops of pancake batter on Dazai's pale cheek that he cleans up with his tongue, and then they make out at the table, Chuuya crawling into Dazai's lap and tasting the syrup on his lips over and over, their pancakes forgotten.
The moments with him feel so good, so feather-light, a bubble of paradise, and it kills something inside Chuuya, an integral part of him that has always been resilient and volatile no matter what sort of trap he was in. He doesn't want this bubble to burst. He'd rather get his heart pierced by the needle.
Dazai pulls away with a small frown, brushing his lips against the corner of his mouth when he speaks. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," Chuuya whispers. He's okay. He's here with Dazai, and even though they haven't defined their relationship, even though they're still figuring it out as they go, this is real. Exhaling, Chuuya cups Dazai's cheeks, feeling the warm softness and subtle curve of them. Dazai is real.
"Are you tearing up because I'm so handsome?"
"Uh-uh." Chuuya swallows, then frowns. "No. I'm not tearing up."
Dazai's eyes are as always full of diabolical knowledge, but for once, he doesn't press, doesn't prod for a painful answer. With his hands tracing the length of Chuuya's naked spine, he brushes their mouths together once more, and Chuuya's eyes fall shut, and his world reduces to the slide of lips against him, igniting him, making him nauseous with bottomless longing for something he can't reach anymore.
They end up on the leather couch in the living room, and even though there's a lot of breathless kissing and hands roaming across the skin, Chuuya can feel Dazai hold back; maybe because he actually listens for once, or maybe because he senses the throbbing pitch in his mood. If it's possible, it makes Chuuya feel even worse. He shouldn't be ruining the mood. This day should be perfect, flawless, without a single mistake — except that the two of them have never been anything but perfectly imperfect.
His fingers tightening on the pages of his book, Chuuya squirms a bit, trying to enjoy the feel of Dazai's hands playing with his hair without any more remorse. One of the things on the endless list of things he never really understood about Dazai is that while Chuuya always has to keep himself busy, doing something, whether it's by working out, taking on more workload than necessary for an executive, or simply by aimlessly driving through the city at night, Dazai's his polar opposite. He can just lie around on the floor, doing absolutely nothing. Most of the time, he chooses somewhere close to sit next to Chuuya, within arm’s reach, and then watches him work for hours on end without much said or done. The TV's running in the background right now, but he doubts Dazai pays it much attention besides the occasional glance. Chuuya doesn't necessarily understand it because it feels like there's always been a live wire running through his body, not allowing him to stop and stand still, but it's nice to see Dazai... relax. His brain might not give him rest, but at least, his body does.
"I can hear you think," Dazai complains into the crook of his neck and lets his teeth graze against the smooth skin there just to show how much he disapproves of that. "You aren't supposed to think when reading. Especially not cheesy romcoms like that."
"I... have a lot on my mind."
"Oh? Do tell."
"No," Chuuya says. "I don't think I will."
"Is chibi keeping secrets from me?"
Chuuya's breath catches. It's not a secret because it's not —
It's not —
He tosses the book to the side and turns around, climbing Dazai like he always does because it's one of the most comfortable positions for them — plus, it's a fucking beautiful view. "Hey."
Dazai's eyes crinkle. "Hello?"
"How about," he starts, tucking some of his hair behind his ear, "we turn off our phones for the entire day, go out for brunch and mimosas, get drunk, and then spend the rest of the day in bed? We could order take out later, bake the cheesecake you love so much."
It always starts like this.
"What's the catch?" Dazai asks with idle curiosity. "Chuuya would never voluntarily turn off his work phone."
"There's none. Unless you consider spending time with me a catch."
The hands on his back slip a bit lower, grabbing his ass. Dazai smirks. "I suppose I could grace you with my presence for the day. So you mentioned mimosas?"
It takes them more time than necessary to get off the couch and dressed as every lost piece of clothing means about ten minutes of being pushed against the wall and kisses until his toes curl. Chuuya doesn't know why they're both so — so affectionate today. Or maybe he does. But he's not complaining. It took so many years of contrived coldness to be finally able to open up this new sort of intimacy. Even when they were partners in their teens, driven together by Mori, they never allowed themselves to be this free and open with each other, never allowed the kisses to be tender instead of mean and rough, full of teeth.
Once they're ready to go, Chuuya deliberately tosses his phone to the bed, smiling a little when Dazai does the same. No distractions. No sudden phone calls that force either of them to come in. Just the two of them.
They keep bumping shoulders on the ten-minute walk to their favorite bar, their hoarse laughter coming out in foggy puffs as they talk about the chubby, white dog trotting in front of them. When they wait for the traffic light to turn red, Dazai intertwines their fingers, cold skin slowly warming up. Chuuya's heart stumbles and stutters.
They order eggs benedict and Belgian waffles while the young waitress keeps them well supplied with Mimosas. Dazai's always been the one who could stomach more alcohol and still remain clear-headed and composed, so after several glasses, Chuuya's torn between clinging to sobriety to remember every single moment and between letting himself drift into the comforting arms of alcohol and drunkenness that makes pain like his more bearable. He doesn't want to miss the rest of this day. He doesn't want to relive it come to an end either.
The ghost of Dazai's fingers on his hand brings him back to the present. Dazai's openly studying his face. "Chuuya's so strange today."
"I'm just," he offers a small shrug, "being you for a day."
"Mm, that must be it. I'm better at it, though. I, at least, don't stare into space while looking like somebody kicked my puppy."
"Funny, considering you did that all the time in port mafia."
Dazai makes a face and leans back. "Touche, hatrack."
Chuuya hides his expression by taking another sip, trying to push away the dreadful reality of time passing with each other, time running, and galloping towards a terrible and distant future. "Do you like your waffles?"
"They're fine," Dazai says, swirling the fork in the cream, "I am saving my appetite for the real dessert, though."
Chuuya snorts, and despite everything, he feels ridiculously happy.
They get home shortly after four. Chuuya tries to avoid looking at the clock, but his eyes find the stupid thing anyway, reading the numbers and doing the math in his head.
Not much left.
Except that they turned their phones off. Nothing has to happen. This doesn't have to end.
While Dazai's in the bathroom, Chuuya puts some things away in the kitchen that they left earlier. (when they were too busy locking lips like hormonal teenagers.) Every time he stops and thinks, about this, about reality, about everything, a shudder crawls down his spine, the fear in his breastbone suffocating him.
Chuuya shakes his head and commands himself to get his shit together. This is supposed to be good, after all.
Dazai joins him not much later, sliding his cold hands under Chuuya's Kashmir sweater and running his hands up and down before eventually dipping lower while he nibbles at his neck, pulling the skin with his teeth, then lavishing it with soft, wet kisses and his warm tongue. Chuuya lets his eyes fall closed as he leans back into the embrace.
Surely something this raw, this intimate couldn't be not real.
Surely the gust of breath Dazai releases when Chuuya turns in his arms to guide him down for a slow, deep kiss is real. There aren't words beautiful enough to make this up. It's not possible.
They stumble to a chair, kissing, and Chuuya lands in Dazai's lap, his hips rocking down as he hangs onto his mouth and prays that if he holds on tight enough, this doesn't ever have to end. Chuuya’s shirt lands on the floor. So does Dazai’s. The pants are next. He loses himself in the soft breaths , in wet, slick kisses and in the feeling of Dazai's hands roaming his skin, working him open with spit because there's no lube nearby, and they're both too lazy and too caught up in each other to leave the kitchen. It's not comfortable, pressed together on a chair, but that doesn't stop the heat pooling in Chuuya's stomach when Dazai finally replaces his fingers with his cock, and Chuuya feels every inch inside him as he guides himself down. With the support of Dazai's hands, he manages to build a rhythm, but it's a messy, fervent one, the chair only allowing him quick, little grinds as Chuuya rides him until he comes with Dazai's mouth sharing the same air and swallowing up all his moans.
For once, it's Dazai who carries him to the bedroom, though unlike Chuuya, he unceremoniously throws him on the bed before climbing on it with a devil's grin. Chuuya smiles and kisses him as his fingers find his ass, massaging the skin and teasing him. This time they have lube so Chuuya only starts fngering him after putting a generous amount on it. He takes his sweet time working him up because even though Dazai must be close already, Chuuya isn't after the first orgasm. There are breathy complaints and whines and grumbled insults, but eventually, when Chuuya finally buries himself in the tight, wet heat, Dazai's looking up at him with light in his eyes. One that didn't use to be there.
Chuuya intertwines their fingers as he pulls out and thrusts all the way in again, and Dazai holds his gaze, and they kiss, and it's so quiet and raw that it makes him want to scream. Neither of them has ever been about making love. It was pure physical attraction at first, then trust that came with being partners in an organization using them as weapons, then something in-between. Never love though.
This is the one time it comes close to it.
When Dazai comes, Chuuya kisses him and continues kissing him until he feels himself reach the crest again.
Afterward, when Chuuya's running his fingers through the sweaty strands of Dazai's hair, he smiles sadly. He's been through this so many times already it should be easier. Something should be different.
Dazai yawns, blinking hazily at him. "Nap?"
"Sure," he says. "I'll wake you up when the food's here."
"Ehh, but Chuuya should sleep too." Throwing an arm around his hip, Dazai pulls him closer with a shameless hand on his ass. "Surely, all that creepy staring you do must be exhausting."
Chuuya can't sleep; he can't lose those two hours.
"I'm not tired."
"Whatever," Dazai grumbles and closes his eyes, drifting off pretty quickly. His sleeping habits have become a tiny bit better throughout the last years, but it still doesn't come easy to him, so Chuuya's content lying there and simply watching him. It's enough. More than enough.
The clock on the wall continues to tick.
The world around them never stops.
No matter how much he wants to, Chuuya can't hide from the reality that's waiting for him outside.
He can't relive this day for the rest of his life.
He has to let Dazai turn his phone back on. He has to let him walk out the door one last time. He has to tell him the thing he's here for. Just this one thing, so when everything ends, Chuuya can, at least, say that he did it. Even if it's like this.
Chuuya squeezes his eyes shut as the dread of what he has to do return with a vicious vengeance. Something wet rolls down his cheek.
It takes him a lot of time to get his shit together and pull away from Dazai to stand up. After calling their favorite restaurant, he finds both their cell phones and turns them on, watching the light flicker on with a boundless emptiness in his chest.
Dazai wakes up when the doorbell rings, and they eat in bed, and Chuuya feels himself crumble bit by bit. This is the part where everything ends. This is... the last time he'll ever experience this day again.
Dazai's Spotify playlist is running in the background, and when Coldplay's Yellow comes on, he hums with his mouth full. "r' member whe—" He swallows dutifully. "— when we used to listen to it day and night?"
Chuuya places his chopstick down, a smile overcoming him. "Yeah, you pretended to hate it."
"It was cheesy."
"And now it isn't?"
"Now it's nostalgic."
It came on randomly back then and Chuuya found a liking to it, mostly because it annoyed Dazai. The running joke turned into a bit of an obsession, though, and suddenly the two of them were able to recite every word, especially after a few drinks, pretending to be normal teenagers on the rooftop of Dazai's apartment complex.
Dazai's eyes glimmer with mischief as he stands up, and even though Chuuya knows what's coming, his stomach still bottoms out when he sees him hold out his hand.
"Will you grant me a dance?"
"So stupid," Chuuya murmurs helplessly and accepts it, getting pulled to his feet and stumbling into Dazai's chest. With his heart racing a dizzying speed, he loops his arms around Dazai's neck, and slowly, awkwardly, they start somewhat of a rhythm, dancing in their bedroom.
"Look at the stars," Dazai hums along, his fingers trailing up and down his back. "Look how they shine for you."
Chuuya swallows and looks up. "I love you. You know that, right?"
Dazai's lashes flutter before he grins goofily. "That's not how the lyrics go, stupid."
"I'm not singing."
"Oh."
"I'm proud of you," Chuuya continues because it's never been about getting to hear the words back, but always about the visceral need to let Dazai know that he was loved, that he was good, that he was real and flawed and worthy of happiness. "You did so well in the last years. Oda would have been proud of you."
The sound of fluttering pages pierces the air, but when Dazai's stare lifts, Chuuya drags him back with a hand on his cheek.
"I love you so, so much, Osamu."
"Why are you crying then?"
Chuuya blinks, not even having noticed and offers him a smile. "No reason."
"I —" The world around them starts trembling and shaking, and Dazai's eyes widen as he looks around them. It's all caving in. Shattering. "What's happening, Chuuya?" To see him, Dazai Osamu, who always knows what's going on, so helpless, scared even, breaks Chuuya, and he cries openly as he keeps guiding him through the dance.
"It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."
"Chuuya..."
"Just dance with me," Chuuya whispers. "Until the song is over."
The sound of crashing and pages get louder, impossible to ignore, but the song still has a good thirty seconds left, and Chuuya's not letting go, not before he has to, not a second sooner.
Images of all the years with Dazai whizz past his eyes. Going to the arcade. Smoking pot for the first time. Bandaging each other up after a brutal mission that leaves them both beat. Sleeping in the same bed when the silence wasn't bearable. Their first drunken kiss. Screaming at each other before ending up shoved against the wall. Seeing Dazai for the first time after four years. Falling in love. Watching him sleep.
"I don't want this to end," Dazai whispers as his world comes to an end.
Chuuya's eyes fill with more tears, and he opens his mouth to reply that he doesn't have to, but —
But Dazai is no longer there.
The light from outside is gone.
Chuuya's in his dark bedroom. Sitting on the floor. Alone. The book lying a few feet away.
The shaking has stopped, but Chuuya's insides are still trembling, and he barely has time to lift his hand before his stomach empties itself all over the carpet, tears running down his cheeks as everything comes up.
"I love you," he whispers to someone that is no longer there. "I love you. I love you. I love you."
How ironic that these three words are the thing that took Dazai away from him once and for all. The goal of the novel was to tell Dazai how he felt, this time before it's too late, before he leaves for the case that gets him killed. Chuuya just wanted another chance. Talk to him one last time. See his goofy grin. Except that once he got to relive that day with Dazai, he couldn't bring himself to let go again. He never told him I love you, so he never got out of the book.
Until today.
Chuuya lets out a quiet whimper as he stares at the ceiling.
God knows how many days he spent in the book that he forced Poe to write him. God knows how many days since Dazai's actual death. God knows how many times he prepared himself for this very moment.
The reality is still unbearable.
It's overpowering and inescapable. There's absolutely nothing he can do anymore.
Piece by piece, inch by inch, Chuuya stitches himself together until he can stand without his legs giving in and slowly makes his way to the bathroom.
Mori will punish him for the unexcused absence, and as much as he wishes he'd care, he doesn't. The idea of physical pain, of social isolation, or the loss of his job leaves him utterly unfazed, his entire surroundings fading into a cold, lifeless grey that leaves nothing to be desired or felt. He wonders if this how Dazai felt after losing Oda. He wonders if this empty feeling made him turn his back on the mafia and run as far as possible.
Because right now, it doesn't seem so bad.
Running.
Dying in a ditch somewhere.
Chuuya's life has been a never-ending stream of tragedies. He was robbed of a childhood, then the kids he considered family, then his innocence, then his freedom, then his partner.
But even then, after Dazai left, and Chuuya spent the nights going to bars and finding distraction from stranger's lips, he still had something burning inside him, something that kept him going through all of that shit.
Until now.
Somewhere in his apartment, a door opens, and Chuuya feels steps coming towards where he's standing over the sink, staring at the mirror. Of course, the mafia already knows.
It's Kouyou again who finds him first. Kouyou who gets to pick up the pieces.
But instead of a lecture, instead of advice and threats, she takes one look at him and then wraps him in her arms. "Oh, Chuuya."
Chuuya doesn't hug her back, doesn't do much of anything except standing there and letting himself cry silently. For Dazai. For the man that he loved. For the life that will never happen anymore.
Even if it wasn't real, even if it was a book written in haste as Chuuya stood over Poe with red-rimmed eyes and threatened to scrape his brain out of his skull if he didn't write the events he listed word for word into a novel, even if his Dazai, the real one, never heard the words from him before he died, at least, in another reality, somewhere far away, another version of him did.
That has to be enough.