Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.

“Are you staying the night?”

Dazai lifted his head, determined to maintain his neutral mask as he gazed upside-down at the chibi hovering above his head. Chuuya had leaned over the arm of the couch to glare down at him, his scowl prominent even from this angle, and Dazai felt himself still in anticipation.

Chuuya had vanished to his bedroom some time ago, adorably irritated by Dazai’s domination in Mario Party (one of the only games they could play comfortably since Chuuya didn’t have any extra controllers). Dazai hadn’t expected him to return at all, so he’d made himself comfortable on the chibi’s couch, planning to get a few hours of sleep before he inevitably snuck out like he always did.

If Chuuya knew just how often Dazai slept on his couch, he would certainly yap like a little chihuahua and then kick Dazai out for the night, so he tried to limit his naps to the nights where Chuuya had already fallen asleep.

Stretching out on the couch when the angry chibi could still catch him hadn’t been Dazai’s smartest idea, but maybe this was for the best. Putting a stop to bad habits (such as sleeping on the couch of one’s ex-partner) would probably be more beneficial than whatever the hell it was that Dazai was trying to accomplish.

“I was just testing chibi’s couch!” Dazai said with a lazy stretch of his legs. “It’s so long~! Is Chuuya trying to compensate for something?”

Chuuya’s frown grew, his brow creasing in annoyed confusion. Dazai wanted to reach out and smooth the furrow with his thumb, but he worried that Chuuya might bite him. “Shut the hell up about my size, asshole! I’m making sure I have room for company!”

“Hm?” Dazai glanced around the room dubiously. “People visit you? Can they see you, since you’re so small?”

Dazai certainly hadn’t noticed any visitors as of late. They two of them saw each other at least once a week, their Friday nights typically spent arguing over video games or alcohol or dinner. Chuuya had been the one to invite him, to make time for him out of his busy mafia schedule, and Dazai wouldn’t refuse the opportunity to spend time annoying his favorite slug.

And that wasn’t even counting the nights where Dazai broke in to nap while Chuuya was away! He would have definitely noticed if Chuuya had invited other people over, and he certainly would have made sure that such company wasn’t a regular thing.

“Didn’t I just tell you to shut up about that, shitty Dazai?” Chuuya threaded his fingers into Dazai’s hair in a tight grasp so he could shake his head a few times.

Bare fingers, Dazai noticed. Warm against his scalp. Dazai resisted the urge to push into the contact the way a cat craving affection would and simply settled for enjoying the way Chuuya’s nails scratched against his scalp during the brief contact.

“And what the hell do you mean, testing the couch? Don’t you sleep here all the time? You should know what it feels like, asshole!”

Dazai froze. He had excellent control over his body, so his eyes definitely didn’t widen in shock that he’d been found out so soon. He swallowed, smile stretched thin, and tilted his head innocently.

Better to play this off as the chibi’s wild imagination. If Dazai managed to rile him up enough, then he might be able to escape without an unnecessary discussion that could lead to dissent in their tentative relationship.

Dazai used the word relationship lightly. Dazai and Chuuya never had a relationship the way that most people did; they were never friends. They spent time together when they had to and either avoided or harassed each other when they didn’t.

Then Dazai left. Four years of radio silence, all culminating in an explosive reunion in the Port Mafia dungeons. Most of that instance had gone to Dazai’s expectations, but he hadn’t counted on two things.

He’d missed Chuuya. Absence hadn’t really made his heart grow fonder. Absence had made him realize that said fondness had always been there, affection buried deep and hidden beneath a convincing shroud of contempt. Dazai was hungry for him, starved for that familiarity that he hadn’t realized he’d been craving until Chuuya was back in front of him again, still so unbearably vibrant amid a world of mafia black.

And Chuuya had missed him. Sure, the tiny slug was furious with him, his disappearance and assumed betrayal of the mafia something that had clearly affected him, but he was still happy to see Dazai. It was written in every smirk, every unnecessary moment where Chuuya touched him, as if to test if he was real or not.

Falling back into Chuuya’s orbit was easy. Falling back out was not.

“Chibi must be delusional! I have a perfectly good room at the agency. Why would I stoop so low just to sleep on a slug’s couch?”

“Because you want to be here.” Chuuya shrugged, ruthless as he essentially reached right in and gripped Dazai’s beating heart in his claws. Warm fingers still scratched at his scalp, now carding through his hair in favor of pulling it.

Dazai blinked up at him, unsure what to say. He hadn’t expected the slug to be so straightforward in such a delicate discussion. Escaping this situation unscathed was looking less likely by the minute.

“Right?” Chuuya raised a challenging eyebrow. “You wouldn’t be here so damn often if you didn’t want to be.”

Dazai stared at Chuuya’s face, trying hard to formulate a denial that wouldn’t sound unbelievable to his own ears. Chuuya was right; Dazai did want to be there, just existing in the familiar solace of Chuuya’s space.

He couldn’t just admit that.

But Chuuya was still stroking his hair, and Dazai hadn’t even noticed that he’d started leaning into the motions until his head lolled to the side in an attempt to follow Chuuya’s hand. Chuuya chuckled, his lips quirking crookedly, and slowly retracted his hand.

At least Dazai didn’t whine at the loss of contact. He could somewhat keep hold of his dignity.

“Wait here, idiot.” Chuuya disappeared from his line of sight. Dazai resisted the urge to watch him go, a mix of longing and curiosity flowing through his veins. Against all expectations, Chuuya hadn’t kicked him out yet, so the odds were in Dazai’s favor that he could nap without concern on the mafioso’s couch.

Unbidden, Dazai’s limbs relaxed. He settled into the cushions, soft leather enveloping him far kinder than his futon would at home. If he turned his face to the back of the couch, he could breathe in Chuuya’s scent, all smoke and gunpowder, musk and comfort. Dazai heaved a deep breath of it and then focused his tired eyes on the ceiling.

Chuuya told him to wait; did that mean that he would be coming back? Why? Dazai tried to think, but his eyelids were so heavy. Chuuya’s apartment made him feel safe. Here, he was wrapped in a blanket of security, and it took him a moment to recognize that he wrapped in a literal blanket as well.

Something soft, somewhat thin. When Dazai blinked his eyes open, he saw that a blue blanket covered with cartoon fish had been draped over him and pulled up to his chin.

“You awake? Sit up for a minute.”

Dazai grumbled, but he eventually gave in and let Chuuya help lift his shoulders briefly. Something was stuffed behind him, and then Chuuya lowered him back down onto the couch, hands flitting about to adjust the blanket around him. Dazai barely noticed, all of his attention fixated on what Chuuya had tucked under his head.

Soft, so soft, as if his head had been burrowed in a cloud and not the best pillow he’d ever felt. Distantly, he remembered Chuuya’s obscenely expensive and extravagant pillow, the one he’d tried to steal for himself, and certainly this wasn’t that pillow.

Need filled Dazai, an unquenchable ache in his veins demanding to know and understand what the meaning of this was. What Chuuya’s motives were, what the slug planned to get from this himself. He squirmed restlessly in place until Chuuya’s hand returned to his hair, and each swipe of warm fingers against his forehead lulled Dazai deeper and deeper into relaxation until his limbs felt pleasantly boneless. His eyes grew too heavy to hold open, so he gave up trying, even if closing them meant that he could no longer search Chuuya's face for answers.

“There,” said Chuuya with quiet finality, as if he'd just fought the hard-won battle against Dazai's own exhaustion. “Now maybe you’ll stop drooling on my throw pillows so damn much.”

Dazai never used the throw pillows. He didn’t want to get too comfortable.

“Chuuya…?”

“Shut up already and get some rest.” Chuuya’s voice was close, and Dazai wondered if he were to open his eyes, would Chuuya be right there? What would his expression be? Would his eyes be warm instead of narrowed in disdain? Would Dazai be able to see the constellation of freckles along Chuuya’s nose and cheeks?

Dazai turned his head, and he thought he felt Chuuya’s nose bump against his. Definitely closer than expected, but Dazai welcomed the proximity even if the selfish desire for more burned through him.

“Chuuya doesn’t mind?” Dazai thought he asked. In reality, he probably just mumbled unintelligibly, but he knew that Chuuya would understand his question regardless.

“Sleep as long as you want, asshole.”

The last thing Dazai felt before he passed out was the warm press of lips against his brow, Chuuya’s offer helping him drift off into the best night of sleep he’d had in years.

And if he slept through his multitude of alarms and Kunikida’s various calls and texts demanding to know why he was late for work… well, that was an issue for later~

2.

“I fucking hate her!” Chuuya’s angry yell matched Bowser’s perfectly as he lost yet another game of Mario Party. He threw his hands up into the air, red joycon dangling from the strap on his right wrist, and then dropped back onto the couch in dramatic defeat. He stared daggers up at the ceiling so that he didn’t end up throwing his controller at the television screen and breaking it like last time.

Dazai, the clear victor of this round and the previous four, leaned back as well, laughing cheerfully at the angry chibi fuming beside him. Happy music announcing his triumph played in the background, further increasing his light mood. He’d truly never found something that gave him quite a rush the way that beating Chuuya at video games did.

There was something remarkably attractive about Chuuya’s fury after he lost, whether it be directed at the game or at Dazai himself. He couldn’t help admiring the quiver of Chuuya’s bottom lip, the way his jaw flexed as he ground his teeth against another loss.

The burning light in his eyes was Dazai's favorite, so vibrant with excitement and ire that the sight of them took Dazai’s breath away the moment Chuuya shifted his glare toward him. Not for the first time, Dazai wondered what it would be like to drown in those blue irises.

Or if Chuuya would even let him. Certainly, he would sooner push Dazai into the river himself than allow him to get so close.

“She’s so stupid! What does she even need that fucking star for, anyway? Does she think it makes her look badass? Does she think it’ll attract all the stars in the fucking game or something?” Chuuya pursed his lips, his nose crinkled in clear disgust. “I hate her so fucking much!”

Dazai chuckled, endeared to Chuuya’s lovely rage just as much as he was to the chibi himself. “You’re just angry that Rosalina’s taller than you~”

“Am not!” Chuuya snarled, edging closer toward him, fingers twitching. Dazai guessed that he would try to strangle him if the taunting continued.

“And that she doesn’t have such a tacky wardrobe~”

“My wardrobe isn’t tacky, you piece of shit!” Chuuya launched himself across the couch, making a grab for Dazai’s throat. He latched onto the collar of his button-up, shaking him while Dazai laughed viciously at how easy it was to rile his chibi up.

His cheeks were red, flushed with anger and humiliation at his defeat, at Dazai’s taunting, and Dazai couldn’t help but wonder how warm such a vibrant blush would feel under his palms. He wanted to reach up, run the risk of Chuuya’s teeth biting into his fingers for such a audacious advance if only to test the heat of Chuuya’s skin.

Would that make Chuuya blush more? Out of anger or something better, something sweeter, something that Dazai craved with his whole being but knew he could never possibly deserve?

Dazai gripped Chuuya’s wrists instead, thumbing against the thin layer of soft skin protecting his pulse. Chuuya’s heart raced under the ministration, as expected. Sitting over him like that, Chuuya was a vision, all bright hair and glittering eyes, and Dazai’s heart swelled with vile affection for his silly, tiny, beautiful partner.

He didn’t realize he’d spoken until the words were already out of his mouth, accidental honesty slipping from him with nothing but an easy breath. “But Chuuya’s prettier than she is.”

Chuuya stopped trying to strangle him. In fact, he stopped moving altogether, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny and disbelief. Dazai swallowed around the sudden need to crack a joke, to say something like, of course I’m lying! Chuuya’s too small and sticky like a slug to be considered pretty by somebody with such good taste like me!

It would be easy to deflect the moment of vulnerability, of honesty that Chuuya should have never heard. Dazai couldn’t bring himself to speak the words to relieve the tension building between them, which only grew more uncomfortable with every passing second.

Chuuya seemed to have decided that Dazai meant what he said, so he only stared in silent shock. No pretty anger for Dazai to observe, but his cheeks retained the rosy color that Dazai still longed to touch.

Then Chuuya laughed, a sharp and easy sound that ruthlessly flayed Dazai open and left him bleeding. “The fuck kind of line is that, mackerel?”

Dazai pouted. “Chibi is mean.”

“Of fucking course I’m prettier than that blonde bitch! Have you seen me?”

“And chibi is conceited!”

“Coming from the most narcissistic jackass I’ve ever met!”

With a coy smile, Dazai let his head fall to the side so that his hair would caress his face just so. “Am I really to blame if everyone finds my good looks so charming and irresistible?”

Chuuya snorted again, rolling his eyes with mild disgust, but he didn’t lose his smile. He began to climb off of Dazai, far more careful not to knee him in the gut than Dazai would have anticipated. “I’m too sober to deal with your bullshit. Do you want anything?”

Dazai puffed out a breath as he stared at the eggshell white ceiling, his gaze locked on the spot where Chuuya’s eyes had just been. Captivated by an afterimage. Disgusting.

“Gross, all Chuuya has is wine.”

“The hell’s wrong with wine, you shitty bastard?!”

“Chibi drinks it, and he doesn’t have any taste,” said Dazai with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. He sat up to collect their joycons just in case Chuuya wanted to play something else. Mario Party was probably not a good thing to keep playing, knowing Chuuya’s penchant for violence after a sip or two of wine, but a drunk chibi playing Mario Kart was always something to laugh at.

Especially when he forgot about the tilt, so he could never figure out why his racer was going the wrong direction. Dazai stifled a laugh at the memory of Chuuya’s furrowed brow and glassy eyes as he demanded to swap controllers, only to have the same problem all over again.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that before.” Chuuya’s voice was quiet, and when Dazai glanced up, his eyes looked… sad, somehow. Lost, as if he’d forgotten how to navigate in his own living room.

Dazai wondered just what sort of expression he’d been making to disarm Chuuya like that.

“I was thinking about a silly toad who forgot what joycon tilt was last weekend,” Dazai replied, letting his fond smile grow into a smug grin.

Chuuya’s expression twisted immediately into that of irritation. “Don’t bring Toadette into this! And you could have fucking told me!”

“I did, chibi! Four times!”

“Like I’d ever believe your lying ass anyway! Here.” Chuuya held out a glass filled with amber liquid, certainly not his usual wine of choice.

Curious, Dazai accepted the glass and peered inside. He sniffed, pleased by the caramel-like sweetness that that pervaded his senses. “Since when does chibi have whiskey?”

“Since some asshole stared showing up at my house and complaining about never having anything to drink. You’re lucky I didn’t buy the cheapest shit out there.” Chuuya, wine glass in hand, settled back into the couch. He took a small sip, humming at the flavor of tonight’s red, and Dazai had to tear his eyes away so he could observe the whiskey more.

“Chibi bought me whiskey?”

“You can return the favor with a bottle of wine—and none of that cheap shit, you got it? I’ll know the difference!”

But Dazai couldn’t find the energy to commit to their usual banter. He rotated the glass in his hand, staring at the contents as he tried to fully comprehend what they were.

Whiskey. Whiskey bought just for him. Expensive, high-quality whiskey that Chuuya probably spent time selecting specifically with Dazai in mind.

The glass felt suddenly heavy, as if it bore the weight of the world. As if Chuuya had increased the gravity of it with his ability, which No Longer Human failed to nullify.

“Hey. Dazai?”

Dazai’s focus snapped away from the glass of whiskey in his hands, starved for the security of Chuuya’s azure eyes. His tongue felt heavy with exhaustion, but he needed to speak.

He needed to say something. A thank you, perhaps? A sly remark, teasing Chuuya for spending so much time thinking of his preferences? Something, anything—

But Chuuya’s expression was open, his former ire all but extinguished, and Dazai was tired.

He managed a small, wobbly smile. “Chuuya. I’ll be sleeping on your couch again tonight.”

Chuuya’s own smile, a tiny yet welcoming curl of his lips, was everything. “Whenever you want, mackerel.”

And Dazai wondered if Chuuya realized that would mean every night.

3.

“I know what you’re plotting,” Chuuya muttered, his brow furrowed. His eyes were dark and tired, but he hadn’t made a move to leave the couch yet. “It’s not gonna fucking work, shithead.”

Dazai hummed. He traced the arch of Chuuya’s cheekbone and then sank nimble fingers into the sea of soft, fiery curls. “I don’t have any idea what Chuuya’s talking about~”

“Oh, I bet you fucking do, you piece off—!”

Dazai cut Chuuya off with his new favorite method: a slow, lingering kiss to that sweet mouth so prone to spouting such sour insults. He liked the taste of them, the way he could still read Chuuya’s curses in the bite of his teeth, the tremble of his lips , the sweep of his tongue.

The chibi hadn’t bitten him tonight. Weariness had softened his edges, leaving him pliant and receptive to Dazai’s affections.

And Dazai had affections. Seven years of them, all bottled up and overflowing now that he could openly communicate them.

Getting together hadn’t been monumental. There had been no explosion of emotion, no dramatic moment where they realized that they’d been in love with each other all along. It had been simple, instinctual, easy.

As easy as Dazai asking Chuuya for a goodnight kiss. A light tease, a joke of a dare that he hadn’t expected Chuuya to attempt. A moment of bittersweet vulnerability that he’d thought would be shrugged off, scoffed at, dismissed with a roll of the eyes and a middle finger his way.

How wrong he’d been. One goodnight kiss grew into many, many, some with reasons and some without. Some were a battle, a fight with no true victor,while others were a prayer, a reassurance, a promise. Many of their kisses, Dazai’s second favorite kind, were just for the sake of kissing.

Dazai’s absolute favorite, however, were to shut each other up.

Like now. Dazai was sat on the chibi’s lap, knees bent against the couch on either side of his legs to cage him in. Long arms were sprawled over his shoulders, their chests pressed together as they traded idle kisses, unhurried and distracting.

Dazai wasn’t entirely sure what the two of them were or if a label would ever truly suit them, and he didn’t think he actually cared. Not as long as Chuuya’s hands stayed on his hips in a grasp both grounding and unyielding, holding on as if Dazai might slip away the moment he eased his grip.

Silly chibi. Couldn’t he see that Dazai was right where he wanted to be? That he might never get rid of Dazai now? Dazai always called him slug, but now he was the one planning to stick to Chuuya for as long as it took the chibi to realize he wanted to peel him away.

“Dazai,” Chuuya mumbled against his mouth. He tried to tilt his head back, chuckling breathlessly when Dazai surged forward to follow him. “I’m fucking exhausted. I want to go the fuck to sleep already.”

“Then go to sleep,” Dazai suggested as he swooped in for another kiss. Chuuya gave it to him with willing, sluggish lips, almost too tired to keep up with even a lazy pace.

Guilt pooled in Dazai’s stomach, easily overridden by the selfish urge to keep Chuuya trapped here forever, his superficial protests silenced by each press of Dazai’s mouth.

Fingers curled in Dazai’s hair, gentle for a moment before they tightened their grip and pulled. Dazai whined and squirmed, pouting at his redhead for such a cruel interruption.

“Mean chibi! You know I don’t like pain!”

“And you know how fucking tired I am!” Chuuya grumbled, less receptive now. He hoisted Dazai up before dumping him unceremoniously onto the couch. “Let me go the hell to bed, you lanky bastard!”

“Chuuya!” Dazai complained, pitching his voice high with petulance. He kicked his feet against the couch, expecting to be yelled at, but Chuuya just scoffed in amusement at his antics.

Dazai pouted up at him, his heart stilling momentarily at the sight before him. No hat, no choker, no gloves—nothing to suggest that the tiny man before him was a deadly and violent mafioso. Hair mussed and wearing pajamas as soft as the sheep covering them, how was anybody to believe that somebody so horrendously adorable was capable of so much catastophic destruction?

Dazai couldn’t stand the domesticity of it. They were a feared duo, their names hardly even whispered for fear of summoning the wrath of Soukoku, and Chuuya was wearing sheep pajamas.

Their teenage selves would have gagged at the notion. Part of Dazai still wanted to.

“I’m going to bed, asshole,” Chuuya declared, a challenging rumble to his voice that only made Dazai sulk. His plan to stall the chibi had backfired stupendously, far sooner than he’d anticipated.

“Fine.” Dazai crossed his arms and rolled away from his—boyfriend? Partner? Friend with whom he made out consistently? His mouth tasted bitter, but Chuuya hadn’t been drinking any wine this afternoon.

Chuuya’s latest stipulation repeated in his head: no sleeping in my fucking bed wearing those cheap-ass clothes, mackerel. Which didn’t seem like it would be such a big deal a week ago. Dazai still wasn’t sure what to even call them, and he also wasn’t sure how much he wanted to share a bed with such a brutish slug who would probably just kick him in his sleep.

But watching Chuuya disappear into his room every night was getting harder, and Dazai couldn’t ignore the well of longing that swallowed his heart each time he laid down alone on the couch.

Chuuya didn’t seem bothered by it at all, and that bothered Dazai because it forced him to consider unsavory things. Maybe Chuuya preferred to sleep alone. Maybe he wanted some time away from Dazai. Maybe setting such a boundary was his way of keeping their relationship from growing beyond simple companionship and kisses.

Maybe Chuuya didn’t want more, wasn’t so parched for affection the way Dazai was.

Dazai heard Chuuya scoff again, more irritated than the last, and then silence. No sound of his well-known breathing pattern, no frustrated tap of his foot. Dazai knew that the chibi would be gone when he rolled back over, but that didn’t stop the sour coil of disappointment curdling his stomach. Dazai pursed his lips against the litany of accusations that would surely annoy Chuuya into stomping back out to the living room. Cold reality settled over him, his whole body shivering with loneliness, and he curled in on himself, eyes closed to shield him from the lack of chibi in front of him.

No goodnight kiss? Not even a single word? He hadn’t even brought out Dazai’s pillow to sleep on! What was this? Was it their first fight as a—a slight couple? What should he do?

Dazai seethed for a moment, angry at Chuuya for being so stupid, so confusing, before despair began to chew at his thoughts again. He’d avoided relationships in the past, had been raised to believe that such emotional attachments were nothing more than an exploitable weakness, and now he could see why.

All because Chuuya hadn’t kissed him goodnight. All because Chuuya had neglected him.

Then something soft smacked Dazai in the face. He caught the offending object on instinct, frowning down at what he realized were a pair of pajama pants. Fleece, just like Chuuya’s sheep-patterned pair, but these were much a much uglier shade of blue and covered in an endless array of fish.

Dazai made a face. He just wasn’t sure what kind of face it was. He hoped it was one of disgust, but he had an awful suspicion that it wasn’t.

“Special ordered those a few days ago,” Chuuya explained. He held out a powder blue sweater, thick and warm and soft to the touch when Dazai accepted the offering. “You’re damn lucky they were in stock. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find good-quality sleepwear with mackerels on them that aren’t for children? If they don’t fit your stupidly long legs, I don’t want to hear any fucking complaints, got it?”

Dazai swallowed. His eyes burned as he ran his fingers over the silly pants in his lap; he refused to let his tears fall, but that didn’t mean that his vision didn’t blur as his heart clenched.

“Chuuya’s so stupid.” Dazai’s voice wobbled; he didn’t mind so much, as long as Chuuya was the only one there to hear it.

Chuuya’s mouth tilted into a half-smile, so fond that Dazai’s breath shuddered on a gasp. “Get changed. We’re going to bed.”

“Bed?” Dazai repeated, the word sounding foreign as it came from his mouth.

“Yeah, dumbass, bed.” Chuuya held out a hand to help pull Dazai to his feet. He didn’t let go, opting instead to drag Dazai all the way to the bedroom.

Dazai had never been in this room while Chuuya was home. He’d snuck in to prank the chibi, but he’d never been expressly invited. The room was dark, the path to the bed only lit from the gibbous moon filtering through Chuuya’s curtains, and Dazai considered stumbling just to see if Chuuya would catch him. But since such a tired slug would probably just let Dazai fall to the ground, Dazai decided to try another time.

Chuuya set to work turning down the blankets, which Dazai took as his cue to change. He slowly shed his work attire, not bothering to fold anything and choosing instead to leave his clothes in a pile by the foot of Chuuya’s bed.

The chibi grumbled at the sight of this, but he didn’t make a move to tidy up Dazai’s mess. Instead, he collapsed onto the mattress and waited, half of his face all but buried into his pillow.

Dazai pulled on the pants, which he was pleased to see were only a little short on him. The sweater came next; he couldn’t feel just how soft it was through the layer of bandages he wouldn’t yet remove, but he could tell just how warm he would be.

“Hurry up,” Chuuya mumbled, patting empty the spot beside him as he complained. “I’m fucking cold.”

“Such an impatient slug,” Dazai teased, though he did settle into Chuuya's king-sized bed much quicker now. His head hit the pillow, his pillow, and he helped Chuuya pull up the blankets to cover them both.

Now, Dazai didn’t move. Not an inch, just… stock still beneath the blankets, flat against Chuuya’s high thread-count sheets. Should he scoot closer to Chuuya? Should he stay on his own side of the bed? Was this his side?

Should he touch Chuuya? He wanted to touch Chuuya. He wanted to wrap him up with long limbs and snuggle close to him, all while Chuuya most-likely tried to shove him off. At least that would be normal. None of this felt normal, and Dazai wasn’t sure what Chuuya expected of him or how he was supposed to behave in such a vulnerable, foreign situation.

This wasn’t their first time sleeping together, of course. Back when he was still a part of the mafia, they had fallen into the same bed countless times, too exhausted to move. Always begrudging, always complaining, neither willing to admit that they slept better when the other was near.

Single hotel beds where Dazai purposely spent most of the night elbowing Chuuya in the face. Cramped couches in mafia safehouses because the bed was too moldy or too moth-eaten or nonexistent entirely, Chuuya tucked into his neck with his knee digging into Dazai’s gut. Huddled together in an alleyway or against a tree, quiet as they tried to recover some of their energy before their enemies discovered them.

Things were simpler then. Easier. Dazai didn’t care about Chuuya’s comfort, whether he wanted Dazai to cuddle up to him. Dazai just did it.

Compared to then, this new dynamic felt… fragile. As if Dazai could shatter it in his bandaged hands, and then the little comfort he’d been finding in Chuuya’s company would slip through the lodged in his bleeding fingers.

“Would you shut the hell up?”

Dazai turned his head to squint at Chuuya, frowning. “I didn’t say anything. Is chibi hearing things? What do the voices say, Chuuya?”

“The voices say that you’re thinking way too fucking much, asshole. Just—” Short legs kicked out, hooking around Dazai’s at the same time as two arms slipped around him, pulling at him insistently until Dazai scooted closer. His face pressed against Chuuya’s chest, his cheek pillowed against a rapidly beating heart, and Dazai felt his restraint evaporate instantly.

“What a horrible slug,” Dazai lamented as he brought his arms up to wrap around Chuuya’s middle. He eagerly nuzzled closer, all but clinging to Chuuya as overwhelming emotion crashed over him. Chuuya was solid, unmovable, an anchor tying him down amid the maelstrom of Dazai’s heart.

“Yeah?” Chuuya’s voice rumbled like thunder, the sound of it making Dazai shiver and push closer. Chuuya wound around him tightly, his nose buried against Dazai’s hair as he cradled him close. “Well, you’re a shitty mackerel.”

Dazai swallowed around the lump in his throat, the words that longed to tumble out nearly choking him. Your mackerel.

Dazai didn’t say it. Chuuya heard him, anyway. Dazai could read understanding in the way Chuuya’s arms tightened even more, how he trembled in his effort to just hold Dazai. The chibi’s heart hammered, and his breath hitched, his exhale a tremble that Dazai felt all the way in his very soul.

All an unspoken reply that Dazai heard just as clearly as if Chuuya had murmured the words directly to the quiet room.

Your slug.

4.

“I can explain.”

Chuuya stared at him, his expression entirely closed off. Pursed lips, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in furious disbelief—a sight that Dazai knew well but hadn’t had the privilege of seeing in quite some time. One that spoke volumes even in its silence until Dazai felt himself shaking with more than the cold chill of water that had seeped through his bandages to leave goosebumps raised on his skin.

I thought we were over this.

Dazai had been hoping to avoid such silent judgment. To his knowledge, Chuuya shouldn’t have even been home so early on a weekday. Dazai might have considered that Chuuya had rearranged his schedule to accommodate Dazai’s, but Dazai knew better than to expect such sentimentality from him.

At least, Dazai thought he knew better.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, Dazai.”

Before, Dazai didn’t care what Chuuya thought about his attempts at finding a cheerful, painless suicide. Chuuya’s opinion hadn’t mattered, his furious voice not quite loud enough to echo through the dark, gaping hole that threatened to swallow Dazai entirely if left ignored.

Time hadn’t changed that. Experience hadn’t stifled the urge within him that insisted he simply cease to be. Good, bad, black, white—it all looked the same to him, all the same shade of monotony, of boredom, of pointless desolation that Dazai saw no end to. He'd promised Odasaku to help people, to be a better person, and he had—but that didn't mean that Dazai had given up his desire to escape the hell of living as easily as possible.

A painless exit, a cheerful death, one that didn’t inconvenience anyone.

That didn’t seem entirely possible now, did it?

Chuuya wouldn’t meet his eyes, but Dazai didn’t need to look to know what emotion he would find burning there: disappointment, clear and sharp and savage as it squeezed Chuuya’s heart of any budding hope he might’ve had that the two of them could make this work.

“Whatever, get out. I’m not dealing with your soggy ass dripping all over my fucking—”

“Chuuya. I didn’t jump.”

Chuuya took a deep breath. Dazai saw his eyes widen in surprise before he schooled his expression back into his usual annoyance. What a silly chibi, thinking he could mask his emotions as well as Dazai.

How could he, when Chuuya burned brighter than any star, any sun? Stark and vibrant, an irresistible burst of color among that sea of blacks and whites that Dazai could hardly discern. A light in the dark, beckoning Dazai close enough to first feel his burn and then to have that pain soothed away instantly.

Chuuya was the calm and the storm, and he was all Dazai’s.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow at him, a silent request for elaboration. Dazai sighed, lifting his heavy arms and giving a sniff to the soaked sleeves of his tan coat.

“I tripped, Chuuya! Right into a fountain. Can you believe it?”

Chuuya pursed his lips against a growing grin. His rigid posture began to relax, icy mood thawed by the whiny pitch of Dazai’s voice. “Yeah, you’re a fucking klutz. How the hell did you fall into a fountain? Aren’t you a saltwater fish, shitty mackerel?”

“Mean, chibi!” Dazai pouted, but he couldn’t deny the way the familiar banter settled his nerves. He shivered and dropped his arms back to his sides. “A suspect took a detour through the park. I split up with Kunikida to cut him off, but I… miscalculated. Would you believe that Kunikida just left me there while he chased the suspect? Isn’t that just cruel?”

“Did he catch the guy?”

Dazai huffed, stomping his foot in the small puddle that had started to form in Chuuya’s entryway. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” he replied with a haughty sniff that only made his awful partner snicker.

“I would’ve left your stupid ass in the fountain, too.” Chuuya’s eyes glittered maliciously before he disappeared down the hallway.

Dazai grumbled to himself, stomping his feet again just to make a bigger mess. He wouldn’t be cleaning the water up, and Chuuya had been so mean to him!

Another shiver wracked his body, and Dazai clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. Was he allowed to take off his shoes, his coat? Or did Chuuya still want him to leave?

It was… it was fine, if Chuuya did. Dazai hadn’t intended to find his way to Chuuya’s apartment, but his feet had carried him there out of habit instead of taking him to his own dorm. They were together; wasn’t it only natural that Dazai would want to see him after such a long and arduous day?

“The fuck are you thinking about?”

Something soft smacked Dazai in the face, and he raised his arms to catch the offending item before it could land at his feet. Lips pursed, he stared down at the black towel, wet fingers tracing over the unfamiliar, luxurious texture. Far different from the scratchy, uncomfortable set he had waiting for him back at his dorm.

“Did you have to make such a fucking mess? I fucking swear, Dazai,” Chuuya complained, but he still tiptoed through the puddle to pull Dazai’s coat from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor with a resoundingly heavy splat. “Shoes.”

Dazai didn’t move, his brain struggling to keep up with this unexpected turn of events. Chuuya must have grown tired of waiting for him to react because he knelt down, muttering colorful insults that warmed Dazai’s chest, and tugged his shoes and socks off.

“If you get fucking sick, I’m not taking care of you,” he muttered, exasperation blending with tenderness until Dazai could hardly tell the difference. He recognized the threat for what it was, though: a lie as clear as glass, one that Dazai could likely break with the barest of pressure.

Dazai shivered. He wanted very much to burrow himself in Chuuya’s arms, but he doubted that would be welcome while he was still so wet. Pushing the chibi’s limits now seemed… unproductive, unwelcome, unnecessary. Dazai would wait until later to annoy him properly.

Chuuya snatched the towel out of Dazai’s hands, still uttering quiet complaints that somehow sounded fond, and tugged Dazai down by his tie so that he could better reach his hair. The fabric fell between them, the perfect curtain to hide the shock that twisted Dazai’s face because—what was Chuuya doing?

Was he… was he drying Dazai’s hair? Slowly shucking him out of his wet clothes? Taking care of him?

Dazai pursed his lips. He couldn’t remember somebody taking care of him like this before. Caring about whether he was wet or cold or likely to get sick. He knew Chuuya cared, but to this degree?

“Hey.” Chuuya, satisfied with his work, lowered the towel so that he could warm Dazai’s mouth against his. He didn’t say anything about the tiny whimper that Dazai couldn’t stifle. “I turned the shower on; it should be hot enough now.”

“Chuuya,” Dazai whined, less petulant and more devastated.

Chuuya kissed him again, just as soft, just as sweet, and Dazai worried that he might shatter under such a delicate touch from such a powerful being. Dazai’s eyes burned, and he accepted the opportunity to hide away in the bathroom to collect himself.

The chibi had been right. The shower heated Dazai all the way through, frightening away the fountain’s frigid chill and replacing it with a bone-heavy warmth that left Dazai aching pleasantly. He stayed in until his shivering stopped and his skin tingled, warm and pink now from the hot water. Part of him didn’t want to leave the such a comforting cocoon of steam and warmth, but the promise that Chuuya would be there to keep the cold away convinced Dazai to turn the water off and step back out.

What awaited him on the counter gave Dazai pause. He hadn’t paid much attention when he entered the bathroom, too eager to rid himself of the cold bandages and step under the water, but now Dazai could see all that Chuuya had prepared for him.

Several towels, all just as soft as the one Chuuya had used to dry his hair. Dazai’s pajama pants, ugly and covered in fishes, and the sweater Chuuya knew he liked to sleep in. A blue toothbrush, unopened, and a partially-used tube of cinnamon toothpaste.

And a drawer, a whole drawer, opened to reveal roll after roll of fresh bandages. Dazai reached inside to pick one up, turning over and over in confusion. Why did Chuuya have these? Why did he have so many?

… For Dazai? Had Chuuya bought all of these for him?

Dazai’s eyes burned. His fingers tightened around the roll of bandages, squeezing them until they crinkled in his palm. He pursed his lips against the strangled noise trying to burst through his teeth.

Sucking in a rattling breath, Dazai dropped the roll of bandages back into the drawer. He stared at the pile for a moment before he pushed the drawer shut. His heart hammered as he pulled on his sweater and pajamas, shivering at the feel of plush fabric against his bare skin.

Wandering out of the bathroom, Dazai followed the sound of movement all the way to the kitchen. The rich scent of crab greeted him, but he bee-lined for the man cooking it.

“I made crab bisque,” Chuuya began, not yet looking at him. “It wasn’t the plan for tonight, but I figured you—oi! What the fuck!?”

Dazai lunged for him, wrapping his arms tightly around Chuuya’s waist. He dug his face against Chuuya’s neck where soft red hair tickled at his cheeks. A frustrating tremble still shook him, no longer a product of the cold but of terrifying emotion that he’d spent so many years trying to hide.

Two bare hands found Dazai’s. Chuuya tugged to loosen his grasp, not to dislodge him but to slot their fingers together instead. He leaned back against Dazai, head tilted to give Dazai more room to press close.

“Find everything you need in there?”

Words tried to fight their way to Dazai’s tongue. Words he’d known for years, words he would sometimes whisper to an unconscious Chuuya once he’d collapsed from Corruption. Not just three words, but a litany of them.

You’re everything I need. Just you and nothing else.

“Yeah,” Dazai answered, wishing he didn’t sound so gutted. “I found everything I need.”

With the way Chuuya’s hands tightened, Dazai suspected he understood anyway. Chuuya always understood.

5.

Dazai opened the door to the apartment, stepped in, and then shut the door behind him. He paused there, listening for sound, but all that welcomed him were empty walls and an even emptier bed. Sighing, Dazai sagged back against the door, digging his head against the wood while he tried to accept this solitude.

Six days had passed since Chuuya left for his away mission to some remote part of France he refused to divulge, and Dazai’s world felt… bleak. Silent, colorless, empty—no chibi to distract him from the cacophony of his own thoughts attempting to drown him from within.

Finding out where Chuuya was would have been easy. If he really wanted to, Dazai could have known the details of the mission, the exact location, everything the minute Chuuya left. Part of him still wanted to know, desperate to be sure that nothing could get in the way of Chuuya coming back on time.

But that would imply that Dazai didn’t think Chuuya could handle himself on a solo mission, and while Dazai enjoyed harassing his chibi, he also knew where to draw the line. The two of them worked out well because they tried their hardest to keep work out of their relationship, or as much as they could being in two opposing organizations navigating a somewhat tentative truce.

They didn’t talk about Dazai’s betrayal or whether he would ever return to the mafia. They didn’t discuss what might happen should their respective groups go to war again. Joint cases and the unfortunate fountain incident aside, they never shared details about their jobs, and they were better for it.

With Chuuya gone for so long in an unknown location, Dazai found it more difficult than usual to resist the urge to meddle in Chuuya’s affairs. But thoughts of him, of what he had done, of who Dazai had lost in the process—Dazai wouldn’t meddle. Not in mafia business, not when he could avoid it. He would wait patiently for Chuuya and trust that the idiot slug could handle the mission on his own.

Dazai sighed again, loud in the quiet apartment. He didn’t like being there without Chuuya to bark at him, had spent all week avoiding the place, but he didn’t want to go home, either. His dorm room at the agency felt more and more foreign each time he returned, absent of certain things that Dazai had grown accustomed to after spending so many nights with Chuuya.

His mackerel pajamas weren’t there, nor was there a seemingly endless drawer filled with bandages. His futon wasn’t nearly as comfortable as Chuuya’s couch, let alone his bed, and he liked burying himself in the plethora of soft blankets and fluffy pillows at his disposal. Dazai also didn’t have expensive whiskey in the cabinet or such a nice television to play video games on.

Chuuya. Dazai’s dorm didn’t have Chuuya. Of course, this apartment didn’t currently have Chuuya either, but at least Dazai could burrow into the bed and pretend for a bit.

Determined to sleep until Chuuya returned in the morning, Dazai leaned off the door and began to head into the apartment. An unusual splash of color on the wall made him pause, frowning. He bent down a bit, curious to see what the chibi had left for him to find.

A sticky note, neon blue and fluttering lightly in the wind of Dazai’s breath. He recognized Chuuya’s delicate scrawl, pretty penmanship that Kouyou had made him practice until his fingers grew sore. Dazai’s heart beat treacherously.

Take off your fucking shoes.

Dazai stared for a moment, the reminder floating around in his brain before the message fully sank in. A laugh bubbled out of him, and he plucked the sticky from the wall. Smoothing it against his palm, he followed the instructions and kicked his shoes off by the door, leaving them in a mess that was sure to irritate the silly hatrack once he returned.

A small thrill tickled its way through Dazai’s veins. Were there other notes? What other surprises had his chibi left for him to find? Thoroughly distracted now, Dazai made his way through the apartment on the hunt for more blue sticky notes.

One in the living room, stuck to the Switch dock: Don’t break my high scores.

One in the bathroom, on the wall beside the mirror: Brush your damn teeth.

One in the kitchen, a warning by the wine rack: Don’t you dare dump these out.

Dazai snickered to himself, collecting each note that he found. He could hear Chuuya’s voice in each note, each threatening inflection and murmur of concern.

Expecting more fun, Dazai plucked a note from the refrigerator door and held it up to his face. He read the words, his smile slowly dropping. He read them again. And again. His brow furrowed, not really understanding.

I packed enough meals to last the week. Don’t fucking starve yourself before I get back.

Dazai opened the fridge for confirmation, and sure enough, he found the shelves filled with neatly-stacked bentos. He wondered what Chuuya had made for him to eat, and though he lifted the lid off one of them to peruse its contents, his brain refused to identify any of the food before him.

All he could think about was Chuuya’s note, those harsh words scrawled in such delicate lettering that razed every thought from his brilliant mind until only their message remained. He placed the lid back onto the bento and then closed the refrigerator door. Frustrated, he reread the note again until the meaning finally settled deep in his chest and squeezed around his heart, leaving Dazai stricken and breathless.

Chibi had… expected him to stay at the apartment while he was away? Had planned for it? Had even left Dazai food so he didn’t go hungry?

Chuuya wasn’t even present, but Dazai felt like he’d been on the receiving end of one of his deadly punches.

Suddenly, Dazai needed to lay down. Placing the note on top of the others, Dazai wandered to the bedroom, eager to bury himself under Chuuya’s mass of blankets. He should have expected that a note would await him here too, but it still felt like another blow to his chest when he saw fluorescent blue sticking out against the tacky pajama pants that had been placed on the bed for him.

Irritated by the sudden onslaught of emotion thanks to his awful partner, Dazai marched over to snatch up this note as well. He scowled at it haughtily until the words sluiced through him like river water, filling his lungs until he was all but gasping for his partner.

I’ll be home soon. Don’t you dare die before I get back, shitty Dazai.

That… that was it. Dazai couldn’t take any more of Chuuya’s concern or affection, not when Chuuya wasn’t there to anchor him in place. What a foul chibi, dealing such a devastating blow from afar. Dazai would need to be more careful of such dangerous capabilities.

If Chuuya planned to drown him in his own emotions, many of which still felt foreign and overwhelming, then his horrid partner should at least be here to pull him back to shore.

Dazai added this note to the top of his pile. He changed into his sleepwear with mechanical movements that didn’t feel like his own. The notes sat on the bed, stark blue paper sticking vaguely to the burgundy duvet; their various messages bounced around in Dazai’s head, rattling against his skull until his pulse throbbed with an incoming headache.

Stupid chibi. Stupid, silly, tiny, wonderful chibi. How could he keep such a crushing hold on Dazai’s heart without even being present? 

With an indignant huff, Dazai picked up the notes and tucked them away into his pocket for safekeeping. Then he gathered the duvet in his arms, fumbling to carry the massive blanket and his and Chuuya’s pillows back out to the living room couch. The tail-end of the comforter dragged the ground, and Dazai smiled briefly at the thought of how angry Chuuya would be if he saw.

Payback, Dazai decided, for making his chest ache so horribly.

Dazai arranged the pillows on the couch with Chuuya’s on top so he could better smell the lingering notes of sandalwood and vanilla from the chibi’s favorite shampoo. He settled in, blanket wrapped tightly around him, and buried his face in Chuuya’s pillow. The pile of blue notes were still in his pocket, slightly crinkled now, and Dazai could feel the comforting weight of them against his thigh.

Were there more notes? Dazai wondered where else Chuuya might have left him something to find. In the shower, maybe, one warning him not to dump out Chuuya’s hair products or replace them with shaving cream? Or in the kitchen cabinet, stuck to the cans of crab Chuuya had reluctantly started purchasing for nights when Dazai’s food aversion prevented him from eating anything else?

I’ll be home soon. Don’t you dare die before I get back, shitty Dazai.

Dazai pressed his face to Chuuya’s pillow to conceal the way his lip trembled. Better to not find out if Chuuya had left any more notes that might cause further emotional turmoil. Dazai wasn’t sure he could handle it; he didn’t want to be left there bleeding without Chuuya home to pick up the pieces.

He should sleep for now. Sleep and hope that by morning, Dazai would have a tiny slug to annoy instead of his own company and a stack of too-sweet notes weighing down his heart.

When Dazai did wake, it was to the grumbling sound of a grumpy mafioso muttering soft complaints into his ear. The living room was dark, so Dazai couldn’t make out much other than the dimmed hue of red hair ticking his face. The blanket still separated them, but Chuuya had pulled it down enough to bury his nose against Dazai’s throat.

“Silly chibi, I didn’t tell you to flop down on top of me,” Dazai reminded, tired and groggy but relieved to have woken up to the familiar feeling of Chuuya trying to squish the air right out of him. Dazai shifted his legs to give Chuuya room to settle easier.

“You took my fucking pillow,” Chuuya muttered, his irritated huff transforming into a contented sigh as he nestled himself closer to Dazai. “And the fucking blanket. Is there something wrong with the bed, asshole?”

“No.” Dazai didn’t know how to explain that he wanted Chuuya to see him immediately the moment he came home. He needed to be front and center, right where Chuuya would notice him first, as if to prove that he was there.

Dazai had to make sure that Chuuya didn’t need to go looking for him. Didn’t need to wonder if Dazai was sleeping in his bed or lurking in the kitchen or letting the river sweep him under. Dazai was there.

“I found your notes.”

Chuuya stiffened a bit. His next scoff sounded a little more forced than usual. “Yeah? And?”

“I—” Dazai swallowed around the burn of bile in the back of his throat. He shut his eyes and tried again, trying not to focus on the way Chuuya’s fists clutched tight handfuls of the duvet between them. “I didn’t—”

What did Dazai want to say? What could he say without sounding disgustingly pathetic? That he didn’t know Chuuya wanted Dazai to stay there, even when he was away on a week-long mission? That he hadn’t expected Chuuya to leave him so many small reminders just to take care of himself?

But he could feel how still Chuuya had grown, all taut muscle ready to fight, to flee, to accept the inevitable and then find a place to lick his wounds in the event that this conversation went south.

Dazai needed to reevaluate the situation: what did Chuuya expect him to say? Did he think Dazai would tease him? Make fun of him for caring so much? For going out of his way to leave something behind so personal, so domestic?

The idea hadn’t even crossed Dazai’s mind. Just what had Chuuya done to him?

Dazai slipped a hand out from beneath the duvet, shivering at the brief cold before he could dip his fingers into Chuuya’s hair. The strands were somewhat greasy from the long flight home and from wearing his ugly hat for so long, but that didn’t dissuade him from cradling his palm against his partner’s scalp.

“I didn’t realize that Chuuya loved me so much. Who knew that such a tiny slug could act so cute~?”

Chuuya stayed quiet for a moment, rapid contemplation that Dazai could almost hear. He’d missed that. Chuuya’s noise could be insufferable at times, but Dazai preferred an obnoxiously loud slug over the deafening silence of his own mind.

It took a bit of squirming, but Chuuya propped himself up on crossed arms. His eyes still popped in the dim light, that well-known blue all but glittering in the moonlight as he fixed Dazai with a narrow glare that spoke of defiance, of insecurity.

Of devotion.

“And?”

“And what, chibi?”

Chuuya gritted his teeth. “And now that you have fucking realized?”

Dazai smiled. His eyes burned, so he tipped his head forward and shut them, trusting his mouth to find Chuuya’s instinctively. Chuuya shook with nervous energy, so Dazai dedicated his mouth to kissing it out of him. Chuuya wanted an answer, deserved an answer, but all that Dazai could give him was this.

Dazai pressed every single emotion he’d experienced against the seam of Chuuya’s mouth. Every sweet word, every overwhelming thought, all of the things that Dazai had felt tearing him apart since he read those notes—he gave it all to Chuuya, knowing that his partner would understand without words what he needed to say.

If Chuuya wanted more, he didn’t ask for it. Not vocally, at least. Not for anything that Dazai hadn't already delivered to his waiting mouth.

“Next time Chuuya wants me to stay here while he’s away, he should just say so.”

Chuuya frowned, eager to lean forward and connect their lips again. “Why would I need to, shitty mackerel?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Dazai blinked, mild confusion filling his mind as he tried to discern where Chuuya might have misunderstood. “I don’t live here.”

Chuuya blinked at him, his languid limbs growing increasingly tense as his brow furrowed in frustration. He stopped in his pursuit of Dazai’s mouth, instead seething into the space between them, and Dazai couldn’t help but wonder what had been the catalyst for such a reaction. Part of him wanted to ask, but he was even more curious to see how else Chuuya would behave.

“You’re fucking impossible!” Chuuya growled, all anger and familiarity again. He leaned in to leave a nasty bite to Dazai’s throat, sharp teeth sinking in enough to make him yelp, and then Chuuya was gone. Back on his feet, Chuuya snatched the blanket from on top of Dazai, and then he yanked the pillow out from underneath his head.

“Ow!” Dazai wailed as his own pillow cushioned his fall. “Chuuya’s so mean to me!”

“Like you don’t fucking deserve it, you motherfucking dumbass!”

“Chuuya!” Dazai whined, kicking his feet out against the cushions of the couch.

“Fucking stop it. I’m tired.”

Dazai deflated. His limbs dropped to the couch, but the pout didn’t leave his lips. He wasn’t ready to let his chibi go yet, but he couldn’t figure out why Chuuya was suddenly so angry. Sure, Chuuya always liked to yap like a tiny chihuahua whenever Dazai pointed out the obvious, though something about this was different enough to raise an anxious alarm in Dazai’s head.

The notes in his pocket felt heavier than ever. Was he allowed to follow Chuuya to bed?

“I want a goddamn shower, and then I want to sleep in my fucking bed like a normal goddamn person.”

Dazai could hear Chuuya bunching the blanket up in his arms, careful that it didn’t drag along the floor, and he mourned that he wouldn’t be able to fully see Chuuya struggle to carry the bundle down the hallway. He turned to watch regardless until Chuuya’s shadow vanished completely. He couldn’t even hear Chuuya, so he suspected that the cheating slug had floated the rest of the way to the bedroom.

Abandoned to the cold, neglected by his chibi, Dazai tried to get comfortable with only his pillow, but the instinct to retaliate reared up within him. If he had to suffer, then so did Chuuya! Maybe Dazai would pour out some of his more expensive wines.

It was only fair.

“Oi! Quit thinking shitty things and hurry the hell up!”

Dazai turned his head to see that Chuuya had returned, illuminated by a stream of light coming from the bathroom. His arms were crossed, annoyance coming off him in waves, but Dazai could feel his chest lightening in the face of such comforting fury.

“Chibi wants to shower with me? How forward~!”

“I can’t trust that you kept up with your fucking hygiene while I was gone! I’m not letting your dirty ass in my bed!”

“Chuuya~! How romantic!”

“Shut the hell up!”

Dazai could mull over Chuuya’s recent behavior later. For tonight, he followed him down the hall, bickering from the bathroom all the way to the bed, and slept well for the first time all week.

The blue sticky notes still crinkling in his pocket suddenly didn’t feel so heavy.

1.

The savory aroma of crab greeted Dazai the moment he walked into Chuuya’s apartment, a weekly experience at this point. For all that Chuuya complained about Dazai’s obsession with the food, he certainly indulged him enough. Grinning to himself, Dazai slipped off his shoes and hung up his coat, eager to follow the delectable scent and find his chibi waiting for him.

Before Dazai did that, he paused to stare his coat, light tan draped beside mafia black. Hanging his coat there had felt so… natural. Instinctive, as if that was where it belonged there when he wasn’t wearing it.

Dazai frowned. He stepped into the apartment, ignoring the delicious call of crab so he could glance around the living room. The thin, fish-covered blanket hung over one arm of the couch, clearly out of place among Chuuya's overly expensive furniture but still somehow belonging there for Dazai to toss over their laps while they played video games.

Their respective joycons were attached to the Switch console, having been replaced with pro controllers after Dazai kept complaining about such tiny buttons giving Chuuya unfair advantages. Chuuya’s controller, a black and orange gradient that matched Dazai’s blue one, had a clear crack  across the left side from the last time Dazai had beat him at Smash.

Two throw pillows on the couch. Two coasters on the table. Two different types of candy in the bowl, a mix of both sour and sweet because they could never agree which was better.

Evidence that two people lived here. But this was Chuuya's apartmen, not Dazai's. He was just an unwanted house-guest, nothing more than a reluctant nuisance determined to take advantage of Chuuya’s company and hospitality.

Dazai didn’t live here. Right?

He didn’t… right?

All at once, the pieces clicked into place. How had Dazai missed it for so long?

“Chuuya~!” Dazai sang as he made his way to the kitchen. On his way, he passed by the kitchen table and the two plates that had been set for dinner. A giddy feeling bubbled its way up his throat in the form of a laugh as he eyed both settings.

Chuuya lived alone and despite all of the company he swore he entertained, he’d only needed one plate set for himself. At least, that was what he’d told Dazai months ago when Dazai first began inviting himself to dinner every Friday night. How could Dazai have let himself be so distracted by such a simple chibi that he missed all of these signs sooner?

Dazai had clearly underestimated just how distracting Chuuya could be, remembering again only when he stopped in the kitchen doorway.

Chuuya stood in front of the sink, back to Dazai as he hummed a low, graceful tune that Dazai didn’t recognize. Gone were his overcoat, hat, and vest, and the absence of such usual armor only made him look adorably unassuming to Dazai, all power and wealth and intimidation diminished by his casually untucked shirt. He’d rolled up his sleeves while he washed the dishes, tedious work he insisted on doing by hand instead of investing in a dishwasher.

The sight of the mafioso doing something so terribly, horrendously domestic stole the air right out of Dazai’s lungs, and each breath only provided him air that tasted of venomous affection.

“Welcome back,” Chuuya greeted, the phrase as stilted as always. He didn’t look at Dazai, still focused on the dishes, but Dazai recognized the slump of his shoulders well-enough to know that Chuuya hadn’t said the words he wanted to.

“What a stupid chibi,” Dazai complained with a forlorn sigh.

“Hah!? What the hell did you just say to me?” Chuuya turned his head now to glare over his shoulder at Dazai. Teeth bared like a dog growling at its master, but Dazai couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and risk getting bitten.

“Oh, no, is Chuuya too small to hear me from all the way over there?” Dazai remedied the situation by walking over to wrap his arms around Chuuya’s waist. He bent his head to rest his chin on Chuuya’s shoulder, humming happily when Chuuya instinctively leaned into his hold. “Can chibi hear me now?”

Chuuya nudged him with a sharp elbow to the ribs, more to warn him than to dislodge him. “As if I’d wanna listen to your annoying as fuck voice! Get off me, shithead. I’m busy.”

“But I have to make sure Chuuya hears me!” Dazai whined, all faux petulance that Chuuya pretended to hate. Dazai knew better by now; Chuuya could roll his eyes all he wanted, but that didn’t change the fact that Chuuya liked when Dazai acted like a brat.

“Fine, I’m listening, what the hell do you want?” Chuuya gripped the edge of the sink with soapy fingers. If not for the risk of equally soapy bandages, Dazai would have slid their hands together; he settled for squeezing Chuuya’s waist.

“I just have a few suggestions. Pointers, if you will, to help educate your stupid, tiny slug brain.”

“You’re sleeping on the fucking couch tonight, asshole,” Chuuya grumbled, elbowing him again with more malicious intent.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Dazai caught Chuuya’s arm when he went in for another blow, tangling their fingers together to stop such brutish behavior.

Ah, he’d already forgotten about the wet bandages. He shuddered in momentary disgust, pouting over his own failed insight. Chuuya truly was too distracting; Dazai would need to be wary of such tactics in the future. Thankfully, Chuuya seemed pleased by this development, deciding that wet bandages were punishment enough, and stopped trying to hit him.

“Let’s start with something easy to make sure you completely understand. You said the wrong thing to me when I came in,” Dazai explained with a nuzzle to the curve of Chuuya’s throat.

Chuuya tsked. “I said what I always say, mackerel.”

“And what you always say is wrong,” Dazai insisted, now dotting Chuuya’s shoulder with small kisses. “You shouldn’t be saying welcome back. You should be saying welcome home.”

Chuuya froze. If Dazai hadn’t been holding him so closely, he would have worried that his partner had stopped breathing. If Dazai hadn’t been nestled so close, he wouldn’t have heard the loud bob of Chuuya’s shoulder, the sharp hitch of his breath.

“What?”

“Welcome home,” Dazai repeated softly, tightening his grip around Chuuya’s hand when he felt him beginning to tremble. “That’s what you always want to say… isn’t it?”

Chuuya didn’t say anything. He stood still, rigid in Dazai’s arms, and Dazai touched his cheek to the violent flutter of Chuuya’s pulse. His jaw was tight, teeth grinding against whatever impulse words struggling their way up his throat. It would have been cute if not for the vibration of nervous energy he felt from his chibi, the thrum of doubt, of fear.

Dazai turned his head, nosing through Chuuya’s silken hair to place a kiss to his ear. “Did Chuuya think I wouldn’t notice that he’s been steadily domesticating me?”

To be fair, Dazai almost hadn’t noticed, which now seemed laughable given how many signs there were. The pillow, the whiskey, the pajamas, the bandages. The notes, all of those damned sticky notes that he still carried in his pocket, that he still read over in moments of weakness.

Realizing now that Chuuya had spend almost six months slowly moving him in, Dazai couldn’t decide which of them was worse: Chuuya for dedicating himself to such a long-winded plan or Dazai himself for not realizing from the beginning just how desperately Chuuya wanted to keep him in his life.

“Chibi should have just told me he wanted me to move in. I would’ve never left him alone.”

Chuuya’s jaw slackened around a shuddering gasp. His body heaved with it, all but sagging back against Dazai for support. Dazai kept his arm wrapped around Chuuya’s middle, hugging him close for as long as he needed.

Maybe Dazai had underestimated just how much this had been weighing on his partner. How much it had weighed on him, too. Knowing that Chuuya wanted him there, that he wanted Dazai to consider this apartment a safe place for him, a home where he was welcome unconditionally—

“Welcome home,” Chuuya whispered at last. He turned around, his other wet hand reaching up to cup Dazai’s chin, and Dazai trembled more from the expression of relieved joy in Chuuya’s eyes than from the soap dripping along his jaw. “Welcome home, shitty Dazai.”

—Dazai had never realized something could be so beautiful.

“I’m home,” Dazai answered, surging forward to seal that promise with a kiss.