Chapter Text
It’s sometime after lunch when Kouyou ane-san knocks loudly on Chuuya’s door and says “the idiot’s back” while casually leaning against the threshold. The dog sleeping by his feet rises and pads out past her instantaneously as if understanding what she meant, and Chuuya finds himself pushing the safety goggles up his head, brushing back his messy orange fringes like a hairband.
“And?” He inquires, raising a brow. “How does he look like?”
Kouyou shrugs her shoulders and says “Why don’t you see for yourself?”
Chuuya regards her for a moment but nothing on her face gives away what is in her mind, and so he stands up with an exasperated sigh, stuffs his wrench in one of his pants’ many pockets, and braces himself for whatever damage Dazai has inflicted on his precious automail this time.
It has been two weeks since the idiot Dazai has left, not the longest period he has spent away from their humble, countryside home. Chuuya prayed, hoped even, that two weeks wouldn’t be enough for Dazai to destroy his hard work yet again. He would do good to live by only a few scratches and maybe a missing artificial finger, nothing major that would require Chuuya to slave over fixing his arm for sleepless nights. Dazai is a state alchemist, yes, but he isn’t exactly one joins the military to participate in suicide combat missions. His weapon is his brain and the strategies it gives birth to from the acquired discoveries of his travels.
Kyouka is already standing at the balcony when Chuuya arrives, sees their dog Ryo-chan bounding up to meet Dazai halfway with an excited bark. And Dazai, well, there is that shit eating grin that makes the corner of his eyes crinkle, voice resonating across the fields as he waves an arm at Chuuya.
A whole arm detached and dutifully being waved by Dazai’s other hand. Wires hanging from where it was previously connected to his body, springs and tiny screws flying off at Dazai’s enthusiastic flinging. Ryo-chan tackles him and Dazai swerves to the side, mechanic arm shaken violently from the impact of the dog against Dazai’s chest, and a lose finger drops down the grassy ground for Dazai to step on and crush as he tries to dodge any more of Ryo-chan’s attacks.
Chuuya fumes.
“Ah! Chibi!” Dazai exclaims and in lieu of a greeting, Chuuya takes hold of the wrench in his pocket and throws.
He throws it so hard and so precise yet Dazai still mamages to dodge by a hair. Still, he falls out of balance and on his ass, giving Ryo-chan the opportunity to coat his annoying face with saliva. Goodluck now, trying to pry away the salivating dog with only one good arm.
“Chuuyaaa!” Dazai wails. Kyouka and Kouyou excuse themselves to prepare a meal, considerate as they have always been. Approaching Dazai and seeing him up close, Chuuya sees the signs of tiresome and sleepless nights brought by his endless conquest for research material.
“Oh dear, have you not been sleeping, chibi?” Dazai props himself up. “That’s no good! I know you miss me and cannot help but think of me every night but if you want to grow tall—“
“I swear to god I’ll shove this fucking arm up your ass if you don’t shut your mouth.” Chuuya scolds, picking up said arm and assessing which parts can still be salvaged.
“Is that a promise?” Dazai wiggles his eyebrows and Chuuya swats him with the defective automail.
“You’re disgusting.”
He extends a hand and finally helps Dazai up, firmly gripping the other, gloved fingers digging into the warmth seeping through Dazai’s bandaged skin. Dazai towers over him, now that he’s on his feet. Chuuya looks up at him with a scowl and traces his finger against the dark circles under Dazai’s eyes.
“Like you’re one to talk.” He says and it earns him a laugh from Dazai before his hand is taken and clasped within the brunet’s hold.
“I’ll sleep after eating.” Dazai promises, always knowing the right words to say, what Chuuya wants to hear. “I don’t want to be a midget like you, after all!” Except that.
Chuuya pulls his hand back and hits Dazai again with the automail, the only use it has now.
“What in seven hells did you do this time to bring me home this garbage?”
There is almost nothing that Chuuya can save from Dazai’s prosthetic arm. It is shattered and broken and has been reduced to shit from inside and out.
“You’ve been gone for only two weeks! Shitty mackerel you’ve been gone longer before and managed to return with your arm still attached to you. What the fuck happened this time?”
Dazai has the audacity to laugh. He sits crosslegged on the floor, leaning back against Chuuya’s thigh as he peers up at the pissed redhead.
“A lot of things!”
“That doesn’t explain anything at all!” Chuuya runs his fingers through his hair before pulling his goggles down, letting it hang around his neck. “And when do you expect me to finish this?”
“How about tomorrow?” Dazai answers. Chuuya repeats his words with a mocking tone that’s laced with pure disbelief.
“Tomorrow my ass. It's like I'll be making you a new arm. A new arm, shitty Dazai!”
“Then, in two days!”
“Four days!”
“Two and a half?”
“No.”
“Three?” Dazai shows three fingers up at him. The bastard has turned to kneel and slump down over Chuuya’s thighs like an attention seeking dog, like Ryo-chan. Except Dazai resembles a mackerel more than their jet black canine. He pouts. “I need to get back as soon as I can.”
“Why?” Chuuya crosses his arms, looking stern, refusing to give in to that pout. He will get an answer from Dazai. It’s what he deserves, the least he could ask for is an explanation, a reason for why he is going to live and survive on energy boosters and caffeine for the next three days just to finish Dazai’s arm, an arm that would hopefully help said idiot gain less injuries and wounds to wrap with bandages, prolong his life and make him witness another sunset, give him another chance to return back home.
“The lieutenant and I were chasing after this priest in some town.” Dazai says and Chuuya sighs. Trust him to feed Chuuya an answer different from one he seeks. “Lt. Kunikida was after the arrest of the priest, guilty of crimes involving human experimentation. I am after the documents, of course. Do you want to know what they’re about?”
Chuuya shrugs, pulling off his working gloves before threading his fingers through Dazai’s hair. They’re messy and tangled. “Might as well tell me.” He mumbles, if only to ease the weight of the gruesome and inhuman discoveries from Dazai’s mind.
Dazai closes his eyes to relish on Chuuya’s touch.
He kicks the mackerel out of his work room after (but not before making sure that Dazai is okay, really okay, so that Dazai may have a proper night’s rest on a comfortable bed).
“Do not dare disturb me while I’m working or else I’ll strangle the shit out of you!”
“But what a wonderful way to go.”
“Stay away. Rest and eat, you dumb fuck!”
Chuuya slams the door close on Dazai’s face.
The idiot does leave him alone on the first day. Only Kouyou and Kyouka have dropped by to bring him food and much needed cups of coffee. Chuuya has made some significant progress in the past twenty four hours but he endeavors to improve the quality and survival rate of the automail, with how ridiculously suicidal its wearer is. Which is funny. Because Dazai, despite his seemingly tireless pursuit for death, has been traveling the world in search for life.
At least that’s what he told Chuuya during one pleasant afternoon, sharing a cup of plum juice under the shade of an aged cherry blossom tree that has just shed its flowers. He asked Dazai why he continues to hop from one train to another, if he has a destination in mind at all, if there is something he is looking for.
“Life.” Was Dazai’s simple answer, almost a whisper to the wind when he said it. Chuuya heard him, but he did not understand, doesn’t understand, still, what Dazai meant by that. He wanted to poke more on the subject, fire more questions until his curiosity is satisfied. But God knows one can wait for the crow to turn white and Dazai will still remain to be a philosophical shit head. He will never get a straight answer.
At this point he has learned to accept that perhaps he will never understand why Dazai does what he does.
“Chuuya! Rise and shine, chibi!” Chuuya startles at the loud banging of his door at Dazai’s grand entrance. A cuss ready at the tip of his tongue, fingers bawled into a fist, ready to punch and fracture Dazai’s jaw, but all violent thoughts come to a halt the moment he smells the sweet aroma of syrupy pancakes and the musk of black coffee.
He watches wordlessly as Dazai places a plate of delicious-looking breakfast on the neat corner of his desk.
“This is not yours, by the way. This is mine. If the chibi is hungry he can go grab his own food in the kitchen.” Dazai singsongs and waves a clean fork in front of Chuuya’s face.
“If the bandage freak wants to keep his balls he will shut the fuck up and let me eat in peace.”
“Aah a sleep-deprived Chuuya is truly scary!”
“You’re the reason why I’m sleep-deprived, asshole!”
Dazai laughs at that and pulls a chair beside Chuuya (did the idiot bring it with him? Chuuya didn’t notice. He is too tired to notice things like that, not that it matters much).
“I know, I know.” Dazai starts portioning the pancakes, cutting them into little triangles. “That’s why I’m here to feed you!”
“What?”
“Here, say ‘aaaah.’”
The fork lingers by Chuuya’s mouth and he glares hard at Dazai and his stupid antics before giving in and parting his lips. The food smelled too enticing and he can no longer deny his empty stomach from being fed.
And it’s not like he hated being fed by Dazai to the depths of hell, not when Chuuya gets to see a satisfied smile on his face.
“I am more than capable of feeding myself, you know.”
“But where’s the fun in that?”
Chuuya rolls his eyes but opens his mouth again when Dazai tells him to.
He wakes from a dreamless nap and startles at the sight of Dazai’s eyes up close, gleaming under the white light from his lamp.
“What the fuck?” Chuuya almost stumbles off his seat but Dazai grips his shoulders and keeps him in place. “What are you doing here?”
It’s two in the morning when Chuuya steals a glance at the wall clock.
“I was wondering if you’re done!” Dazai beams and looks at his almost finished arm on Chuuya’s table.
“I’m not.” The mechanic deadpans.
“But it looks done to me!”
“Yeah well it’s not.” Chuuya kicks Dazai’s shin when the man attempts to touch it, probably to take it and run away back to the city, nevermind some loose screws. “Also, I told you to keep out until I’m finished. Fuck off.”
“I didn’t hear any complains when I fed you this morning, though.” Dazai teases and relishes on the red that has creeped on Chuuya’s cheeks. The alchemist jumps away in time when Chuuya wields a hammer in his direction. “How violent, chibi!”
“Look, the more you annoy me the more it’s going to take me longer to finish shit.” Chuuya pulls his hair up and ties it in a messy bun, missing the way Dazai hums in satisfaction from his corner. He puts his goggles back on, pulls a mask to cover his nose and mouth. When he speaks, it’s a muffled sound but he knows Dazai can perfectly understand him. “If you’re not going to leave, at least behave yourself. Unless you are willing to wait another three days?”
Dazai shakes his head and makes a gesture of zipping his lips with his fingers. He sits down unceremoniously on the floor, back pressed against the wall. That annoyingly stupid grin plasters itself on Dazai’s equally annoying face.
“That’s what I thought.” Chuuya scoffs, gives Dazai a warning glare, then he sets off to work.
When Chuuya checks the time again, it’s already four in the morning and Dazai has fallen asleep. There is a frown on his face, the redhead observes. Is the moron dreaming of something? Or is it from the discomfort of sleeping upright on the floor with nothing but the cold wall to cushion his back?
Before he even knows it, he’s already crouched down in front of the other, and he’s tracing the creases on Dazai’s face, gently pressing circles in between Dazai’s furrowed brows until the brunet loses the tension on his shoulders.
It’s a trick Chuuya has learned in all throughout the years that they’ve been together, sharing beds and playing with shadow puppets with a meager lamp under the covers. Dazai is haunted by nightmares—memories of fire and explosions and death, of losing everything except Chuuya. In some occasions, even Chuuya. When they were kids, little Dazai would wail and stumble off his bed, would run and hold the redhead tightly in his arms, and Chuuya paid no mind to the crescents that purple his skin from Dazai’s nails, digging in him in a desperate clutch. But as years pass by and Dazai grows taller, and Chuuya’s hair grows longer, the shrill shouts have been reduced to mere whimpers, as if Dazai has mastered keeping to himself even in sleep.
But Chuuya is there, will be there always to chase the nightmares away with the pads of his fingers.
The door creaks open, letting yellow light from the outside illuminate Dazai’s sleeping face. Ryo-chan pads inside and licks Chuuya’s welcoming hand.
“Keep him warm for me, okay?” Chuuya whispers to the dog, smiling when Ryo-chan curls up beside Dazai. Fighting a yawn, he stands up and stretches, sighing appreciatively at the cracking of his bones. “Well, back to work.”
“Ah, what is that?”
“…”
“Think you can add a bubble gun feat in it?”
“…”
“Ohoh, that’s cool, Chuuya! Do it again!”
“…”
“What’s this one supposed to—“
“DON’T.” Chuuya snaps, voice sharper than any blade, and Dazai slowly backs away.
As promised, he finishes the arm in three days.
“Remove you shirt.”
“Hmm so eager, Chuu-chan.”
“Don’t fucking call me that.” Chuuya’s eye twitches at the pet name. “Just strip and let’s get this done and over with.”
“You’re so hot when you’re bossy.”
“Dazai.” Chuuya’s voice dips low: a warning. He knows that Dazai is stalling, wanting to avoid the pain that comes with attaching the automail for as long as he could. While Dazai is a constant pain in the ass, Chuuya does not find enjoyment in seeing the bastard bite his lips and endure the whole process in silence. Isn’t that surprising?
Dazai’s tolerance to pain is incredibly weak. And yet he continues to sustain wounds and injuries from throwing himself unnecessarily to the face of danger. Chuuya can only shake his head.
“Like what you see?” The brunet wiggles his eyebrows at Chuuya as he slowly unwinds the bandages wrapped around his upper body.
“Just get on with it, idiot.” Chuuya deadpans. “Or I’ll do that myself, is that what you like?”
Dazai gasps. “Chuuya’s taking initiative?”
“Yes.” He slaps Dazai’s hands away and snatches the bandages, doing quick work of removing them and letting them fall in a heap on their feet.
From the corner of his eyes, he sees Dazai swallow when he takes hold of the automail on the table. He ignores the way Dazai shifts uncomfortably on his seat as Chuuya aligns the prosthetic against Dazai’s side.
“Ready?” He asks. His blue eyes seek Dazai’s own brown pair before they could look away to stare hard at the wall.
Dazai hates pain. The nod of his head is barely noticeable.
“Deep breathes.” Chuuya advices, like always. “Three, two, o—“
“AAAAAAAAAAAH IT HURTS—!!!”
“I HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING YET! STOP SCREAMING!”
“AAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”
“DAZAI!”
Kouyou ane-san shakes her head when they enter the living room.
“I knew it was wise of me to have my house built on a neighborless land.” She says before drinking her tea. Another two cups are prepared on the table beside a ceramic tea pot, steam rising.
“Where’s Kyouka?” Chuuya asks.
“On an errand.”
“Ane-san! Look how amazing Chuuya’s work is!” Dazai cuts, skips in the middle of the room and begins swinging his mechanical arm like it’s a freakin’ bat wing. The faint scent of green tea invites Chuuya on the opposite couch to Kouyou. It’s been a tiring three days and all of his muscles feel sore. His eyelids feel like they weigh more than a ton.
One sip from the cup and his soul feels refreshed. Dazai and Kouyou’s voices slowly pipe down to a hush and their words become incomprehensible to Chuuya. Their faces seem to fade after every blink.
A cold something touches his hand and he jerks back to consciousness. When he looks up, he is met with Dazai’s smiling face, an unmistakeable fondness in his features that Chuuya misses because of his weary state.
“You should sleep, chibi, if you still want to grow.”
He also misses the playful jab and asks, instead, “when are you leaving?”
Dazai chuckles like there’s something funny. What’s so funny about asking about his departure? If he’s leaving soon then he should just say so because Chuuya may be tired like hell but he won’t let Dazai leave without—
“I’m not leaving until you can properly see me off with a kiss, Chuuya.”
What? Did he hear him right? Dazai looks mirthful again, lips curved up like something is funny? What’s so funny about—
“Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” A finger pokes in between his eyebrows, massaging circles that is doing wonders to Chuuya, making his eyelids flutter close, making him fall lax.
“Is that a promise?” Chuuya murmurs , words garbled but Dazai catches them crystal clear in his ears. He feels arms wrap around his body and legs, feels being lifted and moved, feels like he is floating.
“I promise.” Dazai answers and that’s all he needs to hear before he is dead to the world. Because Dazai keeps secrets but he never tells lies. Not to Chuuya.
They say the use of automail affects the growth of the user, slows down physical growth. Apparently, it also impedes on the user’s mental development because Dazai is acting like a fucking five-year-old child.
“Give it back, you shitty waste of space!” Chuuya stands on the tip of his toes, attempting to get his hat back from Dazai who has it in his hand, arm stretched up in the air and away from Chuuya’s reach.
“Not unless you give me a goodbye kiss first!”
“Why the hell are you demanding for one?!” Chuuya’s face has gone red, both from being pissed and embarrassed. Mostly from being embarrassed.
“For good luck!”
“And since when did you need luck?”
For some reason, Dazai’s smile is secretive and it infuriates Chuuya all the more. He stops jumping up and reaching, opting to use his leg to kick Dazai’s knees instead and make him lose his balance.
The lanky noodle, poor excuse of a human doesn’t fall but the pain from the kick makes him drop Chuuya’s hat.
“Always so violent.” Dazai sighs as if he has the right to look so done with Chuuya’s antics, as if he has had enough of dealing with the redhead’s shit when arguably it should be the other way around.
“You asked for it. If you gave it back the first time I asked—“
“Yes well I really wanted the kiss, chibi.”
Chuuya pauses, freezes more like. Because for some reason Dazai’s smile is wistful; it possesses a rare softness as he meets Chuuya’s gaze.
They both do not speak for a while, with only the rustling of trees and whistling of the wind severing the silence that would’ve engulfed them. There is also the loud beating of Chuuya’s heart and he is almost afraid that Dazai might be hearing it, standing at merely an arm’s length away.
“What do you need luck for?” Chuuya asks, attention drawing towards the hat on his hands as he pats away inexistent dust.
“I finally found what I was looking for all this time.” Dazai shrugs like it is nothing. It is everything. “I have my answers now, Chuuya.”
And? What is it? Chuuya tries to search the answers to his own questions on Dazai’s face but he arrives at nothing, just as always. He could ask, but feels like Dazai would give the answers to everything except for the one he wants. Besides, there is a shine in those eyes that had Chuuya deciding to keep his mouth closed. It is that kind of moment where people find comfort in silence, where silence makes the moment beautiful and important, meaningful and precious, despite the millions of questions burning beneath the surface.
Dazai would’ve told him if he wanted to, but he does not elaborate further and Chuuya gets the message. Oddly enough, he feels content even without knowing. Surprisingly enough, he takes a step forward and closes the gap between them.
Chuuya pulls on Dazai’s shirt until the noodle is bending over, face leveled with his, and he plants a feather-light kiss on Dazai’s forehead before shoving the idiot back.
“Shitty, demanding mackerel.” He mutters under his breath, wears his hat in an attempt to hide the blush that has creeped up from his neck to his ears.
“I’ll be back soon!”
“If by that you mean you’ll be destroying your arm soon, again, then don’t bother.”
“Aww, the hat rack misses me already? I haven’t even made it past the porch yet!”
“You wish!”
Dazai’s laughter livens the grassy field as he skips away.
“I do.”
It’s been a year now, since Dazai left. By far the longest period he has spent away from Chuuya without showing up once.
The bastard sends letters though, with pictures of his stupid face, and that’s how Chuuya knows that Dazai is still pestering the world with his flaky presence.
“Another one?” Kyouka asks and sits beside Chuuya on the balcony. He nods his head and gives the attached photo of Dazai to her. She never really cared about the letter anyway. Kouyou shares her the sentiment, only interested in the photos Dazai sends. The letters remain read by Chuuya.
“He addresses only you, in his letters. Chuuya this chibi that.” Kouyou said, once, and Chuuya wanted to argue otherwise but after it was mentioned, he checked and it was true for all of Dazai’s letters. That ingrate.
“Do you want to come with me?” Chuuya asks her. “I’ll be checking up on Hirotsu-san since he can’t come here.”
“Why?”
“His leg is acting up.” He sighs, folding Dazai’s letter neatly as he stands up. “We can get apple strudels when we come back?”
Kyouka lights up at that. She rushes back in to get ready.
“Princess Chibi,
I found your missing twin!”
Reads Dazai’s atrocious handwriting behind a photo of him posing proudly beside an actual hat rack.
Chuuya ought to burn it.
He doesn’t.