Work Text:
Jan 23, 20XX at 04:53am
From (00-33-1-60XXXXXX):
I miss you.
_ _
January 24, 20XX
He’d known it was coming. The signs were all there. It didn’t hurt in the beginning - instead, it was weirdly fascinating. Like his mind was loosening, his grip on reality slowly slipping.
Dazai shifted under the covers, feeling restless.
It was like an obsession at this point - a constant thought in the back of his mind. A fascination with the macabre. A desire to be blotted out. To have every atom within him separated and dispersed.
Restless, he rolled over again in bed, glancing towards the clock on the nightstand. 3:48am. Typical. There would be no sleep tonight. In just a few hours he would need to leave for work…
It was a void, he imagined, welcome but always just out of reach, just around the next corner. It existed at the tips of his fingers and barely outside his grasp. If he could just reach out but a fraction further, if he could touch the void…
He lay on his back staring at the dark ceiling.
If he could just graze it with his fingertips… the void would swallow him whole. Wrap itself around his being until they were so completely intertwined that there was no end of one or beginning of the other.
A hand stretched out before his eyes, reaching towards the ceiling. Oh. It was his. Of course, why would he think otherwise.
He couldn’t touch it, the illusive void, always just out of reach. He wanted to - so badly. To become inseparable from it. To cease to be in any meaningful form. Consciousness laid to rest and scattered across dimensions.
The hand was still there. Oh right, his. It dropped heavily to his side. It was better out of sight anyways.
Black holes and supernovas. Atomic bombs and nuclear reactions. Oh, to be so completely obliterated as to have not even his energies gathered in one place.
He sighed deeply. It had been over four months since Chuuya left on his overseas mission. He had to admit, he was surprised the start of his spiral had taken so long. Their bed felt too empty and cold.
It was only a matter of days now, before his spiral hit its lowest.
He rolled over again, burying his face in his husband’s pillow.
The scent was long gone.
_ _
January 25, 20XX
“Dazai? Are you okay?”
“Of course, Atsushi! Why wouldn’t I be?”
_ _
January 30, 20XX
His mind was gone now. A terrifying prospect for his only asset and saving grace. He wasn’t sure where it went.
The thoughts flickered nonstop through his head in a never-ending loop of self-hatred and loneliness.
Was it pain? Was he numb? He wasn’t sure.
He fantasized about slicing to compare. To prove it was one or the other. To feel something maybe. He didn’t know.
But every movement took more effort and energy than he normally would spend in an entire day. Everything ached. The void in the pit of his stomach sizzled and burned. If he tried, he could probably reach down into his own depths and feel the burning heat of his own psyche.
He was so cold. He was on fire and shivering in the chill.
He just wanted it to stop.
The phone laying beside him lit up and vibrated loudly. Another call. Two rings in and the battery finally died. It’s just as well, he was never going to answer it anyway.
He couldn’t remember what he’d felt like before this. Had he been happy? Did he used to feel things? There had been something, once, or was it someone? Who had made him feel things. But he couldn’t remember what that felt like.
He won’t move for a while. His body was too heavy, and his strength was sapped from every limb.
In the Before, had there been something there? Or was this his only reality? Aches and numbness. Simultaneous burning and freezing.
He was not real before this moment. If it goes away, would he be fake again?
There were things, perhaps, that he could do. Prescribed pills in a cabinet in the bathroom. Food in his fridge. Outside the sun was bright- a single beam shown through the crack between heavy blackout curtains.
If he took the pills, the whole bottle might disappear. If he tried to eat (his body would reject it anyways) he might turn a knife on himself. If he walked outside, he would surely find himself standing in the face of oncoming traffic.
Something (someone?) said he shouldn’t do those things though. Someone wanted him to stay.
How selfish of them. How strange of him to listen. That was new… he thought it was new anyways, it felt new, and he couldn’t remember the Before either way.
So, he just lay there instead. Numb and aching. Paralyzed in his own darkness. Forever locked in a battle between himself and his psyche.
Maybe tomorrow would be better. Maybe he would feel less empty, less numb. Maybe tomorrow he wouldn’t feel this burning desire to end everything.
Maybe tomorrow he wouldn’t be so alone.
_ _
February 1, 20XX
Beep “I’m out testing a new form of suicide! Unless you would like to join me in a romantic double suicide, please don’t leave a message, I certainly won’t listen to it!” beep.
“Dazai, you bandage-squandering waste of space!! Answer your phone. You can’t just disappear from work for days on end like this! I swear to god if you’ve gone and got yourself kidnapped again for some dumbass plan you’ve concocted and messed up my schedule for nothing…” click.
Beep “I’m out testing a new form of suicide! Unless you would like to join me in a romantic double suicide, please don’t leave a message...” click.
Beep “I’m out testing a new form of suicide! Unless you would like to join me in a romantic…” click.
Beep “I’m out testing a new form of sui-…” click.
Beep. Click.
_ _
February 4, 20XX
What a boorish existence this was. Dazai could go through the motions of living, of being, of existence, but it was meaningless. There was no intention behind his actions and no truth in his smile.
‘I am fine’ he laughingly claimed - the mask so tight against his face it hurts.
You are nothing, he silently thought - numbness and pain so intertwined within his psyche as to be indistinguishable from each other and himself.
You are numb, empty, meaningless. You are pain, suffering, overwhelming loneliness. You are nothing, he whispered into the darkness longing for the touch or voice or presence of a particular person. (Who was it again?) Longing to be assured of his humanity and his existence.
Dazai, why do you wish to die?
Let me ask you then, do you truly believe there"s any value in the act of living?
He could go through the motions of living, of being, of existence. But his heart (if he ever had one) was silent. It did not beat.
Empty voices whispered to him in the dark. Questioning his every thought and action.
Why do you wish to die?
Do I wish for death?
It seems as though you do.
Oh…. I suppose I do.
Why do you wish to die?
I don’t really want to though.
What do you want?
I wish to cease.
Is that not death?
No… death is an old friend. A warmth that brings a chill in swirling darkness and shadows. Death is for humans. Death is for the living.
Are you not human? Are you not alive?
I am nothing. How could death come for me? I have not drawn breath in an age. I walk the earth as a lie and mirage. I’m not human. I don’t know if I ever was.
If you are not human, then what?
A doll for others to view. A performance for others" pleasure. A lie to give them peace. I am a cog in an unceasing machine. I am paper thin. There is no substance to my being.
…
…
Why do you wish to die?
Is there a reason to live?
_ _
February 6, 20XX
Chuuya - that’s right. How could Dazai have forgotten? His chibi would be so sad if he wasn’t here when the slug came home. That was the reason.
Dazai had destroyed so many things in his life - himself and others, but he would still wait for Chuuya to come back. He’d promised, hadn’t he?
_ _
February 7, 20XX
“It’s good to see you back, Dazai.”
“Aw, did you miss me, Yosano?”
_ _
Feb 08, 20XX at 07:19pm
From (00-33-5-35XXXXXX):
Keep waiting for me, darling.
_ _
February 15, 20XX
There was a stone in his chest, rot in his stomach, and a blank space right behind his eyes. He was drowning, slowly sinking and sliding down a spiraling track. He attempted to hide in the blank, the white void.
He was drowning and couldn’t breathe. Limbs heavy and movements sluggish. He tried to retreat into himself, but it was dangerous work. Drift too close to the core and he might not come back out. Instead, he sought the blank space - a white nothing that would wrap itself around his broken mind and hold the shards together gently.
He filled the space with cheap whiskey the previous night. And the night before. And the night before that. It sat on his bedside table, taunting. Reminding him that relief was near. A happy numb. The ability to laugh again. To feel slightly human again. To be more than the ache and rot.
You drank yourself to distraction again. You turned to alcohol to numb the emptiness. You looked for your humanity at the bottom of a bottle. You only found it for a fleeting moment leaving you emptier than before when it slipped from your fingers. And now you hate yourself again. Or did you ever stop?
Dazai was standing at the edge of a precipice paralyzed in his personal darkness and the voices whispered words he could not block out.
You fool. You thought it was better? You thought you could pretend to be human now? You thought you could leave this behind? You thought you were better? That you could cope well now? That you would use the tools you’ve learned?
He hated this.
The alcohol provided a small breath of air. A boon to a drowning man. A cooling touch to a feverish soul. Even just a moment to not feel this way. To not feel heavy and broken and sore.
He didn’t eat. The thought of food made him sick.
It didn’t take much to lose himself for a moment in that liquid.
He hated himself too.
But he just wanted it to stop.
It never stops.
_ _
February 16, 20XX
“How much longer?”
“Hm? Ah. I wish I knew, Ranpo, I wish I knew…”
After all, slugs move unbearably slow.
_ _
February 17, 20XX
Dazai stared at the calendar, hand still in the air clutching a pen.
In a few more days it would be five months. Chuuya had thought he’d be long back by now, but something must have happened. It was a sensitive mission abroad and he couldn’t contact Dazai regularly. Just random periodic texts from burner phones that were immediately disconnected and discarded after sending.
At least he knew his chibi was alive. The waiting was killing him though, and not knowing how much longer it would be was torture.
Even during the years he hid after leaving the mafia they hadn’t gone this long without a secret rendezvous or two.
He hoped he would be back soon. Before he lost this battle against dark thoughts and they consumed him entirely.
_ _
February 23, 20XX
It was a floaty feeling. A feeling of being unreal and detached. As though Dazai was in his body but didn’t really fit. There were spaces where there shouldn’t be space. He felt vaguely numb.
The tingle coming from a light buzz reminded him he could experience sensation. It produced a proclivity towards cheeriness although he couldn’t feel happy. It helped him for a moment.
Dazai eyed the bottle in front of him appraisingly. It would be another long night - just the two of them.
_ _
Feb 27, 20XX at 02:37am
From (00-39-06-72XXXXX):
I love you.
_ _
March 5, 20XX
He wanted to die.
The intrusive thoughts that peppered his psyche were stronger now. It would be so much easier for everything to come to a screeching halt and end this nightmare.
“Are you okay?” They ask, continually. If only they would stop. Of course not. Of course he wasn’t okay. Every day he lay in bed, disappointed, and forced to face another day. Every day he fantasized about ways to make it stop. Every day his first thought at every inconvenience was to find the nearest bridge and just make. it. stop.
He wanted them to stop asking. He wanted them to think he was okay. He couldn’t tell them what was wrong. To verbalize it would be to make it true. To confess his weakness. To admit there might be something wrong. To make them think they have to do something. He didn’t want anyone to do anything. He just wanted them to not care so much. It would be easier if they all cared less.
Apparently emotional blunting is a side effect of depression. Dazai wondered vaguely if that had happened to him. Was that why he felt so empty? He felt like nothing more than a black space. A void where something used to exist. Did he use to feel more? Once upon a time, did he sink so deeply into sadness that his only recourse was to just… turn it off? He must have felt excitement… at some point he must have. He thought… maybe once he did.
He’d felt pain before, he was sure. Gut wrenching, heartbreaking pain that manifested in his muscles, settled deep in his bones, and twisted his gut till nothing was left but pain.
Dazai walked a precarious path these days. Ready to end it all. He was trying so hard to do good. To be who he wanted and needed to be. But every day he seemed to stray further from that goal.
Dazai looked at the lies and the falsehoods and the muck sticking to his eyes and permeating his lungs. He longed for comfort he could not touch.
Still every move he made, every thought crossing his brain, every action and statement and word was carefully curated for the viewing pleasure of others. He spoke slimy words from places of insincerity. He performed a complex dance for the sake of those around him. He spun to their ever-changing tune.
He might judge them for their lies. But he told twice as many. He could condemn their performative actions while never ceasing his own. He would laugh at their hypocrisy while wallowing in deep shame of his own.
There was no end in sight. It was an unsolvable problem. There can be no resolution to a solutionless situation.
_ _
March 8, 20XX
“Dazai, there’s something on your bandages, were you injured?”
“Hm? Oh, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it, Kenji.”
_ _
Mar 12, 20XX at 10:04pm
From (00-39-081-51XXXXX):
Not much longer now. Hang in there.
_ _
March 18, 20XX
Opening the drawer next to the bathroom sink, Dazai stared at the last remaining roll of gauze. Chuuya always kept them well stocked and the drawer was deep. The fact they were nearly gone felt like a slap in the face. A vivid reminder of how long Dazai had been stumbling through the dark without his light. He didn’t want to buy more - it felt like acknowledgment of Chuuya’s missing presence.
He took the gauze out of the drawer and began to slowly wrap his arms as normal.
Even now, almost six months later, he still wanted to believe he would come home each evening to his husband cooking in the kitchen. He would throw his arms around the shorter’s waist and hang off him till the redhead kicked him out.
He tied off the first arm much lower than normal - maybe… if he could make this final roll last, Chuuya could buy him a new one. He would just have to wear longer and tighter sleeves, no matter how much they irritated his raw and sensitive skin. The scars (some newly acquired) would be hidden and that’s what mattered.
Later, after dinner, the two would settle on the couch, bodies entwined in ways that defy the laws of biology to watch a movie or read or talk or simply enjoy each other’s company in silence. The two of them didn’t really need words. They never had.
Dazai tied off the bandage around his other arm and moved to his neck.
Once they could no longer keep their eyes open, they would fall into bed together - safe and secure each in the arms of the one they trusted more than anyone else.
Dazai never thought he would live very long. He never thought he would ever love someone either. Didn’t think he was the type to be capable of feeling such things.
Chuuya was always his exception.
Even more surprising than falling for a tiny man, was the fact the tiny man loved him back. Truly those ugly hats must have consumed his brain cells if he saw something worth caring for in a man like him.
Dazai hoped his chibi would never stop wearing them.
He missed him.
He finished the last of his wrapping and returned the now much smaller roll to its home. His clothes would irritate his skin but perhaps that was for the best. The burn was the kind of thing a man like him deserved anyways.
All that mattered was that no one else could see his scars.
He was often terrified they would find out. That they would see the pain. The suffering. The festering wounds.
They would see him and know he fantasized about razors in the back of a kitchen drawer. Dreamed about how smoothly they mark a broken and damaged body. How the pain would be so much better than this darkness in his mind. Know that he cut himself just to see if he would bleed and to know if the emptiness inside extended to the hideous shell…
He will never let them see. The scars tell a tale of brokenness. They belong to him and him alone. His pain is his. His emptiness is his. His wounds are HIS.
…
Dazai took several deep breaths trying to get his mind in order before another spiral attacked him.
The scars belonged to him. And he would only share them with the one who owned his whole heart.
_ _
March 22, 20XX
“So you decided to grace us with your presence today? The stars align and Dazai decided to come to work, is that how it is?!”
“Ah!! See, I knew Kunikida would understand! Yep, Mars was in retrograde last week and I absolutely cannot work when Mars is in retrograde.”
“The FUCK?!”
_ _
March 24, 20XX
As usual, Dazai sat at his desk, head pillowed on his arms, staring at the spring rain flooding the city. A forgotten pile of papers was pushed to the side, half on Atsushi’s desk in hope the tiger-boy would think they were his anyways.
Four hours till he could leave. Four hours till he would find himself trudging back to an empty apartment. Four hours to pretend he wasn’t lonelier now than he’d ever felt in his life.
Six months, four days, seven hours, and thirty-two minutes Dazai had been without the one thing that makes him feel that this shitty life might just be worth living.
Six months, four days, seven hours, and thirty-three minutes since Dazai felt truly alive.
Six months, four days, seven hours, and thirty-four minutes since he’d held the love of his life in his arms and his soul begged him to not let go.
Six months, four days, seven hours, and thirty-five minutes since-
A buzz in his pocket interrupted his counting.
Mar 24, 20XX at 1:05pm
From Slug:
Oi, you shitty mackerel, did you go grocery shopping at all since I left?
Dazai stared at his phone not comprehending the message at all. He shouldn’t be getting a message from that number. ‘Slug’ had left his phone at the apartment when he left. Dazai would know. It’s been sitting on the entry table for six months - every now and again he charged it just to be sure it was ready for the chibi.
Grocery shopping? What?
Unless…
Dazai blamed his extreme deprivation of chibi exposure for the severe delay in comprehension.
He stood quickly, knocking his chair over with a clatter - eyes wide, still staring at his phone. The sudden noise caught the attention of the rest of the office and all eyes were on him immediately.
“Dazai?”
“What happened?”
The man in question ignored all of them, grabbing his coat and running out the door. Pausing before he disappeared, he turned to them and yelled:
“Very small emergency to attend to - I’ll be heading out now! Don’t expect to see me for at least the next week or so! Bye!!!” And then he was gone.
Shocked silence filled the office for a few beats before Kunikida’s voice filled the air.
“DAZAIIIIII!!!!”
(If the others noted that Dazai was truly smiling - beaming even - for the first time in months, they kept that to themselves, silently resolving to pick up his slack for however long he needed.)
_ _
March 24, 20XX – roughly an hour earlier
Chuuya had felt exhausted after a nearly thirteen-hour flight back from Italy. He had been too eager to be back home and forgot to buy another burner phone to let Dazai know. On the drive to his apartment, he figured it would be just as well, since Dazai should still be at work for the next several hours. Maybe he could get a nap in before his husband inevitably ambushed him with loud complaints and accusations about how long he’d been gone.
Stepping back into his home, though, felt like a breath of fresh air. The wonderful familiarity and homey comfort were incredibly soothing. Throwing his bags down by the door as he slipped his shoes off, he noticed his phone still sitting where he’d left it - as though he’d just forgotten it when he left for work that morning.
Smiling to himself he grabbed it, planning to charge it (there was no way the battery wasn’t completely dead) and maybe text his partner later. To his surprise, the phone lit up immediately. So, the mackerel had been charging it while he was gone, had he?
Chuuya’s chest felt strangely tight and his lips curved into a small smile.
Wandering deeper into the apartment, Chuuya drank in the welcome sight that was his shared home with Dazai.
A couple takeout containers, half full and over a day old, were sitting on the coffee table in the living room. His wine rack was full and dusted (had Dazai cleaned??). Their shared blanket - one soft enough for Dazai when he chose to forgo his bandages - was messily draped over the couch as though Dazai had just thrown it off himself. The gaming console under their TV was gathering layers of dust (so he hadn’t cleaned? that seemed more likely).
Stopping by the bathroom, Chuuya automatically checked both the drawer for Dazai’s bandages (empty? when had the mackerel run out?) and the pill cabinet. Nothing too strange or out of order. Good. A length of what appeared to be bloody gauze in the trash warned him of topic he already expected to come up later. He was somewhat glad of the chance to prepare himself first.
In their room, one of his hats was sitting on the dresser - odd, he didn’t normally keep them out of the closet since it tempted Dazai to mess with them. The bed wasn’t made (no surprise there) and it looked as though the occupant had been sleeping cuddled into the pillow on the left side of the bed.
Sitting down on the opposite side, Chuuya brushed his fingers lightly against his partner’s pillow, smiling. The idiot missed him very much, didn’t he? The thought of Dazai keeping his phone charged, the wine clean, and his hat nearby for six months while every night hugging his pillow – the closest thing he could get to Chuuya… tears pricked the corners of his eyes lightly, and suddenly he needed to see Dazai immediately.
Musing, he figured it would take the man about twenty minutes to get here from the Agency, even if he ran the entire way (a near guarantee).
He wandered into the kitchen as he typed out a message and confirmed his suspicions about the state of their fridge as he sent off a text.
Mar 24, 20XX at 1:05pm
To Mackerel:
Oi, you shitty mackerel, did you go grocery shopping at all since I left?
He placed a takeout order with the restaurant downstairs and stopped by a small convenience store across the street. After buying what he needed there and picking up their dinner (he was starving and absolutely sure Dazai hadn’t been feeding himself properly in his absence) Chuuya made his way back to their apartment to wait.
He didn’t need to wait long.
No sooner had he cleared away the old food (gross) in the living room to make way for their dinner, he heard the door swing open violently.
“CHUUYA!”
Chuuya barely had time to register the other’s arrival before being tackled, sending them both violently to the floor.
“Oi! Easy now!”
“Chuuya…” Dazai was clinging to him so tightly it almost hurt.
“Hey mackerel,” Chuuya replied softly. Dazai’s face was buried in the other’s neck, his arms wrapped snuggly around his waist. Chuuya hugged him back just as tightly.
“Chuuya…” it was as though Dazai had forgotten any other words for the time being.
In his initial excitement in seeing his husband again, Chuuya hadn’t realized how wet the other was. He was, in fact, soaked. Water was already beginning to pool beneath them, and Chuuya’s shirt was ruined.
“Oi, Dazai, you’re sopping wet. Let’s get you some dry clothes and maybe a shower. I don’t wanna deal with your sick ass first thing now I’m back.”
Dazai hummed his disapproval into the other’s neck.
“Come on now, you’re fucking shaking.”
Dazai only clung tighter at that. Chuuya sighed and was about to press the issue when a light sniffle sounded from his partner. He wouldn’t have heard it if the man"s face wasn’t directly beneath his ear.
Oh.
Oh.
Dazai was crying.
Dazai who never showed his true emotions if they weren’t dragged out of him, kicking and screaming, was crying.
Chuuya wasn’t sure if it was rainwater or tears dripping onto his shoulder, but either way, he snaked a comforting hand into Dazai’s dark hair and scratched his scalp soothingly. If the man needed a moment, who was Chuuya to rush him.
“Chuuya…” his voice cracked softly when he spoke. “Why?”
“So, you do know other words,” Chuuya chuckled. Dazai squeezed him once to signal his displeasure. Chuuya sighed.
“I know, I’m sorry sweetheart. I never meant to be away so long. It was torture for me too.”
“Bad dog leaving his master for so long.”
The I missed you went unsaid. Chuuya heard it anyway.
“I missed you too.”
They sat there in silence for several minutes, each relishing the proximity of the other. After a while, Chuuya tugged Dazai’s hair and repeated his previous demand.
“Come on, mackerel. Shower, dry clothes. We can cuddle later.”
“Who would cuddle a slimy slug like you?” He still refused to let go of his husband.
Grinning, Chuuya simply tugged harder earning a whine from the man.
“I fly all the way back here from Italy and haven’t even been able to see my darling husband’s face or received a welcome home kiss. Terrible reception if you ask me.”
“Nobody asked you,” Dazai grumbled, but he loosened his hold somewhat and pulled his face back from the other’s shoulder.
Dazai was soaking wet, his hair matted and dripping, his eyes tinted slightly red from overwhelming emotions, dark bags spoke to how well he’d been sleeping without his husband’s company, and a mild frown graced his lips, displeased with even this mild loss of proximity.
He was the most beautiful thing Chuuya had ever seen.
“I missed you,” he whispered before placing a gentle kiss on the corner of the frown. “So much.” A kiss to the other side. “So fucking much.”
Dazai gave in and finally kissed him back. It was like a sip of water in the desert and Chuuya couldn’t get enough. But, when Dazai’s mouth turned more demanding and attempted to deepen the kiss, once again Chuuya was tugging on his hair - much to the other’s displeasure.
“I’m serious about that shower, Dazai. Come on, I’m not making out with you on the floor. There are many other options around that are much more comfortable.”
Dazai glanced up as if just noticing their position.
“Huh,” he replied, “wonder how we ended up down here?”
Chuuya just rolled his eyes. Manhandling Dazai off him he managed to stand and pulled the other up with him.
“Let’s go, mackerel,” he said, leading him to the bathroom. “I need a shower too after my flight. We can clean up together how’s that?”
Dazai brightened up immediately. Chuuya let go of his hand to start running the water which made the other grumble under his breath. Chuuya ignored him in favor of focusing on undressing himself. Turning to see if Dazai wanted help unwrapping, he was surprised to see the other had fallen silent and was frozen in place. The look on his face was nothing short of tragic.
“Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong? What’s going on?”
Dazai didn’t respond, clenching his fists until the knuckles were white.
“Sweetheart?” Chuuya said softly, lifting one hand to cup his face and the other to loosen the man’s grip before he hurt himself. “What’s the matter, hm?”
“Don’t… don’t want Chuuya to see…” Dazai’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Right. The bloody gauze. Dazai had relapsed. He was hoping this conversation could wait till they had at least finished saying hello, but he was never the one to run away.
“It’s okay, sweetheart, I already know. It’s alright.”
Dazai slowly met Chuuya’s gaze and nodded. No explanation was needed.
“I’m sorry…” he started.
“Don’t apologize, darling. You have nothing to apologize for, alright? You’re here, aren’t you? You’re alive and well and that’s all that matters to me, understand?”
Dazai nodded.
“Would you like me to shower with you, or do you want to be alone right now?”
In a panic, Dazai grabbed Chuuya’s hand.
“No! I want Chuuya.”
“Okay then, you have me.” He offered as reassuring a smile as he could muster. “Do you want me to undress you?”
Dazai nodded. Without another word, Chuuya began undoing his buttons and pulling off his coat and vest. He was somewhat unsurprised (given that empty drawer of bandage rolls) to find that Dazai had not wrapped himself as thoroughly as normal – these bandages had clearly been reused a couple times as well. The cheap material of his shirt had rubbed the sensitive skin raw.
Chuuya memorized Dazai’s every scar in the six years they’d been married. Many, he had been there for and had stitched up himself. Many more had appeared during the two years Dazai had spent in hiding. Either way, he knew every line and divot of Dazai’s skin like it was his own.
Other than the occasional injury the man got on the job, it had been a long time since any new marks had appeared. Dazai had been doing so well lately. It wasn’t good, but it was so much better. Then this stupid mission had separated them, leaving Dazai alone with his unstable psyche. Internally, Chuuya cursed as guilt (his constant friend these past six months) twisted his gut uncomfortably.
Not wanting Dazai to notice the storm of emotions swirling in him (of course Dazai already knew – he could read Chuuya like no one else) Chuuya dropped his head and gently brushed his lips across the first addition he found. He continued just like that, kissing lightly each pink scar, ghosting over the newer ones (barely scabbed over at this point – the newest were very new) to not irritate them. His fingers traced the lines, recommitting once again every mark on his husband’s skin to memory.
Overwhelmed by the display of tenderness and affection, Dazai had turned his head aside to hide the blush Chuuya knew was there. Once they were both naked, Chuuya led him into the shower. Dazai’s head dropped to Chuuya’s shoulder, and his arms snaked around his waist, both for nearness to his other half and to hide the many emotions filling him uncomfortably.
Chuuya allowed them to bask in each other’s arms for a few minutes before pulling back to wash the other’s hair. He loved this – massaging his scalp, allowing his nails to scratch comfortingly the way he knew Dazai loved. Once he was done Dazai silently returned the favor, lingering in the long strands of Chuuya’s brilliant hair. Chaste kisses were exchanged and gifted to foreheads, cheeks, particularly beautiful locks, knuckles, palms, and fingertips.
Once the water began to grow cooler, Chuuya pulled them out and dried off himself and his husband. He pulled out one of the new bandages rolls he’d purchased earlier, offering to wrap the other up. Dazai’s eyes widened momentarily in surprise and Chuuya grinned.
“You’re absolutely shit at taking care of yourself mackerel, can’t trust you to yourself at all.”
“I guess Chuuya just needs to never leave again.”
“Guess so.”
Chuuya carefully wrapped the other"s body as they had done hundreds of times before. Just like the first, however, Chuuya still marveled that he was afforded this level of trust by Dazai. The thought made his head spin.
“Come on, shitty Dazai, I’ve got food for us.”
A few moments later found them tangled together on the living room couch, wrapped in the soft throw blanket, food within easy reach.
“I’m so sorry I was gone for so long, Osamu.” Chuuya muttered into the other’s hair, placing a kiss on the crown of his head.
Dazai only hummed, tucking his head beneath Chuuya’s chin.
“Was it very bad?” He knew it was a ridiculous question, Dazai had relapsed – of course it had been bad. But perhaps some selfish part of himself wanted reassurance. Or maybe he wanted to try and take on some of Dazai’s suffering. He wasn’t sure himself.
“It was… the worst it’s been in a long time, I think,” was all that the other offered.
Of course, as Chuuya already knew.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “For still being here, I mean. For waiting for me to come home.”
“I…” Dazai seemed to hesitate for a moment. He was much better at expressing himself now than he had been when they married at eighteen, but it was a constant struggle. “…I think, I almost didn’t.”
Chuuya’s breath caught slightly at that, though he knew he shouldn’t be surprised. To Dazai, suicide always seemed like such an easy and welcome out when things got tough. Almost subconsciously, his arms tightened around his husband.
“I’m really glad you waited.”
Dazai hummed again.
“I love you, Osamu.”
“I love you too, Chuuya.”
.
.
.
.
.
Chuuya knew they would be okay.