Chapter Text
Death had never been a particularly scary thing. It was the only absolute certainty, the one thing that connected every life, young and old, rich and poor. At the end of whatever virtuous or sinful or fulfilling or pathetic life lived, everyone would end up the same way.
Life had never held much of an appeal. The effort it took to get through a day, the repetitive Sisyphean duties that never seemed to end or have a true purpose in the grand scheme of things, none of it held any promise. The feelings of passion and dreams and legacy eluded Osamu. What was the point?
Why break himself with futile hopes and dreams to leave his name in the mouths of people he’d never even know? Why would he want his name to live on? What could he possibly do to leave a legacy that wouldn’t exhaust him now, and for what? It was all so much. Too much. Pointless.
Existence was an effort Osamu had long since been sick of. He’d resigned himself to an early death. Something simple and painless and quick. Some sort of freedom and self-imposed mercy.
Damn the hands of the doctor who saved him. Damn the smile that greeted him back into this tasteless existence, only to tie him to it with ultimatums and threats. And damn his own brain for refusing to settle for the bare minimum. His own pride refused to diminish his intelligence to others, and that too had fascinated Mori.
A human life didn’t have much value in Osamu’s eyes. Causing death left him empty. Seeing it imposed onto others left him hollow.
Yearning for it…. The promise of a stray bullet or a step taken too late or someone outsmarting him one day so his own instincts didn’t kick into gear… that had brought peace.
The Port Mafia was no place for children, surely it wouldn’t be long for Dazai to succumb to some form of an early death, and if he was lucky maybe he’d take Mori with him as payback. It wasn’t particularly a priority, just a nice thought. If it wasn’t too much effort.
And then, as if to spit in his face, the universe presented him with an absolute force of nature.
Nakahara Chuuya, a boy so full of life, exuberant, bright and blinding, with emotions powerful enough to surpass the gravitational pull of the Earth, his small body capable of being the vessel of a god. Gods were man-made concepts, but after a lifetime of faithless existence, Osamu was beginning to understand it.
He was fascinating. Chuuya embodied the very potential of living. Where Osamu only knew emptiness, Chuuya was brimming over. He was half-obsessed, drawn to that demanding, albeit insufferable presence.
He’d heard whispers. He’d seen files on Mori’s desk. Had found the paper trail of efforts. He’d heard the ghosts of Chuuya’s bad days. After Rimbaud, Chuuya wasn’t entirely sure he was human.
It was laughable really.
Of all people in the world, the only one Osamu would believe to be human without a doubt was Nakahara Chuuya. It was impossible for something as limited as science to create…. No. Osamu knew he, himself, was human. He bled, he’d been created and grown in a womb, had come into the world frail and screaming, and in spite of those facts…. If it came down to Osamu and Chuuya, the inhuman one was himself.
It’s been a year since Osamu’s peace had shattered. Death remained enticing, like a siren whispering sweet nothings, but now…. A brand new obsession with life. An obsession to understand it. To see its potential….
To live and witness Chuuya harness life and bend it to his whims. To maybe find a flicker of that in himself.
It was one of many reasons why Osamu turned to him in his endeavor to try and understand the things that drove people. Physical attraction and intimacy was so prevalent in humans, the next major component of someone’s purpose after their family or their own goals.
He hadn’t doubted his ability to convince Chuuya, he just… hadn’t been prepared when he first asked. An uncomfortable feeling to say the least.
It had been nearly a whole month since he kissed Chuuya, but it was his turn. The whole physical intimacy thing was far too similar to business meetings, leaving Osamu with more questions than answers.
How was he supposed to get better at kissing with so much time between? He knew he could find someone else, as it seemed teens their age were eager to be reckless, but…. Osamu wanted to understand the life within Chuuya. Anyone else would be bland and pathetic, and they would never be able to give him even a hint of what he was looking for…. Though if it was just for practice to be prepared whenever Chuuya felt like acting on his turn….
Osamu’s phone began to buzz with an incoming call. He raised a surprised eyebrow at the sight of Chuuya’s name. Had he somehow sensed the direction of Osamu’s thoughts? How funny.
“Woof,” he greeted.
“The hell?”
“I’m speaking your language, Chibi.”
“Fuck you,” he answered, sharp enough to mean it, but lacking the rage which told Osamu that something else was on his mind. “Where the hell are you? There aren’t any jobs to do right now.”
“What would you know? We don’t cover the same field.”
“Dazai—”
“Wait.” Dazai grinned and looked up at the ceiling. “Is Chuuya in my room?” Silence. “Scandalous.”
“If you wind up dead in a ditch it’s your own fault,” Chuuya spat out. Osamu could almost picture the flush that would have crept in his face, a mix of embarrassment and anger.
“You caught me on my way back anyway,” Osamu said.
“I’m going back to my room,” Chuuya said with a huff.
“Won’t wait to greet me like a good dog?”
The only response was the beeping of a line gone dead. Osamu laughed quietly to himself and stood up. He glanced behind him at the simple set up before opening the shipping container door and slipping out.
Returning to the Port Mafia base would take too long by foot, so he hailed a cab and stopped a block away to continue on foot.
He stopped at Chuuya’s door, the knuckle of one finger rapping against it three quick times. A few seconds later, the door opened, bringing Chuuya into view.
He didn’t seem ready for bed quite yet. He still wore the white button up and his slacks, hair still pulled into a low ponytail with a few too-short strands curling in to frame his face, bangs swooping across his forehead. He had that angry furrow between his brows, jaw set and eyes blazing as they bore into Osamu.
“So w—”
He hadn’t been able to say a damn thing before Chuuya grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and yanked him into the room. The door slammed shut behind Osamu at the same time that Chuuya’s lips clashed against his own in the most literal sense.
It was a painful thing, teeth cutting into lips, forceful and frantic. He was certain he’d let out some sort of distressed and confused noise, something entirely unattractive, and yet Chuuya only kept him pressed to the wall.
“Oi. Dazai. Forget how to use your mouth suddenly?” Chuuya asked against his lips before surging forward again. When Osamu remained unresponsive, Chuuya let out a snarl and shoved him as he pulled away. “Just go.”
That was another fascinating thing about Chuuya; just how often he managed to absolutely confound Osamu. It wasn't something that happened often, but the fact that it happened at all was… enticing.
“You might greet me in some way that isn't the equivalent of punching my mouth with yours.” The angry, flustered blush saturated his cheeks further. Osamu straightened his jacket and tilted his head. “Now then, what made you decide to cash in your turn now?”
“If you don't want to, I don't care, just go.”
“Chibi is so dense,” Osamu sighed. Ignoring the indignant spluttering, Osamu stepped forward, watching with delight as Chuuya tilted his head the slightest amount to meet his gaze. “I've already told you that if I'm doing this, I'd prefer it to be you. But you haven't acknowledged our… agreement for weeks. So?”
“What does it matter?”
Osamu slid his tongue along the soft, veiny skin behind his top lip. It stung and left behind the metallic sweet taste of blood.
“Is Chuuya stressed?” Osamu grinned. “Ah, was Chuuya trying to hurt me on purpose? Does that help?”
“What?” Chuuya asked, eyes wide as he stepped back. “No! I thought… I thought you'd do the same.”
At that, Osamu raised an eyebrow. “You want me to hurt you?”
Chuuya grimaced and ran a hand through his hair, leaving more strands to come loose from their tentative restraint. “Shit, was it that bad?”
Again, Osamu touched the tender part behind his lip with his tongue. He smiled with closed eyes. “It's nothing. I just like to poke at Chibi.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes and pulled away. He sat on his bed, arms crossed, gaze distant and scrunched into something bitter.
“I wasn't sure how to bring it up before. And today….” Chuuya sighed and pulled his hair loose with a smack of his lips. “You said this was human. I just want to… feel human.”
Osamu thought for a moment. It's been about a year since Rimbaud. Were his words echoing? Was it maybe something else entirely? Maybe something with one of his employees, but what could they possibly say? The Mafia's connections knew Chuuya to be fearsome and powerful; only an idiot would try to test him and by extension strain the protection offered by the Port Mafia. A rival organization maybe? Maybe Chuuya had a close call….
Whatever it was, Chuuya was only asking for the very thing Osamu had at the beginning of this— a chance to act and feel human when doubt burrowed too deeply.
“I haven't had a chance to practice,” Osamu said, adding a lamenting sigh. “So Chibi can't be mean.” He leaned down to take Chuuya by his forearm and pulled him to stand. “Mind giving me a moment to remember?”
He gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.
With a hum, Osamu slid his hand along Chuuya’s cheek. The kiss began like the ones before, with an innocent and curious peck, a slight pressure against his lips. And then Chuuya tilted his head slightly, lips parting with a sigh. Osamu took it as permission to taste. He slid his tongue into Chuuya’s mouth, fighting the shiver that wanted to rattle through his bones, wondering if somehow with each kiss, Chuuya shared whatever filled him up with such vivacity.
When Chuuya responded with a tentative, curious swipe of his own tongue against Osamu’s, he couldn’t help but meet him in kind, trying to decipher that taste. Hands wove into his hair, gently scratching at the nape of his neck, and Osamu responded in kind, one large hand twisting into fiery, strawberry blond hair—
And pulling the most incredible sound out of Chuuya as he did.
Something between a sigh and growl and it made something scorching hot burst in Osamu’s chest.
It was like a switch had been flipped. Whatever engrained human instinct led to the usual ritual of procreation must have been triggered because suddenly methodology didn't matter. Grace didn't matter.
There were things that had Chuuya going soft and pliant, like a touch to the cheek or the times Osamu pulled him in by the gentle slope at his nape. There were others that seemed to ignite him, bring him to life, and he pulled Osamu right along with him. Like twisting his hand in his hair just so, sucking his bottom lip harshly between his teeth, biting lightly at his tongue when he licked into Osamu’s mouth.
It was all heavy breaths, and hands searching, searching for a place to rest, a place to dig into and pull more of this feeling from, gasps and frustrated grunts and the odd sound of wet mouths.
Osamu had never been so aware of his body. Had never felt such a full-body sensation that made him come face to face with his own existence. He didn't want it to stop.
And then Chuuya was biting at his lip without reserve, tugging and smiling when Osamu could only blink at him in a daze. He became braver, the thumb of his hand brushing just below the bandage of his eye.
“You plan to keep this on?”
He had, absolutely. It was something of a comfort thing. But if he removed it, he might be able to take the moment in better. Catch more details.
Chuuya knew there was no injury beneath, nothing to hide. But the option was still there. His thumb still brushed gently beneath the line of bandages. And when Osamu didn't voice a response, Chuuya only tightened the hold, pulling Osamu into another ravenous, tactless kiss.
When he opened his eyes, Chuuya's head was tilted so he was out of his line of sight.
Fuck it.
He tugged at the bandages, letting them fall to the floor, and when he opened both eyes, Chuuya was staring at him with a smug smile. The hand at his cheek moved to his hair, combing through freely without the waves catching against the bandages.
It wasn't a cinematic kiss. Their mouths made weird noises, Osamu had to hold back a sneeze at one point, and Chuuya shoved him away for a chance to burp awkwardly to the side. He tasted like the lingering sweetness of Coca-Cola, stale and sticky, and his teeth were sharp where they dug ruthlessly into Osamu's lips, the pain a wonderful reminder of where he was, of who was imposing it on him. Chuuya's tongue trailed along the small cut behind his upper lip and Osamu couldn't help but shudder.
There was still a lot to learn. Osamu found he didn't really like if Chuuya touched his torso, even over the clothes, and he got nervous when Chuuya's fingers ran along the edge of the bandages on his neck. Osamu discovered that pulling too hard on Chuuya's hair only earned him an angry pinch on the cheek, and that touching him too softly would make him break away in a fit of stifled laughter.
It was a mess, still, but Osamu considered it the most educational kissing session yet. He couldn't say he wanted to dedicate any prose to Chuuya’s mouth or anything, but… the instinct, the craving, the heat that had wrapped around him…. He understood a bit more. He wondered— and doubted— if he'd feel this way with anyone else.
There was something about Chuuya specifically. His own fire and abrasiveness bled through everything he did, even when it had only been a small peck leaving Osamu to chase the promising light.
Fascinating, fascinating, fascinating.
“Nn,” Chuuya grunted, pulling back but keeping his hands in Osamu’s hair. “My lips feel sore.”
“Does Chibi feel better?” Osamu asked, chin resting slightly against Chuuya's forehead, his unruly hair tickling his nose.
“Hm? Oh.” Chuuya took a breath and pulled away, eyeing Osamu suspiciously. “Do you actually care?”
Osamu shrugged. “We need clear heads to survive here. We're partners. I want to know you won't be distracted by whatever upset you going forward.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes and pulled out of Osamu's embrace, taking with him the adrenaline and the tantalizing promise of feeling alive. “My head is clear.” He arched an eyebrow, sharp gaze locking on Osamu. “You improved.”
“I just read Chuuya’s body language. You were more confident.”
He shrugged and began taming his tousled hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. “You came to me. Figured that was worth a bit more effort.” He sighed and crossed his arms. “I don't know whose turn it is.”
Osamu grinned and shook his head. “No need for it. Frankly, Chibi, I don't need a particular reason for this. It's…enjoyable. So instead of waiting until you snap, the next time you want to do this— because you want to try something new or you’re bored, or you want to feel something or whatever it is—” He stepped closer, smiling to himself before running his finger over the leather of Chuuya’s choker. “Just touch your collar twice.”
“And you? Do you plan to just tug at my sleeve with a childish pout?”
Osamu frowned with feigned hurt. “Chibi insults me,” he said. Chuuya only arched an eyebrow. “What do you suggest?”
Chuuya hummed and reached up to push brown curls away from his right eye. “Touch the bandages you put here.”
“What if my eye itches?”
Chuuya narrowed his eyes and yanked harshly on the long curl by his ear. “Say my name then. Not some half-assed nickname followed by a juvenile taunt. You touch the bandage, say my name in whatever you say next, and that's my sign.”
“Hmm. Chibi asks for so much effort.”
Chuuya shrugged. “You're just lazy.” He pushed back the strands that fell in front of his right eye again, eyebrows scrunching. “Why do you wear it anyway?”
Osamu pulled back to grab the bandage that had fallen and began fastening it once more with practiced fingers. “Makes people underestimate me.”
He didn't seem entirely satisfied with that answer, but he didn't prod or ask anything else. “Goodnight, Dazai.”
“Don't forget to drink milk, Chibi! Surely that growth spurt will hit any day.”
“Fuck off!”
Osamu shut the door as a gravity-enhanced shoe collided against it and walked slowly to his assigned dorm. It was far too late to go back to the shipping container, but Osamu supposed he couldn't complain with the way things had unfolded.
For a week, that's how things went. They'd pass each other in the halls and Osamu would brush away the hair by his patch and tell Chuuya to walk faster to get where he needed to be, and ten minutes later they were behind the doors of an unused office. Halfway through trivial meetings Chuuya would touch his choker once, twice, then wait just a couple beats before meeting Osamu’s gaze. When the meeting dispersed, they'd wind up in one of their rooms, lips locked without a single question or explanation.
After one quick scouting mission, it was actually Chuuya who reached out to touch the bandages over his eye, smearing a rogue drop of blood, and before he could put his fingers to his own choker, Osamu was tugging him to the nearest alleyway.
For those moments, the boredom and monotony of life in the mafia dissipated. For those moments, Osamu was part of Chuuya's orbit, a gravitational pull that wasn't nullified by his ability, and he could just barely taste it— a passion for life, the possibilities it might hold.
And then he happened.
It wasn't like he and Chuuya were joined at the hip throughout the day; they each had their own roles to play. But the arrival of Paul Verlaine had Osamu with one eye on Chuuya’s movements and the other on him. Powerful as Chuuya was, Mori had approved of Osamu abandoning his post for a few days while he worked to keep both Chuuya and the boss alive.
He was an easily predictable man, in Osamu's opinion. With a grand reputation and an ego to match which made it easy to make him think things were going his way.
Osamu had not stopped to consider what he felt about having been one of his targets. He hadn't had the time. To think he might be a person tethering Chuuya to Japan, to the Port Mafia… it was a laughable concept, and yet the moment they'd reunited… it felt right. They were each formidable powers when separate, but unstoppable when together.
Seeing the Sheep boy and knowing Chuuya had played into Verlaine's tricks by going after him had left a nauseating feeling in the pit of his stomach. Of course, Chuuya wouldn't be Chuuya if he hadn't gone to protect the boy who stabbed him in the back. It was one of the many mystifying things that Osamu had yet to decode and unravel.
And then there was Arahabaki.
No. Not Arahabaki. The gods played no part; it was all Chuuya.
Something clicked in that battle. Something fell into place. Osamu would have come up with a thousand plans before sending Chuuya out with his verse, but Chuuya had not bothered to consider it.
Death had been within grasp. It'd been right there, easy, accessible, quick, painless. Osamu hadn't even cared if it meant he'd been outdone.
But when Mori said Chuuya would be left to die…. Something flared in Osamu, something that refused to allow Chuuya and all his vitality to be extinguished. Not before he could understand it.
He'd been a sight to see in all his unrestrained glory. To call it a dark disgrace was an injustice because Chuuya had been nothing short of magnificent, and so, so alive. Had it been anyone else, Osamu was certain they wouldn't have survived their own power.
It satisfied Osamu to know he alone could bring Chuuya back, pull him back from the precipice of too much. That with his touch, that agony that tore him apart diminished, the divinity of near-godhood returned to humanity, the all encompassing power could become a sleeping boy in his arms.
Maybe he expected a thank you, said through grit teeth, but a thank you nonetheless.
Instead, he was met with a hard fist to his cheekbone, leaving a stinging sensation to flood through his face.
“You knew.”
Osamu would not do Chuuya the dishonor of pretending he didn't know. Whatever part he meant— some of it, all of it— he was right. The only thing he hadn't known was whether Chuuya would unlock his ability to its full potential.
“I did,” he said.
“You could have saved them!” he shouted.
“This is a mafia, Chibi. Lives lost are as common as—”
Before he could finish, Chuuya punched him again, this time right on the mouth. Blood spread on his tongue, sharp and warm.
“They were my friends,” he spat, tears filling his rage filled eyes.
It was strange to see him cry. Osamu was intrigued by it, wanted to know that feeling that pulled so much from Chuuya and allowed him to show weakness. He wanted to touch the tears and analyze them like they held the secret to humanity. But he also hated them. He enjoyed annoying Chuuya, pestering him and making him scowl. This though? This was not something he enjoyed causing.
“Ah. Them.”
Chuuya’s lip curled as he snarled, disgusted. “Yeah. Them.”
“I couldn’t save them,” Osamu said simply. “It would have derailed everything.”
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” Chuuya asked.
Osamu raised an eyebrow. “Even if I could have, I wouldn’t have. Does that answer your question?”
“So it was all according to plan, was it? All of them? The Port Mafia is a family—”
“To you,” Osamu interrupted. “Everyone here knows their days are limited. That there comes a time they’ll have to choose whether or not they lay their lives down. And every single one of them chose to take that risk. Why mourn that decision?”
“Does a human life mean nothing to you?” Chuuya asked, his voice scraping past his throat.
“It was all for you,” Osamu said simply.
“I never asked for that.”
Of course he hadn’t. Frankly, Chuuya would have laid his life down for the fucking robot. Osamu didn’t know how to explain that he would rather kill innocents and sinners alike as long as it meant Chuuya lived. He didn’t know how to explain why Chuuya’s life was something worth saving when most everything and everyone else bored and exhausted him.
“I know,” was all Osamu could say.
Chuuya stepped back, lines tightening around his eyes, leaving him looking tired and… broken.
“Is it your mission to make sure I’m alone and miserable like you?” he asked.
Osamu stared back, empty, unfazed.
“I’m so sick of you,” Chuuya muttered, not bothering to look at Osamu anymore. “One day, you’re going to lose someone or something, Dazai. And it’s gonna fucking kill you.” He shook his head and turned away. “Stay the hell away from me.”
With those words, Chuuya walked down the hall to his room, leaving Osamu behind.
As if they weren’t inextricably intertwined by a spiteful universe if not by choice. Everyone knew it, just as well as they knew that they couldn’t go a full day without fighting and arguing at least three times. They were a team. An unstoppable team, and even if the two of them wanted, Mori would never let them stray far from each other.
Frankly, Osamu didn’t much care for what others wanted. Chuuya was his partner. He refused to let go of that so easily. But if Chuuya wanted him to stay away, he would. He would bide his time until fate inevitably forced them to stand side by side again.
He did as he was asked. He spent his time going through files, coming up with strategies for different branches of the mafia, locating their sellers and buyers, planning ambushes and all the other dirty work that Mori used his brain for. It killed the time and kept him away from Chuuya while he worked his way into the boss’ good graces.
After another private meeting with Mori in which he laid out the latest profit numbers and Mori relayed another failed attempt to coax Verlaine out for something more useful, Osamu found himself colliding into the lobby wall after a foot had kicked into his spleen ruthlessly.
He coughed and hauled himself into a sitting position, blinking dumbly as a figure haloed by fluorescents stepped in front of him.
“Where the hell have you been?” Chuuya snarled.
“Ah, it’s Chibi, of course,” Osamu said, resting his back against the chipped wall. He’d feel the bruises later, no doubt. “Aren’t you supposed to be hacking off the hands of a two-timing distributor right about now?”
“How the fuck would you know?”
Osamu grinned.
“Right. You know everything. Hiding all the knowledge behind that blank fish-eyed stare.” He crouched down, no longer shadowed by the lack of light. His eyes were blazing, piercing through Osamu, the remnants of his ability glowing around him in a thin, red haze. “Where. Have. You. Been?” he asked again. When Osamu didn’t speak, he snarled and yanked him closer by the front of his shirt, causing the red glow to disappear. “Dazai!”
“You told me to stay away.”
“Since when do you do what I ask?” he pointed out.
There was something different about this anger that radiated from Chuuya. Something frantic simmered within it, something that made his eyes too wide, his words just short of threatening, left the slightest tremor in his hands.
“Did I make Chibi more upset? I can never seem to figure you out.”
Chuuya scoffed and shoved him away. “I thought you’d gone and… done something stupid,” he said. “You weren’t in your room. You never came to your room. You weren’t there in the meetings. You just fucking disappeared.”
“Chuuya didn’t want to see me.”
“I know that!” he shouted. His voice wavered, making Osamu freeze.
“Chuuya.” His voice was too serious for Chuuya not to look at him, take in the slight flicker of his gaze to the door just a few paces down the hall.
He cleared his throat and fixed his choker. “Gonna tell the boss to put a fucking tracker on you, you bastard.” He stood up and dusted off his suit. He touched his choker again, a light brush of his fingers as he fixed the collar of his shirt.
Osamu could only stare back at him as he turned away and went into Mori’s office.
Wordlessly, Osamu went up to the dorms and to the room he’d been offered and had neglected.
His bed was unmade. The chair by his desk had been moved. Chuuya had been in here. Waiting for him?
He heard the steps down the hall shortly after. Such loud, obnoxious stomps for such a small person. A door slammed open and shut, then a few moments later, open and shut again. More steps.
“Oh, grantors of dark disgrace help you if you’re not in here, Dazai.” The door to his room swung open while Osamu worked to regain a normal breathing pattern after the swooping panic he felt at those first words.
“Is Chibi stupid?” he asked.
Instead of rising to the bait, Chuuya stepped inside and stared silently at Osamu. Slowly, his eyebrows began to scrunch together, his mouth pursed into a thin line to keep it from wobbling.
“Where did you go?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Dazai, look at me.”
He sighed and looked at Chuuya, face blank as he waited.
“No. Really look at me.”
Confused, and unable to hide the shock at being read so easily, he focused his gaze, flickering between Chuuya’s eyes. Emotions whirled in them like small storms, wild and magnificent.
Seemingly satisfied, Chuuya shoved his finger into Dazai’s sternum. “Don’t you dare leave me. You’ve taken enough from me with all your plotting and scheming bullshit. You don’t get to just go away. Don’t fucking disappear like that.”
“Was Chuuya worried about me?” Osamu asked with a wry grin.
“Listen to me, you bastard,” Chuuya said, yanking Osamu closer with a hand at the nape of his neck, forcing their foreheads together. “It’s your fault I’m here. In the Port Mafia and alive. So you don’t get to fucking walk away. You and me, we’re in this shitstorm together, you got that? You’re gonna make my life a living hell and do everything to get a rise out of me and I’m gonna kick your ass for it, but you’re staying.”
Much to Osamu’s shock and fascination, tears welled up in Chuuya’s eyes and spilled over, though his expression remained furious and feral.
“Right?” he insisted. When Osamu only stared, he practically shook him with a vengeance. “Dazai! Say it! Promise!”
Osamu recalled Verlaine coming after him, not once, but twice, saving him for last as one of Chuuya’s tethers. He wondered if Chuuya would cry and rage over his death like he had for the Flags. If he would overlook all the horrible things he said and did to save him like he did for the Sheep boy.
That flicker of some encompassing, humanizing feeling flared in his chest, and like some sort of Pavlovian response, all Osamu could do was the only thing that had ever pulled that emotion out of him before— he leaned in and kissed Chuuya.
He’d forgone the gentle peck, cast away the softer touches to build up, and simply tried to swallow Chuuya and whatever emotion was radiating from him.
The feeling grew exponentially as Chuuya shoved him back with powerful hands, following and stumbling after him until they collapsed onto the bed. His tears were salty on Osamu’s tongue, almost savory and fulfilling, paired with the almost desperate way his hands grasped and tugged. He couldn’t believe that he had pulled this response from Chuuya. He couldn’t fathom being worthy of it.
This kiss was something different entirely. Having Chuuya’s weight on him was something Osamu couldn’t fully wrap his head around, or the way he’d put his knees on either side of his hips, the way his hair fell and tickled his cheeks and his ear.
Is this what people lived for? This feeling of being a part of something, of being worthy of a touch like this? Was this why people devoted themselves to religion?
Osamu was drowning. Drowning happily and peacefully, and had never felt so fucking alive.
Chuuya pulled away, leaving Osamu feeling like he couldn’t breathe. Then he felt his voice near his ear, a ticklish, alluring whisper of, “Promise me.”
With a shiver running down his body, Osamu nodded. He pushed his hands into Chuuya’s hair, tugging him closer, feeling the weight of him settle, and for once he couldn’t even focus enough to control his heartbeat.
“I promise.”
“Don’t leave me alone, Dazai. Don’t ever.”
“Even if Chibi tells me to go away?”
“I don’t… I don’t mean it that way. Damn it.” Chuuya pulled himself up, his hair falling in hypnotizing little curls around him. “I hate you, you stupid mackerel.”
“Insufferable pet dog that you are. Biting the hand that feeds you.”
Chuuya’s hand moved to grip Osamu by the chin, fingers digging in harshly. “Partner,” he snarled.
Osamu grinned and pulled Chuuya’s hand by the wrist. “I’ll be here to annoy Chuuya for a long time,” he said.
With a huff, Chuuya leaned back down their mouths finding a slower rhythm, but just as intoxicating. Every slow swipe and curious graze of teeth had Osamu longing for more. His hands rested against Chuuya’s waist, keeping him close. Curiously, they moved to his thighs, but Chuuya pulled away and grabbed his wrists just a touch too tightly before letting go.
“Watch it,” he muttered, cheeks saturated. “We need to cool down.”
“Hmm?”
Chuuya only glanced briefly downward before shaking his head and getting off of Osamu. The weightlessness had him feeling empty. He had to hold back a forlorn sigh.
But Chuuya didn’t stand and walk out of the room like he usually did after their trysts. He sat beside Osamu on the bed, hand combing through his own hair.
“You didn’t do anything…?” he asked eventually.
“Stupid?”
Chuuya frowned as his gaze lingered on Osamu’s bandages.
The sight beneath wasn’t pretty. It was nothing poetic. Nothing resilient. Chuuya had never prodded, but it didn’t exactly take a genius to know what a suicidal teenager could do to himself. The bandages were prominent, and they drew curious gazes, but that was far better than what the mosaic of self-hatred beneath them did. How they looked, how they felt, the emptiness they reminded Osamu of. How people’s gazes lingered in horror and shock and disgust and pity and fear. The stutters and fumbling over words like suddenly they didn’t see him, rather they saw the mess that he’d made of himself.
“No,” Osamu assured Chuuya. He wouldn’t elaborate. Chuuya’s words weren’t the worst things he’d heard directed at him. They barely even grazed the surface, especially compared to his own thoughts. And while he wasn’t exactly cleaning up his act for Chuuya, he’d already decided he couldn’t kill himself until he’d figured out what a taste of the humanity that permeated Chuuya felt like. He wanted to see just how far that potential went, and the only one who could show him was Chuuya. Osamu wanted to see that.
“Good,” Chuuya said. He shifted around to settle into the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world. “If you’re gone when I wake up, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
Osamu hesitated, unsure of what to do. He didn’t know what this meant, what the point was, hell he didn’t even sleep in this room. Maybe his hesitance was too palpable, because a moment later Chuuya groaned and yanked Osamu down harshly. He shoved away the jacket then wrapped his limbs around Osamu, like he planned to be a human trap, making sure Osamu didn’t disappear in the dead of night.
“Go to sleep,” he muttered.
Osamu couldn’t help but sense something dangerous around the corner as he allowed himself to relax. It had been a long time since anything felt truly dangerous. It brought a smile to his face.