Chapter Text
The tingling sensation reminds him of old television static, as does the way sound became muffled by the ringing in his ears. Chuuya’s sleeping breaths are too quiet to be heard above the persistent white noise that’s getting louder and louder. The smaller is lying on his side tonight, facing away from Dazai which is especially unhelpful. If he were lying on his chest, his weight could provide the grounding pressure to cancel out the other stimuli Dazai wishes he didn’t have to experience.
The knots of stressed muscles become embers that start to burn hotter and spread beneath his flesh. How desperately he wishes his skin was like his bandages, something that could be ripped off, discarded, and replaced. That weakness goes deeper than the epidermis. His mind is sick. Uttering grievances such as become deaf, so you don’t have to hear the ringing or become blind, so you don’t have to see your skin and peel it off, it won’t hurt as bad as.. Gross. Troublesome. He would much rather kill himself.
The impulsive urges to scream, bang his head against a wall, or jump out of a window are all strong.
Unconsciously, Chuuya scoots back to press against Dazai. He is warm and cute, but Dazai is lying on his back and having him touching his side and arm is simultaneously too much and not enough. Physical contact isn’t a solution currently. Dazai gets up and leaves the bedroom.
Exhausted legs carry him to their front door and he double checks the locks and resets the alarm. The ringing hasn’t stopped. He makes his way to the kitchen and decides now is as good of a time as ever to start cleaning. The dishes are done and he cleared out the fridge yesterday, so he decides to sweep and wipe down the counters. Briefly, he wonders if it’s possible to get high on oven cleaner and debates on cleaning the oven as an excuse to find out. Ultimately, he decides against it because his head already felt like someone was knocking inside of it. Inhalants tend to make that worse.
Moving around like this is doing him no favors pain wise, but he doesn’t want Chuuya in his space right now. It would be awful and unfair of him to say that or wake Chuuya, and he is horrible enough for leaving his partner alone in bed in the middle of the night. He goes into their front room and stares too long at the glass door to their balcony. Fantasizing about how quick and painless suicide by falling from high places is. The idea makes his stomach churn after dwelling on it. Three years ago, he and Chuuya jumped out of one of the Petronas Towers together.
Chuuya is so beautiful. To commit double suicide with him would be absolutely amazing. Dazai went from wanting to kill himself, to wanting to kill Chuuya then himself, to wanting Chuuya to kill him, and has settled on the perfect happy compromise. They could kill themselves together!
Fuck. Everything hurts. Living is so overrated.
Dazai finds himself looking at their shared residence upside down and doesn’t really remember lying on the couch. Let alone how he flipped himself on it without noticing. Nothing he could do, no matter the odd position, or menial the task would be able to distract him from how much he hurts.
Or how much he would love to end his life. Preferably alongside Chuuya.
Dazai shifts again so that he’s lying on his stomach and suffocating himself into their expensive sectional slightly.
If he is being honest with himself, he hates the idea of Chuuya dying. The world without his presence would be infinitely worse than dreary and bleak. For sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Dazai is certain the second this world becomes Chuuya-less it will become without him right after.
Five years have come and gone with the Sōkoku reboot. Five years of coming home to the one place Dazai has ever belonged. Time goes by like the seasons change, you barely notice until fruits and flowers are harvested, and you question whether or not you were aware they were in season.
Pain, sadness, and weakness are constants in Dazai’s life still. Breathing and turning his head are minute motions that bring him great pain and greater sadness. This endless repetitive thought process that plays out time and time again. Pain floods his body, wracking him with dread and the inability of finding comfort. Sadness takes over his head, filling him with ideas of death and dying somehow lessening the aforementioned pain. Then weakness arrives in the form of 160 centimeters of a reason to live.
Dazai does enjoy the fantasy of dying alongside a deity. A celestial tragedy of a happy ending that would be. Though he can’t entertain it seriously enough out of his genuine desire for Chuuya to live.
Wanting Chuuya to live has become a reason to stick around all on its own.
Even when times like this occur and Dazai can’t touch him. As much as he wants to and probably needs to, there comes moments when the only viable solution to the problem that is his existence doesn’t fit the equation. When the answer overestimates the question, Dazai worries about coming across as unreachable. What if an instance occurred where Chuuya needed him physically and he couldn’t provide?
Dazai is long past wanting to run from him, but even now he finds himself pushing him away.
Leaving his side in the middle of the night to avoid touching him.
This too, hurts to think about.
Dazai feels underprepared next to him. Fearing the moment Chuuya’s touch brings him something other than undaunted relief. It’s unfair that he can’t sleep every night, it’s asinine that he can’t relax in his own home, and it’s frightening that he can’t find comfort in the one person who understands his pain.
“Osamu? What are you doing out here?” A sleepy voice comes from behind him and the ringing drowns in his ears.
The younger turns around to find Chuuya in the doorway of their balcony. Red hair tousled from sleep and an ungloved hand rubbing at tired blue-grey eyes. Other hand against the frame and leaning drowsily into it.
Dazai doesn’t recall coming outside in the first place and can’t ascertain a reason for it.
“I-“ ‘don’t know, didn’t mean to wake you, ‘m sorry.’ Dazai wants to respond but nothing comes out.
Chuuya’s gaze softens and Dazai knows he understood what he wanted to say. Light footsteps on porcelain tile hush the white noise, but not well enough. Dazai’s shirt skims the creamy thickness of Chuuya’s thighs alluringly in the cityscape night’s light. He leans against the railing alongside Dazai, but permits him his personal space.
Dazai can find comfort in him. It doesn’t always have to be his touch. The way he hears the words Dazai can’t say, when he speaks to silence the voices in Dazai’s head, and how he puts up with Dazai’s utter incompetence at existing and being a proper partner.
He wants to tell him to speak. Say something. His presence a sight for sore eyes, but his voice a lifeline to a lifeless soul. Chuuya remains the abridged version of Dazai’s will to live.
“You want me to talk?” Chuuya asks him for clarification, having already seen the signs.
Dazai thinks he nodded based off the slightly increased ache in his neck.
“Hmm..” Chuuya’s exhausted and Dazai feels guilty for waking him, bothering him, and asking him to talk to him purely as a distraction. Not that Dazai could say anything worthwhile as a response, he can’t speak anyway.
“I want to take a vacation. I have never been on a ship for a non work-related reason. A cruise sounds fun. The North American islands of the Caribbean have a lot, but there’s one off of Portugal I’ve looked at as well. Then, there are quite a few cruise lines off Indonesia, too. You’re better at researching and planning our traveling though, so now that I’ve told you I want to do that, maybe you could decide?”
Chuuya doesn’t wait for him to answer, moving onto another topic seamlessly.
“Spanish wasn’t that difficult thanks to that program you showed me, so I’m thinking I want to learn Portuguese or Italian next. You’re right that I was going too easy on myself with learning that one. I thought self study would be harder, but I actually enjoy moving at my own pace. After Portuguese or Italian, I’ll try something harder like Turkish or Russian.”
“This was a long time ago, but I randomly thought about that ability user who showed me my memories. I don’t remember if I told you he is a writer, but he is the person who encouraged me to try writing poetry. I bought a few of his books out of curiosity. His style is interesting. The storytelling and fluidity is something I think you would like. Reading his work inspired me to attempt something loosely based off his spontaneous prose. I explored Wabi-Sabi with it. I’ve been working on it a lot recently. It’s finished, with the original thought and dimensions laid out. I’m just trying to edit it in a way that reflects the intention of the piece. The way everything goes is supposed to leave the reader thinking there is more, like an open end? It’s hard to explain..”
Dazai looks over at him and is struck by the view. Chuuya pulls at the hem of Dazai’s shirt around his thighs. His other hand tucks mussed red hair behind his ear. Yokohama’s lights gleam behind him, bathing him in an ethereal glow. How fortunate, how blessed is the cursed fallen angel to have been caught under the spell of a god?
Surely Dazai must have been a good man before, in a previous incarnation, centuries ago, to have gained something as breathtaking as this sight. This sound. This person. This feeling.
The anguish, fear, instability, and all his shortcomings grow dull. Ever a fool for Chuuya, and Chuuya alone, Dazai confronts fate. People and pain are things that perish. All must end and pass. No matter how desperately we cling to fleeting good moments or strive to evade the clutches of agony.
Permanence is a travesty. Nothing stays the same. Dying is not only a means to an end. He and Chuuya will not be young forever. They’re going to face their mortality regardless of whether or not Dazai accelerates the process.
Milky skin taut over muscle glistens in the light and Dazai comes to the conclusion that Chuuya is right. He tends to be about most things. There is something to be considered about finding peace in growth and decay, beauty in imperfections like unanswered questions and open endings.
Looking at Chuuya, and thinking of him in the divine light of the pedestal Dazai places him upon, has made him forget juvenescence is yet another ephemeral dream. Stupid of him, as Chuuya has always been the more mature and wise one. Though they have disowned and doubted their humanity, nothing will halt the passage of time.
“Aren’t you getting cold? Come back inside. I’ll give you something to read and make you some tea.” Chuuya steps towards the glass doors and looks back to encourage Dazai to go with him.
Prickling cold air fills his lungs as he sucks in a breath.
Dazai drinks in the expectation, the gaze Chuuya throws over his shoulder, boldly commanding Dazai to chase after him like they have each other innumerable times.
It wouldn’t be the worst thing ever,
Dazai follows.
to grow old with him.
*
Once Dazai sets his mind to something, nothing can stop him. The most integral part of this plan was that there was no plan. They had never been the type of people to do grand romantic gestures. (Unless you count blacking out the Eiffel Tower that one time..) Chuuya is the romantic between them, but he isn’t over the top with it by any means.
What they have now began as an impulse, continued as passionate spontaneity, and grew into a deep familiarity. Where they started, the haste and violence along the way, and the comfort they found in each other was never defined properly. Answers are more satisfying as actions rather than words.
The storm that was their prior affair has calmed into a gentle breeze. When Dazai’s senses need dulled, all he has to do is step out into the wind. Each day that passes, he tries to become a better adult. Permitting Chuuya to tear down his walls and take whatever he desires of him. Dazai stays here not out of guilt or because he’s in too deep to back out, but because he wants to.
The kind of consideration and care Chuuya freely gave him was once something Dazai only dreamed of and read about. Books end and dreams don’t last forever, but nothing could change the way Chuuya feels about him. He never forced him to repeat those words he easily confessed. Chuuya never told him to ‘cheer up’ or fake being happy. Chuuya empathized with his trauma and didn’t push him to explain why he wasn’t the same as everyone else. So, Dazai stays facing the wind.
This was as much his decision as it was Chuuya’s, and there was no doubt in either of their answers. What Chuuya desires Dazai mirrors, the things they asked of each other were only things they would ask of themselves. Dazai realizes now that they both feared asking for too much all along.
With this, Dazai wants Chuuya to see clearly he doesn’t have to fear anymore, or ever again.
The sun rises saturating the lovely man lying on his chest in a warm glow. Dazai didn’t sleep the night before not out of pain, anxiety, or sadness, but excitement. Chuuya’s warmth and weight grounded him to Earth and his soft breath reminded him how glad he was that he too is breathing. Dazai had played with his hair all night and watched him sleep. This was the safest place on Earth, Chuuya’s freckles reminiscent of a starry sky and his breathing pattern a lullaby.
All his thoughts about haste and impulses, yet it took him so long to get here. Dazai took this too far and too slow, and he needs to make up for their lost time. Soon it will be thirteen years since St. Petersburg. Chuuya deserves to receive everything he wants, but is too afraid to ask. Dazai can’t hold back any longer, not now, and never again.
Leaning down to kiss his forehead, softly Dazai whispers to him.
“Good morning, Chuu~”
The smaller stirs, nose scrunching adorably as he is roused from sleep. Red eyelashes fluttering in his attempt to open his eyes. Blue-greys blink up at Dazai as they come into focus.
“Hi, Osamu. You’re..in a good mood but you didn’t sleep.” Chuuya sounds suspicious of him through his drowsiness.
Dazai chuckles. “I was too distracted. I need to talk to you.”
“Thanks for waiting until sunrise, but if it was important or you need something you could have woken me earlier.”
“Do you still have your fake French citizenship?” Dazai asks.
Chuuya looks confused. “Huh?”
“You used to have fake French documents. Do you still have them?”
“Oh. I guess I never did tell you. I’ve had dual citizenship with France for almost a decade now. Kouyou helped me apply since she has friends in the Parliament and OFII. The house we stay at Senlis is my house. I had to own property in the country for the documentation and I employ people to care for it when I’m not there.”
“Really? That’s great! This worked out even more legally than I thought it would!” Dazai says jovially.
“What has gotten into you?” Chuuya raises his left hand to rub at his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re going on a-“
Dazai gets a perfect view of the surprise on his face and watches the reality sink in. This was a scene that outmatched a billion yen masterpiece.
Chuuya stares at his hand, mouth agape before sitting back. He’s most definitely in shock. Dazai sits up to follow him and explain himself.
“We are coming up on ten years of being together. I figured I made you wait long enough.”
Three of the past thirteen years since that night in St. Petersburg Dazai spent running and hiding from him. He didn’t feel it to be fair to count those years apart. That time was filled with sorrow, attempts at redemption in the eyes of someone not around to see it, women and alcohol, and the war with Dostoyevsky. He doesn’t regret trying to become a better man for Odasaku, but he regrets his inability to be honest with his partner about his motives and intentions. If only he had learned how to talk things through sooner.. then Chuuya would not have had to go through so much for his sake.
Chuuya is still staring at the ring. Dazai watches him close his mouth and his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He waits with bated breath and heavy anticipation for what he will say.
“I love how this wasn’t a question and I hate that you still touch me without my noticing. Thank you for this. It’s really beautiful.” Chuuya rushes over his words before pulling Dazai into his embrace.
“I had to create something to match your extravagant aesthetic.. You have been my better half for quite some time, we might as well make it official.” Dazai squeezes his chest against his own so he can feel his heart drumming the rhythm of the words he can’t say. But the words he means and feels so deeply.
“I love you too, Osamu. But what does ‘Kara Sevda’ mean? And why did you put all these coordinates in my ring? I don’t even know where more than half of these are.”
Dazai chuckles and pulls out his grasp to watch him investigate the inside of his ring. It’s a pretty thick band so he was able to inscribe a lot into it. Chuuya knows Dazai is a sneaky bastard, so he expected him to find the inscriptions quickly. This was part of the fun.
“It’s not properly translatable, but you know how to type into a search bar, right?” Dazai teases him.
“You.. I thought it was familiar. You said this to me before. And I recognize 35 139, 59 30, and 48 2, but I’ll have to look up the others.”
“You’re so cute when you figure things out for yourself.” Dazai continues to poke fun at him, pleased to know he’ll be doing so for the rest of their lives.
Chuuya isn’t paying his antics any mind. Too busy being distracted by the extra ass wedding ring Dazai had custom designed for him. He puts it back on and turns to see it in the sunlight.
“Wow..” Chuuya marvels.
The centered jewel is a unique black diamond. Dazai really had to search to find what he wanted to get him. If you look at it just right, you can see that it isn’t perfect, as many are solid black all the way through or cloudy; this one has specks in it. Dazai chose it because it looks like Chuuya’s gravitons, a mini black hole. It’s obvious he put a lot of thought into this as much as he can’t get down on one knee or shout from the rooftops he loves him.
Dazai buries his face in Chuuya’s thighs.
“You’re such a girl. You would be more interested in the ring than me.” Dazai’s complaint is muffled by Chuuya’s thick muscles.
Chuuya’s fingers thread through his hair as he laughs at him.
“You’re rude. I’m still processing this, okay?”
Dazai grumbles into his skin.
“Have you given any thought to…” Chuuya trails off but it’s clear what he was trying to say.
“Mhm.” Dazai confirms before moving to look up at him from his lap.
The morning light illuminates him so elegantly, Dazai’s breath is stolen from his lungs. Chuuya’s pale pink lips are softly smiling and his eyes are shining with a wonder in them Dazai has never witnessed before. It is Chuuya’s charm to continually show him new expressions and experiences and give him something exciting, or amusing, or intriguing to look forward to.
“I’ll take care of everything.” Dazai already has the plan outlined in his mind and knows what they’re doing for their honeymoon. Much like this, he intends on keeping it a surprise.
“Okay.” Chuuya grins down at him. Trusting that Dazai wouldn’t fuck something as important as that up. Faithfulness knowing no bounds.
Chuuya leans down and brushes Dazai’s bangs off his forehead. He kisses it sweetly before pulling away to speak.
“And I’ll take care of you.”
Dazai’s heart flutters in Chuuya’s grasp. Dazai never doubted that. Chuuya always has.
*
So what if there’s no such thing as true happiness, or a real and complete cure to neuropathy or anxiety or depression? That’s fine with Dazai. He has accepted it. If the closest he ever comes to contentment is while he’s listening to sad lofi, typing away on a report, with a sleeping husband wrapped around him while he sits at his desk; All is right in the world. They have returned from their wedding in France and honeymoon cruise in the Mediterranean Sea, and Mori demanded that Dazai get back to his office and finish all the work he had left behind in favor of preparing for their time in Europe. It was only a few reports, and a couple things that needed his signature, but Chuuya was high on pain medication and clingier than usual. Not that Dazai was complaining.
It was actually a little easier to concentrate on the tasks at hand with Chuuya’s solid presence on top of him, reminding him that as soon as he finished they could go home. Earbuds are plugged into his laptop as not to disturb his sleeping partner. Chuuya’s arms are around his shoulders and his soft breath whispers against Dazai’s neck. I want to be close to you. Even if I’m unconscious on painkillers. Even if you’re working. I want to be right here.
As he is finishing up the last report, his music is cut off by the ringing of a videocall. It’s from his squad he named ‘Red Snow’. Akutagawa, Gin, and Higuchi are his captains, Chuuya his lieutenant, and of course he was their tactical commander.
Ah. Some days really are so much better than others. Their relationship has been kept secret for a while, with only Mori putting two and two together when Dazai’s conditions for returning were 1. The immediate reinstatement of both of his previous titles. And 2. That neither he nor Chuuya could go on international missions without each other. His excuse at the time was blatant and flimsy ‘If I have to come back I have to make it hell for someone else, too’. Mori had an idea from then onwards, but the coinciding vacations to Europe left no questions about it.
Tormenting his subordinates has always been one of Dazai’s favorite things to do. So he answers the call nonchalantly. Doesn’t adjust at all and speaks softly as not to disturb sleeping Chuuya.
“Status report? Or is the mission complete?”
The looks on their faces is worth at least ten million yen. Akutagawa opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out. Gin’s eyes give away her utter shock, granted the rest of her face is covered. Higuchi, to her credit, even through shock and awe, is the one to respond.
“They refused the first offer like you thought they would, and after we killed a few men they surrendered to the more advantageous deal.”
“And the shipment is arriving?” Dazai asks to make a note in his calendar.
“Next Wednesday morning.” Higuchi, again replies.
“Wh-What did you do to Chuuya-san?” Akutagawa stammers his speech. Looking both bewildered and concerned for his lieutenant’s safety.
“All good things I assure you.” Dazai adds the date to his schedule, still feigning indifference.
“Now we know why Chuuya-san puts up with him and how he’s still alive.” Higuchi points out.
“I-I- don’t believe this. What did you do to him, Dazai-san?” Akutagawa still can’t process the scene on his screen.
“Idiot show off, so excited about joining the mile high club you went and dislocated your own hip.” Dazai says into both the mic on his headphones and Chuuya’s silky tresses.
The last person Dazai expects to understand that, Gin, snorts.
Higuchi is bright red and Akutagawa now looks confused and worried.
“Mm you must have given me some strong shit..” to Dazai’s surprise and joy Chuuya mumbles. “I thought I just heard you talking trash about me.”
Very audibly and close to Dazai’s mic, Chuuya begins kissing under his chin. Without thought, Dazai’s hand goes to his hair.
“That was all affection actually.” Dazai admits easily, before slyly eyeing his mortified subordinates.
Akutagawa is blushing furiously. Gin is now covering her eyes with both hands. Higuchi looks like she’s conflicted about witnessing such intimacy from her senpais.
“Osamu..” and the game is up. For the first time in a while, Dazai feels miffed. Though he would never express it on his face. He never wanted anyone else to know how pure and lovingly his given name falls from Chuuya’s lips. “Are you almost finished? I want to go home.”
An ungloved hand caresses Dazai’s cheek before he can end the call. Giving his captains their first ever look at Chuuya’s fingers. Dazai finds he’s mad about that, too. This soft and sleepy and exposed Chuuya should have been kept all to himself. When the thick, brisk gold and cold cut diamonds meet his skin he flicks his eyes to the laptop camera in a threatening glare. Knowing full well his eyes match the ice of the diamonds encasing that 87,000,000¥ ring and that the bloodlust in his irises match the darkness of the 5.09 carat, black, princess diamond in the center; he dares any of them to mention that they witnessed this with a single glance.
Higuchi gulps at the threat, Akutagawa looks like he might pass out, and Dazai ends the call without further acknowledging them.
“Just finishing up the last one, Chuu~. Give me about forty-five seconds.” It will only take thirty.
“Mm.” Is the sluggish reply.
Dazai returns to the document, typing even faster than usual. Chuuya sits up and turns around to attempt looking presentable and not like he just slept in Dazai’s office. Pulling gloves back on slim fingers and moving on Dazai’s lap to grab his hat on the corner of the desk. By the time he’s done, Dazai has forwarded all the documents to Mori.
In no hurry to get up right away and miss the warmth of Chuuya in his lap, Dazai’s hands wrapped around his hips.
“Does it still hurt?”
“Nope. Can’t feel anything but you.” Chuuya snuggles him before proving his point by standing.
Dazai follows him and no one dares to speak to them as they exit the building. Dazai idly poking fun at his tired state, and Chuuya coming up with creative expletives to call him and even more creative threats.
“I know I call you ‘slug’, but you’re more sluggish than usual tonight.”
“Mm, I wonder if I can find a blender big enough to put your entire fuckhead bastard ass in.”
“Not happening, short stuff. They only make them in your size.”
“It would be so nice to watch your mummified shitface dissolve in a vat of acid. I could push you in myself.”
“If I go down then I’ll just pull you in with me. I can’t wait to disintegrate with Chuuya!”
“Don't involve me in your double suicide fantasies. Or would that technically be double murder? I might be willing to negotiate that.”
“Aww!” Dazai holds the door for him as they exit the building. “Chuuya really does care about my wishes!”
His tiny husband snorts drowsily. “That was a joke. You know I don’t negotiate with terrorists.”
Their personal driver is already waiting for them, and Dazai opens the car door for Chuuya, too. The redhead gets in and Dazai goes around to get in on the other side. Once their both settled, the driver takes them to their shared residence without a word. Chuuya takes off his hat and slips a hair tie off his wrist. Even half asleep and sluggish from pain medicine, he pulls back a perfect and sexy low ponytail. Dazai swoons at the sight.
“If I am a terrorist, why did you permit me to terrorize you for the rest of your life?”
“The rest of your life.” Chuuya corrects. “And for the taxes.”
“Chuuya, you don’t do your taxes.” Dazai reminds him.
“Yes. I just said that’s why I have you.”
“Did you have me learn French just so I could take care of your taxes there?” Dazai questions.
“Look at you. You’re finally catching on.” Chuuya is all smiles and amiability today.
Dazai finds himself really enjoying this banter.
“And they call me the demon.”
“Demon, bastard, terrorist, shitty; all synonymous with Dazai.”
Dazai can’t help but smile widely.
“Congratulations, you played yourself, Dazai Chuuya-san.”
“FUCK.”