Chapter Text
It took a long time for Chuuya to be able to even stand; the sun was rising, and his eyes were bloodshot. It took a long time for his legs to carry the weight of his heart and body; to carry the weight of his mind and soul. It had been hours before he felt the floor against his feet and not the bone of his ass, an intense ache beginning to settle in his arms and legs, something that had barely begun to register as light began to drown him.
He could no longer hold himself with fuzzy arms and tightly clenched fingers; could no longer comfort the boy he still knew he was. He could no longer soothe the loneliness that began to eat him alive, patting at his back and tugging at the back of his shirt. Perhaps it was all Chuuya’s fault.
Dazai was never the pathetic one; Chuuya was. Alone and begging, too willing and too eager. Chuuya would do anything for an ounce of loyalty - so how was it that he always seemed to devote himself to people who were made only of liquid selfishness?
Stupidity was all he felt. These thoughts that began to invade his brain, determined to tear apart every piece of his security in who he was, were invading and destroying every ounce of composure he had meticulously assembled - and for the first time in years, Chuuya felt small.
Like a little boy once more, Chuuya felt uncertain and lost in this life all over again; afraid and insecure of what may come with the development of this night.
Chuuya did not want to wallow in pity - he did not wish to sink as Dazai did, he did not wish to hurt as Dazai allowed himself to. Yet he could not shake the nagging feeling of distrust and disappointment; and as the sun began to fall upon closed eyelids and burning eyes, Chuuya could only think of one thing: What had he done to misplace Dazai’s trust?
Like a dog, Chuuya could only wish silently to regain some semblance of control, of balance, of trust - once more. He could only hope to grasp tightly at the cusp of Dazai’s sleeve, to pull him close once more with the right to be needed. He wanted almost to vomit a word of distaste, embarrassment flooding through him at this slightest moment of weakness that began sending him reeling once more.
Leave it to Dazai to always send Chuuya into the pits of despair - to wade through the darkness of turmoil and fear of abandonment. Had it not been enough? Had it not been enough to leave him, to leave Chuuya to fend for himself, alone and tired, so very tired — had it ever crossed Dazai’s mind that Chuuya needed him?
Had it ever occurred to Dazai that Chuuya had been abandoned, one too many times, and the last thing he wanted was to be abandoned by the man who gave him a spark of hope for a life he never knew he could dream of?
Yet despite it all, there was the danger of Chuuya’s relief. The danger in how he was glad that he was the one to find Dazai. Relieved that despite his defection, Dazai was alive.
Despite Dazai’s selfishness and his lack of empathy for those around him, Chuuya was relieved. The ache of losing Dazai was satiated, selfishly filled with anything but anger, that he was once again within Chuuya’s grasp.
Ah.
Perhaps Chuuya truly was a dog.
A dog that waited with bated breath and cracked paws for an owner who long abandoned him. A dog who could bite and snarl and claw and scratch; yet always obey in the end.
He was a slave to his twisted savior; a devil with the skin of a human.
The betrayed man knew nothing of true hatred.
Chuuya finally stood, hands falling to his sides as he breathed in deeply; Chuuya could not cry. He could not give into the pressure of his thoughts, the push of his misery. He could only get up, and live the day all over again.
No matter how much he silently grieved. No matter how much his poor heart throbbed. Chuuya took a step forward, shedding the last remnants of his sorrow, leaving it to die there at the door of his room.
☆
Waking up had always been a struggle for Dazai. He hated that first breath in the morning that kickstarted the feelings he tried so hard every fucking day to swallow, to shove down. He hated the guilt that would make its way to its favorite spot, settling in the center of his gut, and the feeling of self disgust that choked him lightly through every single part of his waking moments.
He always wished he could sleep forever. Forever, so he would never have to feel this way again. Forever, so he wouldn’t ever have to try and try and try to stop waking up again.
He hated the way his mind always started to turn its gears even before he even opened his eyes, even before he could rub away the remnants of sleep. Today was no different. Arguably, it was worse because his headache was awful and he felt like every single noise was heightened and he felt like everything was screaming at him all at once and- Wait, what?
This wasn’t Dazai’s bed. Clearly. Dazai doesn’t own a bed. Clearly, it wasn’t the mat that was placed carelessly on the hard floor of his “house”, shoved in the corner where it was stuffy and gross and icky; the mat that felt like a bag of rocks whenever he slept.
He paused for a moment to open his eyes finally, taking in a sudden, sharp breath as he felt the sting of sunlight hit his pupils. It was wonderful. The bed dipped under his weight, and it gave way to a deeper understanding of comfort, the feeling of a real mattress foreign and beautiful to him.
He blinked away the sticky blur around his eyes and looked around slowly. Curiosity fought its way through the negativity, forcing him to focus on the decor of the room that caught his eyes. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to look at since the room was oddly empty (though maybe it was because the room was so large). Looking around, he noticed how damn pristine the room was from top to bottom in every corner his eyes could reach.
Oh fuck. He must be in some random person’s apartment. Some person he didn’t know. Oh God. Had he gotten too drunk and unknowingly broke into a strangers home? That wouldn’t be too out of character for himself, he knew.
His eyes widened at the thought, the panic causing him to sit up quickly. Ah— The motion was too fast, too sudden. He begrudgingly groaned out loud as he reached a hand to grasp at his head; squeezing at his delicate state of mind. He felt blood rush up towards his face, seeing stars for just a moment before exhaling a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
The loss of warmth from the thick, black comforter made him shiver, suddenly realizing he was naked from the waist up. Oh God. Perhaps he hadn’t broken in to someone’s house. A worse thought plagued him, sending him to scrunch his nose up in distaste. Had he drunkenly fucked someone for a place to stay last night?
Last night.
Just what the fuck happened last night? And truly - where the fuck was he?
Dazai swiveled his head around quickly, ignoring the thrum of pain settling deep within. He tore the rest of the blanket off of him —though hesitant to leave the warmth— and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stayed for only a moment, scared for what he would find the moment he walked away from the peace of this quiet room.
Ah, to hell with it.
Dazai stood, wobbling and ignoring the pulsing in his brain; the feeling that squeezed his head tightly, airing out each mellow thought and ruining all beautiful memories of peace. He made his way towards the heavy door, cold hands wrapping around the freezing knob as he turned it. He winced in pain as more light flooded into his face, eyes forcibly squinting as the sun draped him in comfort that was all too unfamiliar.
He took a moment to let his eyes adjust once more, silence loud and terribly gut churning. Perhaps he should stay where he was safe, where he had been alone; the idea caused him to take a step backwards, one foot backing into the line of the doorway. Yet just as he was about to retreat back into the darker room, soft clinking to the left of him drew his attention, and he — curiously — padded his way towards the noise.
As he walked, he looked with wonder at each small detail of the apartment, pausing only for a moment to inspect a glass case filled with high end wines. He paused at a kitchen, complete with the very same color scheme he’d seen all around. The same black and red style, the same calm aesthetic, and the same exact comfort that pulled and tugged him in, curling around him like a warm blanket.
He hit a wall, a small noise escaping his lips as he stopped. He peaked out from behind it, holding onto the trim as he blinked into the light of the kitchen to see who took him home—Only, it wasn’t someone unknown to him. Far from it, in fact.
No, it wasn’t a beautiful woman, nor a stranger—ah, well…Perhaps it was a stranger; one in which he shared a forgotten history with.
A stranger who knew him.
Chuuya stood with his hair tied back, a small ponytail pinning back his bangs and love lock, pressed neatly in a clip as his hands submerged in soapy water. Dazai raked his eyes over the man, drinking in the comforting sight of one of the Port Mafia’s fiercest executives doing something so docile; so human. Something like washing dishes, foot tapping lightly against the tile. It was mesmerizing.
“Are you just going to stand there?”
Dazai jumped, ripped from the strange thoughts, feeling the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He swallowed slowly before walking out from behind the wall. “Chuuya took me home.”
Chuuya took a few moments to respond, stacking the dishes and turning the water off. He stood still, wiping his hands on the towel next to him. He took a deep breath in, shoulders shuddering with the weight of it.
“Yeah. I did,” He spoke, voice flat and monotone.
“Why?”
“Because you’re a moron.”
“You could’ve left me.”
“Oh for fucks sake,” Chuuya snapped, turning around to face the taller man. He crossed his arms defiantly, hardened gray-blue eyes meeting wide brown ones. “Yeah, I could’ve. I should’ve.”
Dazai stayed quiet for a long while, blinking slowly at the small man in front of him. He studied him, picking apart every feature and every detail engraved into Chuuya’s face and body. He was looking for anything that was different. Something that changed, something that Dazai had never seen before in the year he’d been gone. “Why didn’t you?”
A long pause; one filled with a heavy weight of their shared past. One that was soaked to the bone with history and words and God knows what else, laying them bare right in front of each other. The silence went on, as if time stopped right around the two of them and the two of them only.
Dazai was startled into a moving world once more when Chuuya suddenly tossed down the towel in his hands onto the spotless counter, taking out the clip in his hair. Dazai watched as the strands fell neatly against his shoulders once more, bangs falling right back into place.
Dazai’s body relaxed, for an unknown reason; perhaps it was relief and comfort, knowing Chuuya had not changed. Perhaps his heart and his goals did, but at least the features Dazai had engraved into his mind hadn’t.
He was still Chuuya.
Dazai’s Chuuya, no matter how different his persona might be now.
He pushed past Dazai towards the cabinet where his cups were kept, pulling out a small glass similar to the one he had grabbed just last night.
He watched as Chuuya fumbled around for another bottle of Advil, slamming it down on the counter as he filled the glass with filtered water. The noise made Dazai wince in pain, head roaring to life as his nasty hangover made itself known once again.
“Take this,” Chuuya said with a noise akin to a growl, his voice coming out with a sharp twinge of irritation.
Dazai flicked his eyes towards the items set on the counter, heart still pounding with the weight of his own question. It was no secret Chuuya despised him - they’d never had any semblance of a normal friendship when they had worked together. He didn’t know if he could even call it a friendship; a partnership? An acquaintanceship? Something long abandoned? He took a few steps forward, bare feet dragging against the cold of the tile.
“You didn’t answer my question,” He mumbled, an uncharacteristic move that sounded nothing like him. His hands lingered on the bottle and the glass, trying hard to understand the motives of Chuuya’s actions.
“I don’t owe you an explanation, mackerel. Can’t you just say thanks and move on?” Chuuya glared, leaning against the opposite counter and crossing his arms once more - one of his long grown habits from since they were teenagers.
That was fair, Dazai thought. Chuuya didn’t owe him anything, really. Not after what Dazai had done. Not after what he continues to do. “…Thank you,”
The words felt foreign on his own tongue - he’d never thanked Chuuya for a damn thing before. Not when they were fifteen, not when he had left. That’s just the type of man Dazai was. He brought some of the Advil to his lips, slipping two tablets between his teeth; lifting the glass, he gulped the water gratefully.
Chuuya paused, a heavy sigh escaping his lips at Dazai’s unexpected submission. Well - fuck, this was all unexpected. Finding Dazai at that damn grave, bringing him home, seeing him alive; talking to him again for the first time in a year… None of it was expected. None of it Chuuya had prepared for.
Dazai watched as Chuuya closed his eyes, inhaling a shuddering breath. He couldn’t find himself with anything else to say, instead swallowing thickly to wash away the weight of sin - as if he could simply devour the weight of his questions and his feelings on his tongue, and shove them far within the capacity of his stomach. As if he could consume the weight of Chuuya’s gaze and push it away once more.
“Dazai,” The silence broke, the word sounding so incredibly familiar.
Dazai shivered and froze up, glass still in midair. God. When was the last time he’d heard Chuuya call his name?
“Dazai,” Chuuya called again and..Oh shit. His voice, God, Chuuya’s voice for the first time he’d heard in all of Dazai’s life, sounded unmistakably hurt.
Dazai blinked, focusing once more on Chuuya’s face and the anguish of his voice. “…Yeah?” Was that all he could say? Was that all he could manage? Was that really it?
Chuuya felt the thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears, beating so loudly he felt perhaps Dazai could hear it within the silence of his kitchen. Pounding, screaming, aching. He himself swallowed too, somehow stupidly nervous in the presence of his ex-partner. “For the last year, all I’ve been thinking about is whether your dumbass was able to actually kill yourself,”
Fuck. That wasn’t how Chuuya wanted to start this; and yet he couldn’t stop the word vomit, the sentences beginning to fall from his tongue as if he were allergic to them. “Whether or not you were alive or dead or in a ditch somewhere-”
Surprisingly, Dazai simply listened, for the first time in his damn life. Dazai willed himself to open his mouth, to argue, to make some sort of snide or silly remark but— there was nothing left in him.
“You disappeared,” Chuuya continued, gripping his own arms tightly. “You disappeared, and blew up my fucking car — I know that was you — but you didn’t- you didn’t tell me- Fuck, I hate you, I loathe you, I can’t stand seeing you-“
Where was he going with this? Was he simply here to berate him? Was that…Was that it? Another long beat of silence passed as Chuuya recollected himself, trying desperately to remove the venom from his words.
Chuuya was gripping himself so tightly he felt as if he would eventually rip his skin off through his shirt, wrinkled with the weight of his heartache. “I just- I…” His voice had cracked, terrifyingly so, leaving him vulnerable and unable to breathe.
Chuuya had to say it. He had to say it now, before Dazai had the chance to run, to leave him once more. Before he lost Dazai all over again. “Why did you leave, Dazai? Why did you leave me?”
Oh.