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so when i die, which i must do (could it shine down here with you?)

Summary:

He should be panicking, thinking, holy shit, I let Chuuya Nakahara into my personal space where he could do anything, anything to me, but no. Chuuya is just the same annoying little mutt he always is.

He does a weird thing that makes Dazai's heart skip a beat. Like a dog — actually like one, this time, and oh, isn't that weird? Isn't that odd? Isn't that repulsive? — Chuuya rubs his entire face against Dazai's cheek. Chuuya's nose digs into his skin. It's remarkably comfortable.

--

Or, since the Flags' death, Chuuya hasn't really been the same.

Notes:

The title is from the song 'My Love Mine All Mine' by Mitski! I recommend listening to it while reading the fic. ;D

I've felt like writing another one short for a while now, and while scrolling through Tumblr I encountered yet another sharing a bed prompt, so here is it!

TWs: implied, very vague references to sexual abuse. It's never graphic. Oh, yeah, and Mori is mentioned a couple times a well... oops?

Enjoy! :]

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

After the Flags died, Chuuya was never really the same again.

There were times Dazai had seen him in utter distress: when a child had been killed by his hand because of an uncontrolled Corruption episode. The first time he'd assisted to a torture session à la Dazai. The day he had realised the extent of Mori Ougai's psychopathy. The evening the Sheep had betrayed him and left him for dead.

Dazai was, admittedly, more than used to the teen's moodiness and temper tantrums. Sometimes, after witnessing a particularly graphic death, he'd grow completely hysterical and smashed trash under his feet as if it'd make the pain any easier to bear. He yelled and screamed and spat whenever little kids got caught between crossfires. And because Chuuya was so adamant about getting to know his squad members and befriending them, he cried like a small toddler at every death.

But Dazai had never seen Chuuya Nakahara as emotionally destroyed as the day after It happened. The entire debacle. The world-shattering era. Stormbringer. It was called by many names, but at its core, it was nothing more than pure awfulness. Chuuya was the witness to that fact. 

If Chuuya lashed out before, it was nothing compared to how utterly violent he became at times. Dazai had been the victim to more than half of his outbursts, and he held the proof like a badge of honour upon his skin.

Once, Chuuya had even managed to make him bleed by punching him in the face hard enough that his lip split. Dazai had tauted him, making a show of his bruised mouth, for about two weeks afterwards.

Really, if Chuuya Nakahara had become a ruthless person by character after the death of his friends, it would've been one thing. Dazai might have even learned to respect it.

But Chuuya was nothing more than a crybaby. Smeone who was so unbearably human that he had enough heart to grieve the Flags. His anger stemmed from sadness, as opposed to any kind of sadistic nature.

To Dazai, some things were stranger than others about Chuuya's behaviour. Glossing over the fact that he insisted with tenfold determination to grow closer to his soldiers, Chuuya was now the victim to frequent night terrors. Dazai found it strangely ironic. Chuuya could not dream, had never dreamt, and would never dream, but he was still vulnerable enough to get caught up in nightly hallucinations. 

Dazai always stayed up later than he probably should. Sometimes, he'd watch as Chuuya's body grew still and his eyes fluttered. Chuuya's mouth would open in a silent scream. He was as if frozen in time, limbs limp and lifeless at his side. And then it would end, and Chuuya was startled awake with bloodshot eyes and cold sweats sticking his hair to the back of his neck. 

But when he didn't want to subject himself to that, Dazai hid under his blankets with his pillow covering his ears. 

Chuuya's oddest change in behaviour was this one: he was now actively seeking comfort and affection from others. Perhaps it was the discovery of friendship or camaraderie that made him this way, or the father figure he had found in that one detective-robot-policeman guy. But somehow, Chuuya was now even weaker than he'd been fresh out of the Sheep's grasp.

Dazai couldn't help but find this a complete and utter waste. Chuuya could be relatively useful when he set his mind to it. This new development only caused more arguments between the pair of them, mostly because Dazai refused to provide for any of that tenderness Chuuya yearned for.

It wasn't because he didn't know how to give — for that he could simply watch a movie or read a book and imitate the behaviour of romance protagonists — but rather because it was annoying. He could not understand it. Dazai had not received any positive stimulation in the form of physical contact in his life, and he was still a functioning, working individual. 

Surely, Chuuya would get over it.

 

Dazai rolls over in bed. He has been counting the seconds. Twenty-five. Every night they spend together in the same bedroom — which means most of them — the same exact scenario unfolds. Twenty-nine. Dazai pretends to be asleep, Chuuya sniffles and asks him very quietly if he is awake, figures Dazai is not, and goes back to his own bed crying.

Thirty-three.

It's annoying.

Dazai wonders where the hell Chuuya keeps all of his tears. He, for one, does not have that much humidity stocked inside his body.

Forty.

Chuuya clears his throat very softly. "Dazai…?"

Dazai hears rustling. The other teen must've been fiddling with his covers, probably turning left and right, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. He never seems to be completely satisfied, though: even in his sleep, Chuuya is like some kind of dancer. He throws hands and kicks his feet. Once, Dazai even found him in a weird starfish position with his head on the ground and his feet still under the covers.

Dazai considers his next move. For once, on a whim, he breaks the pattern. He makes a show of yawning, practically dislocating his jaw doing so, and hums an inquisitive sound. Chuuya moves again under the blankets.

"What is it?" he asks, at last, because it seems clear Chuuya is pretending not to have heard him.

"I… nevermind."

Dazai groans. Leave it to Chuuya Nakahara for managing to anger him even when he feels merciful. "Don't be a kid. Tell me what's going on— or just don't bother me in the first place. I was trying to sleep!"

He whines those last words for show only. It's meant to get a rise out of Chuuya. Dazai rarely ever sleeps when he is not completely alone and fully certain that every door has been double-checked, locked, and are fully unaccessible from the outside.

And even then, it's hard to get any rest. His body just won't stop working. He's been trained to stay awake for as long as he physically can. Nature versus nurture, the scientifics say, but to Dazai it's clear which one wins over the other.

"You're an idiot," Chuuya hisses in response. Dazai wonders if he would get an answer faster if he pushed a little more.

He wiggles under his covers. "C'mooon."

Chuuya swallows. "Okay, fine, bastard. I— I just, uh."

There's a pause. Ooh boy. Dazai can almost taste the shame that hangs all around the air Chuuya exhales.

"Can I… join you? I just— I don't wanna be alone tonight."

Dazai blinks. "You mean, in bed."

"...Yeah."

It's fucking ridiculous. Dazai's first instinct is to laugh it off and call it a night. Maybe if he milks this enough Chuuya will get so angry he'll punch him again and leave another bruise. Dazai brushes his right knee with the tip of his fingers. The one there won't leave for quite a while yet; it's red and angry and when Dazai presses on it, it makes him taste blood. 

He likes it.

Dazai makes a show out of sighing, long and loud, until he turns over again and meets Chuuya's eyes from across the room. He looks smaller than he is, curled under the heavy blankets. Dazai hums.

"Okay, fine. But if you hog all the space, I'm kicking you out, you little slobbering slug."

Chuuya plays along, because of course he does. That's always been their thing. Their shitty banter is the familiar rhythm, the well-known heartbeat they gravitate towards when things get confusing. Dazai only knows how to act around Chuuya when they're arguing.

Maybe Chuuya knows this. Because when he retaliates, calls him a dumbass, there's no heat in his words: only relief.

Chuuya awkwardly gets out of his bed and approaches his. He'd make a bad horror movie antagonist. Even in the dark, Chuuya's eyes are so bright they give away each and every single emotion he holds. Dazai's always liked that Chuuya is so easy to read. It's a change from Mori Ougai's constant, exhausting nothingness. It's — not that he'd ever admit it — a breath of fresh air.

Dazai likes that he doesn't have to use his brain much, with Chuuya.

Nakahara is dumber than he is. Which also means that Dazai can afford not to be a genius all the time, when it's just the both of them.

Chuuya hovers over his bed for far too long before Dazai reaches for his wrist and tugs him in. Chuuya yelps, probably bites his tongue in the process, and stumbles. He manages not to crush Dazai into a crèpe, somehow, as he lays on the mattress with a beating heart. Dazai can hear it racing like it's trying to burst out of his chest.

Stress, maybe. Anxiety. Shame. Embarrassment.

Dazai considers all of that as they both stare at each other. They're very close, physically speaking. It's nothing new. In fact, Dazai would even dare to say that it's the most familiar thing in this entire scenario. Trust emerges first from the primal, animalistic knowledge that you will not be killed by the person in front of you. To be certain of such a thing in the Port Mafia, you have to be in contact with the other's body in some way, shape, or form. 

For the both of them, it was during fighting. Dazai knows exactly how fast Chuuya can go. He's seen his body move. He's received countless punches and kicks. He's held Chuuya's hand. Chuuya is a physical person: h usually got in Dazai's personal space anyway. They knew about each other. And because of that knowledge — because they knew how agile, strong, quick, sharp the other was — they also trusted one another. 

Chuuya's face is visibly flushed even in the dark. Dazai watches him from under unruly hair strands. They both lock eyes like animals in captivity, gauging, testing each other. They know their limits. Sleeping together definitely crosses one or two of the lines they, albeit silently, decided upon when entering this silly partnership.

Dazai should push Chuuya out of his bed and play his part. This is his cue, as a character, as the leading role of a sick and stupid drama, to push out the jokes out of his mouth and not think about Chuuya Nakahara's racing heart and clammy hands. Dazai knows his place. He thinks about what might happen if Mori Ougai was to learn about this little miscalculation.

He grabs one end of the blankets and lifts them up. It's as clear as can be when it comes to silent indications. He hopes Chuuya is smart enough to catch the hint.

Chuuya has never been predictable, ever, in his life.

"Where's the cameras?" he asks.

Dazai blinks, once, twice. "What?" he says lamely.

"...You can't be serious. Where's the joke?" 

Chuuya averts his eyes. He's almost trembling. Dazai briefly wonders if it's because of the cold. It is rather cool out there, isn't it? And then Dazai slaps himself mentally and sighs, because acting obvious only works to outsiders. He can't fool his own brain.

"It's not a prank. Now, will you please quit being this annoying? Are you going to sleep or not? Do I seriously need to put a muzzle on you?"

It's Dazai's way to try asking Chuuya not to push his buttons and keep his pride intact. If Dazai was just a tiny more reasonable, he might simply tell him that his own ego keeps him from being able to discuss this situation freely.

As things are now, Dazai just wants to knock himself out with a hammer. Embarrassment is making his own cheeks turn red. He can guess that because his ears feel like they're on fire.

It's not a very good feeling.

Chuuya snarls some half-assed insult and slips under the covers. He is like a boiling cup of tee against Dazai's body. What a very odd situation Dazai has found himself in. Would Chuuya be anyone else, he'd be expecting sexual advances by now.

But no: stupid, dumb little Chuuya was just so embarrassed, flustered, that he was barely even breathing— like any small movement might spook Dazai so bad he'd shatter. 

Chuuya's eyes are shut so tight it might even hurt. Dazai would almost laugh if he himself wasn't absolutely mortified. This might just take the cake for the most embarrassing scenario Dazai has ever found himself in. And the worst part about all of this? He also really, really wants to laugh.

In fact, the laughter is so hard to resist that Dazai can't stop it from slipping out his mouth. He tries to stay quiet, but the look of absolute confusion on Chuuya's face when he hears him giggling is just too great. It's all so weird. Dazai laughs and laughs and tries to stuff his own pillow inside his mouth. 

Human beings are social creatures. Chuuya sees him laugh, and immediately, he starts doing it as well. He's far worse at stifling his own giggles, and he's unnecessary loud, and he keeps snorting, and he looks so ridiculous, but Dazai finds he can't help himself.

He wraps his arms around Chuuya's waist without really thinking about it. Stupid, dumb, wild, unwavering little Chuuya just hugs him right back.

There's no hesitation when he holds him. He doesn't falter, doesn't stop, doesn't even make his laughter die down— no, because Chuuya never skips a beat when Dazai tries to take a step forward in his direction.

And they're both blushing heavily, laughing like complete morons, but, really, Dazai finds it kind of lovely. Their foreheads touch. He feels Chuuya's nose tickle his own as they share the same air, and it should be uncomfortable, a reminder of everything that should make Dazai wary of this situation. But, no, not really. Chuuya just feels like Chuuya, not like an intruder, and when their legs tangle together it's just like anything else.

Dazai waits for the dam to break. He waits for when his breath will shorten and he will lose his mind to another manic episode. He waits for his sanity to shatter. He should be panicking, thinking, holy shit, I let Chuuya Nakahara into my personal space where he could do anything, anything to me, but Chuuya is just the same annoying little mutt he always is.

He does a weird thing that makes Dazai's heart skip a beat. Like a dog — actually like one, this time, and oh, isn't that weird? Isn't that odd? Isn't that repulsive? — Chuuya rubs his entire face against Dazai's cheek. Dazai laughs, soft, at the feeling. Chuuya's nose digs into his skin. It's remarkably comfortable.

After a while of wordless, effortless banter and affection, they both seem to calm down at once. Chuuya needs energy to function properly, after all, or else he's grumpy and outright rude to just about anyone. He hides his face in the crook of Dazai's neck, lips resting just above where throat becomes collarbone. Dazai breathes out slowly. It's still comfortable. It's not a breach of his physical boundaries. 

He holds Chuuya tighter. 

It's so warm under the covers it's almost uncomfortable. Chuuya's elbow digs into his ribs. They're bound to wake up in a mess of awkward knees and sharp angles and drooling mouths — because they just so happen to both be droolers — and Dazai's struck with just how embarrassing it's gonna be in the morning.

But right now, it's, well— it's fine. Chuuya doesn't cry. In fact, he's probably smiling. Dazai wonders how he feels about that. But all he finds is that he's all warm and gooey inside, like a teenage girl with a crush, and it's fucking nice.

Insane.

Dazai lets his eyes fall shut. Sleep doesn't claim him fast, not exactly, but it's easier to let it take over when Chuuya's breathing is there to lull him into a mellower, slower state of being. His heart copies Chuuya's heartbeat. And then it's like they're both one heart, one breath, one consciousness, all shared into two separate bodies.

Dazai falls into a deep slumber with that though in mind.

It's weird. It's odd. It's strange.

It's, more honestly, a very nice thought.

Notes:

Thank youuuuu for reading!! I read and reply to every single one comment I receive, so please please please take the time to post one if you feel like it! Even just posting a heart always makes my day! Pluuuus you don't even need an account to post one, hehe.

Oh, and don't forget the kudos as well! :>

Lots of love, take care, and until next time!

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