Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1.

Chuuya receives an odd text message just as he’s finishing up the clean-up of the uprising he’s helping suppress as part of Port Mafia’s deal with some international Ability-user organizations. To be quite honest, his international missions have been pretty boring. They go well enough that he doesn’t even need to have back-up. Part of it, he thinks, is because none of the other organizations have something remotely passable when it comes to strategies.

It’s an odd feeling, to deal with something without the haze of Dazai’s plans shadowing his actions.

Chuuya shakes his head as he shoots the last guy in the head. That’s the only time he actually looks at his phone, because he’s a professional, damn it.

> MACKEREL :: Chuuya, do you trust me?
> MACKEREL :: You should be finishing up your mission in Russia. Take the next flight back to Narita and I’ll meet you at Warehouse 404, 72 hours after this message.
> MACKEREL :: See you.

…Well.

That is odd.

Dazai’s never sent him a message that’s (a) not littered with annoying typos that make his eyes bleed, (b) disgusting kaomojis and (c) that pleasant and straightforward. Dazai’s never been that civil!

It’s mind-boggling.

It’s surprising enough that Chuuya attempts to call the number back immediately, only to get the standard message about not being able to reach the intended party. So it means that Dazai has disconnected his number as soon as he sent the message.

Chuuya frowns as he weighs his options. He’s a professional, especially when it comes to dealing with his assignments. He’s an Executive, for fuck’s sake! He’s supposed to be a good role model for his subordinates! He can’t just… abandon a mission because Dazai sends him a civilly-worded instruction.

So Chuuya texts Kouyou-anesan, because she’ll definitely let him know if there’s something important—and Chuuya has this feeling that some shit’s going down.

> ANE-SAN :: As of three days ago, Dazai-kun had betrayed the Port Mafia.

…Oh.

Chuuya drops his phone into the Russian snow.

It’s… not that surprising, if he thinks about it. Dazai’s always been a rather finicky person, easily folding into the path of least resistance if it means getting his way in the end, because he’s an actual child. Dazai’s been rather distant lately too, not just because of the geographical divide between them.

But Chuuya’s not thinking straight. He’s staring at his dropped—and now, cracked—phone, the snow barely able to cushion the fall.

Dazai had betrayed the mafia and had asked Chuuya to show up at one of Dazai’s safehouses, one that he’s established away from Port Mafia protocols.

There’s a huge possibility that it’s a trap, because there’s only two options for Chuuya now.

He could be asked to stay in the Continent until he’s cleared of suspicions of betrayal as well, until he’s cleared of allegations of being an accomplice. Everyone knows that he doesn’t get along with Dazai, but everyone also knows that they’re soukoku, a legendary duo whose synchronization and power have made them the pair that everyone aspires to be.

Alternately, he could be asked to return to Yokohama immediately to lead the hunt for the escaped snake. Dazai would make for a perfect, irritating Hydra, and Chuuya’s the best candidate in cutting off all of his heads at once.

Chuuya falling into Dazai’s hands before any of those two things happen would be the best-case scenario for Dazai.

Thing is—

Chuuya trusts Dazai.

Actually trusts him.

Chuuya bites his lip—and makes the decision.

2.

Chuuya hurries back to Japan despite protests from the group that he’s been lent to as part of Port Mafia’s show of power disguised as goodwill. He leaves behind several attack suggestions and formations, because he’s pretty sure that even a group of middle-schoolers who’ve never touched a gun in their lives could subdue the remaining forces anyway. Only perfunctory clean-up is left to do and it’s not like they’d need an Executive of his caliber for that.

Chuuya submits the request for a private jet to the Boss, but doesn’t even get a read receipt. It forces him to book a ticket on a commercial flight and it’s a couple more hours of him thinking through his life, his life options.

It’s late evening when he finally arrives at Yokohama, parking his motorcycle a couple of meters away from the so-called Warehouse 404. Kodomonokuni Park is closed hours ago, which makes it easy for him to sneak into one of the barn-like warehouse at the northern edge of the park.

Chuuya finds the door unlocked.

Finds something unexpected.

Dazai is in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a bed of purple and gold flowers. There’s a knife sticking out of Dazai’s chest, but Chuuya can’t see any blood, certainly not from his distance. Instead of moving to get a closer look, Chuuya finds his feet rooted near the doorway, unable to approach his—partner, ex-partner?

Chuuya can only watch, in muted horror, Dazai cough and cough and cough, purple primroses and yellow tulips bursting from his lips like starbursts, drowning Dazai in vibrant colors that clash against his mafia black. Dazai doesn’t seem to have noticed his arrival, opting to take the knife out from his ribs and stabbing at his skin again.

That’s what drives Chuuya to motion, because he’s always rolled his eyes at Dazai’s sonnets about beautiful suicides, but it’s another thing entirely to watch him harm himself. Chuuya practically flies towards Dazai, his hands gripping Dazai’s wrists so he doesn’t harm himself. Dazai’s eyes are glassy, like he’s drugged beyond recognition, but that’s not what catches Chuuya’s attention. It’s the fact that the space where the knife was lodged into a few seconds ago—the skin is torn, but instead of blood spilling out from the wound, there are even more of the primroses and tulips cascading out from Dazai’s insides.

“It’s a rare condition,” Boss Mori’s voice suddenly booms into the barnhouse that only has Dazai’s coughs and gasps as background music.

Chuuya’s kneeling on the carpet of flowers, cradling Dazai’s wrists as Dazai continues coughing up flowers. It reminds Chuuya of Akutagawa, only worse, because it does sound like Dazai is trying to hack up his entire lungs.

“…Boss,” Chuuya eventually acknowledges, his attention torn between watching flowers bloom out of Dazai’s mouth and paying proper respect to the boss. There’s also a twinge of unease, because this warehouse is supposed to be only known to soukoku, and yet, Boss is here, walking towards them with hands clasped behind his back.

“We still don’t have enough information, but we know it’s called the Hanahaki Disease.” Boss continues like he’s holding a lecture. Chuuya’s hands adjust Dazai so that he’s seating more-or-less upright and so Chuuya can rub gloved hands over his back, feel his skin shake with the force of a flower whirlwind inside. “A person involved in such strong, tragic unrequited love will cough up flowers until he overcomes his feelings, until his feelings are reciprocated or until he dies.”

…Oh.

Chuuya worries his bottom lip as he thinks about the timeline.

“…What happened to his last mission?” Chuuya doesn’t have time tracking down Dazai’s whereabouts, given that he’s busy with his own life, but he does know that Dazai’s involved in Mimic dealings recently, mostly because his friend is involved. “Did… something happen to his drinking buddies?”

“You really are quite smart, Chuuya-kun.” Boss smiles and looks at Chuuya like he’s proud of him. “Oda Sakunosuke died in Dazai-kun’s arms. I reckon he encouraged Dazai-kun to quit the Port Mafia as part of his last words.”

As of three days ago, Dazai-kun had betrayed the Port Mafia.

“…I see.” Chuuya looks down at Dazai’s still-coughing form. “So I’m here to execute him for his betrayal?”

“On the contrary,” Boss says with the same smile, “I would be more than happy to overlook this indiscretion. Dazai-kun did contact you, after all. So he must still possess some sort of loyalty towards the Port Mafia.”

Chuuya feels the sting of accusation there. He’s kind of worried about Dazai, because for Dazai to have been tailed like this…

“Boss, I think it’s more likely that he just wanted to mess with me.”

Boss waves that concern away. “Dazai-kun could be rather childish, that’s true. But he’s still a valuable member of the Port Mafia.”

Chuuya doesn’t reply, because he’s not sure what he could say, at this point. He’s still reeling from the fact that Dazai’s apparently afflicted with this debilitating disease that would most certainly lead to a slow and painful death, given that Boss had implied that Dazai’s unrequited love would remain unrequited because Oda is dead.

“It’s your mission starting today, Chuuya-kun.” Boss continues smiling, peering down at them like they’re new toys that he can’t wait to play with. “Your duty is to help Dazai-kun recover from this illness.”

Chuuya bites his lip.

If it’s an order, then it’s a job. If it’s a job, then it’s something he must do.

“…Got it, Boss.”

3.

The haze on Dazai’s eyes don’t clear, even by the time Chuuya dumps him on his bed. Though really, to call that a bed is an insult to beds everywhere. It’s a single and it isn’t even made, its bedsheet crumpled and smelly like it hasn’t been washed in months. Chuuya shudders to think about laying on top of it, but he’s not about to bring Dazai to his apartment and have it be overrun by the garden of flowers. At this rate, Dazai can easily cover Yamashita Park with a carpet of primroses and tulips.

Dazai continues to cough, hacking sounds that Chuuya feels even as an outsider looking in. Chuuya supposes that the only upside to this is that Dazai’s insides seem to have been transformed to flowerville as well, so there’s no cause for worry about Dazai’s throat being permanently damaged from all this coughing.

…Well, at least not in the normal way.

Boss had said that they’re still studying the flowers that have left Dazai’s lips, but there’s a strong possibility that Dazai’s entire internal body has been transformed to flowers that are generated by the strength of his unrequited feelings. Boss had hinted that Dazai’s unable to be wounded – at least until he’s still able to cling on to his feelings so that he’s able to keep on replenishing the flowers that he’s coughing up.

Chuuya remembers the knife sticking out of Dazai’s ribs, mentally counts the amount of flowers that have left Dazai’s body.

In a way, Chuuya is impressed.

Dazai’s been coughing up flowers like a storm—he must have incredibly strong feelings hidden deep inside him.

Chuuya wonders how it would feel, to be at the receiving end of such relentless passion. Chuuya wonders—and stops himself, because this is Dazai. This is Dazai and Dazai is experiencing this because he’s so in love with someone else.

There’s no room for daydreaming.

Chuuya sits beside Dazai and helps him to a reclining position in hopes of easing the escape of the flowers from his mouth. Dazai only has one pillow and it’s very lumpy. Chuuya sighs and climbs on the bed, his back against the flimsy headboard, settles Dazai between his legs, his chest against Dazai’s back. Chuuya lets Dazai’s head rest against his collarbone—and he hums a wordless song that can pass as a lullaby.

Chuuya ends up lulling himself to sleep as well, but when morning comes, Chuuya’s surprised and gratified to discover that Dazai’s coughing has slowed down considerably over the night.

Chapter Text

4.

Dazai hates love. It’s such a sickening emotion that chokes his lungs and corrupts his brain. It blunts his senses and drugs his thoughts. It even makes him weaker, as though he isn’t physically weak enough compared to Chuuya.

…Ah.

Dazai takes a moment to cough again. Unlike the vibrant purples and golds of the past few days, the flowers that he’s coughing up are on the more monochromatic variety recently. White gardenias, white camellias, yellow camellias. Such light-colored flowers in full-bloom – they don’t even look like something that has been inside someone’s body. Dazai shifts a bit, leans sideways on the ridiculously soft king-sized bed that’s the focal point of Chuuya’s bedroom. The carpet beside the bed is covered by the flower petals, turning brown at the edges from decay.

It’s just like love itself.

Vibrant at first, but deteriorates as time goes by. They can’t be saved – even if Dazai takes them and waters them every day, even if he composes odes and sonnets dedicated to their beauty – they’ll fall into nothingness eventually, leaving only the sickly-sweet smell of rot.

Dazai hates love.

Dazai hates that he hates love, because if he’s had the slightest curiosity about it, he would have researched more on the Hanahaki Disease before he became indisposed because of it. Instead, he’s stuck in bed waiting for Chuuya to come back from his grocery run, because his entire body is practically jelly-soft from flowers taking over his blood and bone. More horrifyingly – his thoughts go nowhere, unable to form strategies as his usual, flower petals clotting his neurons. Dazai’s always joked about Chuuya’s hat’s permanence on top of his head eating at his brain, but right now, it’s Dazai who’s suffering from that kind of fate.

Cough.

More white and yellow flowers escape his lips. There’s a lot of white camellias for the past hour and Dazai wonders if he’ll have a beautiful death this way, if he refuses to cough and he blocks his mouth and nose until he suffocates from the flowers.

Dazai hates love.

Dazai hates this stupid Hanahaki Disease, because he can’t even die, as long as he has this disease. He’s tried stabbing himself, has tried shooting himself, but given that his insides have been turned to flowers, he just ends up bleeding out his love all over the place. Dazai hates love—because aside from turning him to an invalid surrounded by a bed of flowers, who can’t even attempt to follow OdaSaku’s words, he can’t even die.

Love keeps on taking away those that he wants.

Dazai supposes that if he ends up falling out of love then he’ll be back to normal. Him, being a normal person, is such a laughable concept he might just cry. He’s far from normal, with a gaping void inside him that can’t ever be filled. He supposes that having an endless flower bouquet inside of him is one way to fill the void.

Dazai hates love.

Because of it, he’s stuck in Chuuya’s apartment, bedridden and weakened, remodeling it to have a flower-themed aesthetic with how much he’s coughing up flowers all over Chuuya’s bed and carpet. He’s stuck in Chuuya’s apartment because Chuuya’s a dog-brained idiot who thinks that he has to follow each one of Mori’s orders, no matter how insane they are. He’s stuck in Chuuya’s apartment enduring Chuuya’s concerned looks and tentative touches that are supposed to give him comfort but instead just—

…well, okay, they work most nights, when Chuuya comes back from the Port Mafia Headquarters and feeds him, when Chuuya sits behind Dazai so that he cradles Dazai as they watch something from Chuuya’s laptop.

Dazai tries choking on the flowers that spill out of his mouth, but it’s an effort that only last two minutes, the flowers building up in his throat and mouth until reflex overrides his resistance.

There’s a click from Chuuya’s front door, followed by Chuuya’s I’m home, vagabond!, and Dazai watches Chuuya kick open his bedroom door so he can check in on Dazai first thing upon returning home.

Dazai tries to wave his hands along with giving out a smug grin – something that he knows Chuuya loathes – but he coughs again.

This time, the flowers that comes out of his mouth are just white gardenias.

Chapter Text

5.

Chuuya applies for time-off from the Port Mafia. He submits it using the proper channels, because he doesn’t want anything biting him back in the ass. He’s not about to be chased down for suspicions of treason, especially that there’s a dark cloud hanging over the Port Mafia, talks and rumors about Dazai filling nearly every second of Chuuya’s time.

Boss doesn’t inform anyone of Dazai’s condition, but he doesn’t make a formal announcement either.

It means that Chuuya’s the one accepting the brunt of the suspicious looks (if the person believed that Dazai ran away from the mafia and is currently a mole for the government) or openly hostile looks (if the person believed that Dazai passed away and therefore has two Executive positions open for the taking, because Dazai’s enjoyed letting people think that the only reason Chuuya managed to become an Executive is because he’s the other half of soukoku. Chuuya used to not mind that kind of thinking, because it makes people underestimate Chuuya and Chuuya takes a lot of pleasure proving people wrong and catching them off-guard at the same time.

Hirotsu-san makes a perfunctory inquiry about his reason for taking a leave. Kouyou-anesan doesn’t outright ask him about Dazai’s status, so Chuuya doesn’t outright tell her that Dazai didn’t manage to successfully betray the Port Mafia.

The day his time-off request gets approved is a Friday.

Chuuya bows down in thanks as he’s informed that Kouyou-anesan will look after his squad in his absence. Chuuya makes sure that he lets the important people know about his vacation plans – but not overdo it too much that people would think that he’s stealthily giving out a permanent goodbye. Chuuya leaves Akutagawa for last, but the young teen doesn’t seem to have heard of the Dazai Situation, because he doesn’t shake Chuuya by the shoulders and beg for a chance to get a shot at fighting Dazai before he ends up being too useless.

Kouyou-anesan catches him once he’s on his way to the garage located underground of the Mori Corporation building.

“Lad. You’re going to take good care of yourself, you hear me?” She passes him a wrapped gift—judging from the weight and size, it’s a sheathed dagger. Probably one of her prized pieces. “I know you get impulsive when you’re around him—”

“—Kouyou-anesan,” Chuuya cuts her off, smiling up at her to show that he’s okay. He pushes the gift back to her hands. He has his own set of daggers and the plan is not use any of them. “Please don’t call me a lad anymore.”

Kouyou-anesan’s smile isn’t as sharp as her usual. “Don’t do things that will make me call you that then.”

Chuuya shakes his head, the smile still on his face.

He won’t do her the injustice of lying to her face.

-

Chuuya swings by on a seafood restaurant on his way back home. He’s not wearing his Port Mafia Executive outfit and has changed to his biker outfit, parking his bright pink motorcycle right in front of the restaurant. He’s become pretty well-known in this area recently, not because of his mafia work, but because he’s been a rather loyal customer who buys up most of the stocks of seafood around dinnertime, especially anything related to crabs.

“Your wife must really like crabs, young man.” The shopkeeper, Inko-san, tells him with a pat on a gloved hand. “And you’re such a doting husband. You must be very happy together.”

Chuuya only smiles tightly in response.

If only that idiot Dazai knows what happiness means, he won’t even be in this situation, buying thousands of yens’ worth of crabs on a daily basis.

-

Chuuya arrives home and checks for Dazai’s status first. Well, he does change to house slippers because he’s not about to walk around his own house in leather shoes, but it’s a close-first.

Chuuya feels relief each time he kicks open his bedroom door and discovers that he’s still able to have it swing all the way through without sweeping some flowers away in the process. The first week that Dazai’s been here, Chuuya’s found his bedroom door a bit stuck from all the flowers. Chuuya floats the flowers up using his gravity and sends most of them in a flurry over the nearby Yamashita Park on a daily basis, but he’s always relieved to discover if he has to float less flowers.

It’s almost enough to make Chuuya feel like Dazai’s body is starting to cope with the onslaught of the flower infection.

“I’m home, vagabond!” Chuuya calls out each time, because saying anything harsher to Dazai at this point feels wrong, but being too sweet on him also feels like a betrayal.

Coughing greets him back each time, but there’s always a short pause beforehand, like Dazai tries to actually swallow back the flowers before they inevitably flow out of his mouth like white starbursts.

“I brought back crab,” Chuuya says on his second trip to the bedroom, after he’s able to put down the food on the countertops. Chuuya feels the soft petals being crushed underfoot as he approaches the bedridden Dazai to help him out of bed.

Dazai’s voice is hoarse as he comments, “Chuuya really likes expensive seafood, huh.”

Chuuya makes a noncommittal shrug, before he bends down so he can carry Dazai in his arms. Dazai’s legs have been very unstable the past couple of weeks and the two of them have learned how to just roll with this without placing too much attention to what they’re doing.

“They taste okay,” Chuuya eventually says, feeling Dazai’s arms wrap around his neck as he’s carried off like a princess.

Chuuya’s favorite food… He’s not quite sure if he actually has one, unless one counts wine. He doesn’t think crab is necessarily amongst his favorites, but he also knows that Dazai likes it.

Also, recently, if the two of them eat crab together, under the golden glow of the light bulb over Chuuya’s wobbly dining table (courtesy to one too many times of Chuuya bumping into it immediately after waking up), Dazai’s been able to eat his dinner without coughing up flowers or his food.

Dazai always asks, in the middle of their meal: “Chuuya, do you keep on buying crab because they’re my favorites?”

Chuuya always responds, with a roll of his eyes: “Just keep on eating.”

But tonight, Chuuya shrugs instead and transfers crab meat from his plate to Dazai’s. He flushes a bit when he remembers Inko-san’s words about bringing the expensive food back to his ‘wife’. “They’re not too bad. Do you want to get crab tomorrow as well?”

Dazai doesn’t cough up flowers for two full hours after that.

-

“Oh yeah, I’m taking two months off work.” Chuuya says as he combs Dazai’s hair for him. Dazai’s arms are always shaky with strain after he exerts effort—like having dinner or taking a nighttime bath—so Chuuya takes over the drying and combing part of Dazai’s nighttime routine. He’s not about to have someone with wet and stinky hair stay in his bed, after all.

Dazai coughs for three solid minutes—the purple primroses and yellow tulips making a reappearance.

“Oi, Dazai—!!!”

Chuuya drops the comb and panics, because he’s always thought that the vibrant purples and golds marked the worst part of Dazai’s disease. Dazai’s half-bent forward in Chuuya’s bed, holding onto his throat like flowers will burst out of his carotid like someone’s slashing off it. Chuuya immediately kneels on his bed and puts a hand around Dazai’s back, rubbing circles that he hopes help comfort the other man.

Chuuya’s loathed the way Dazai acts really condescending when his plans and strategies work without a hitch, when he really is just a genius-minded childish brat not-so-deep inside. Chuuya’s called him a ‘devil’ before, because of the way he operates.

But Chuuya doesn’t feel any happiness or any positive emotion whatsoever when he sees Dazai suffering like this.

Chuuya’s starting to think that even though Dazai’s helpless like this, even if Dazai doesn’t have the strange, cruel temporary immortality provided to him by the flowers, that even though he’s been saying that he’d like to kill Dazai… Chuuya’s starting to think that he really doesn’t want Dazai to die. At all.

Chuuya starts to hate Oda Sakunosuke, because his ghost haunts Dazai in the form of beautiful flowers taking over an entire body. If only Dazai’s not in love with a dead man, if only Dazai loved someone else, someone who’s not part of the mafia despite contradicting philosophies, if only—

Dazai’s still coughing up flowers.

“I’ll help you,” Chuuya promises, murmuring to Dazai throughout all the flurry of purples and golds. “We’re partners, right? I’ll help you find a cure for this.”

Dazai’s next cough doesn’t have the primrose anymore, but it’s the yellow tulips joined by the white gardenias. Chuuya hopes that means that the coughs are going to ease back, because Dazai’s been coughing up white gardenias when he’s at a phase where he doesn’t cough so much.

“Chuuya,” Dazai rasps out and Chuuya has to bend down lower so he can hear Dazai properly. Dazai’s hands are shaking around his own throat. “Promise me, promise me one thing.”

Chuuya places his hands over Dazai’s, slowly unravels it away from his neck.

“What is it?”

“If I—if we can’t find a cure,” Dazai’s eyes are glassy with pained tears, with the flowers clouding his senses, Chuuya’s not sure. Chuuya feels his eyes burn in response, because it’s not fair to see someone like Dazai be reduced to something like this. “Promise me, you’ll kill me.”

Chuuya’s heart leaps to his throat.

“I—you—y-you can’t be killed, right?” Chuuya hears himself stammering. “B-Because you’ll just b-bleed flowers.”

“Crush me,” Dazai coughs up the yellow and white flowers again. “Until there’s nothing left of me.”

Dazai asking for his help in an assisted suicide can only mean one thing.

“A person involved in such strong, tragic unrequited love will cough up flowers until he overcomes his feelings, until his feelings are reciprocated or until he dies.”

It’s Dazai’s way of saying that he doesn’t think he’ll ever be over his feelings for Oda Sakunosuke.

Chuuya bites his lip, until he tastes his own blood.

“…Promise me, Chuuya.”

Chuuya exhales and wipes a droplet of tear that escapes Dazai’s eyes. Dazai doesn’t seem to notice it, too busy shaking in pain. Dazai doesn’t cry, Dazai doesn’t have a reason to cry, Dazai doesn’t let himself be in a situation where he’ll cry, especially if it’s in front of someone he’s always teased to be nothing but a sheepdog. This person suffering in front of him isn’t Dazai, can’t be Dazai, should never be Dazai.

“…I promise,” Chuuya eventually says, blood upon his tongue. “If there’s really no other solution, I will crush you to dust that the flowers won’t even matter.”

Dazai sighs in relief, slumps forward like a puppet with its strings cut. Chuuya catches him, reflexes kicking in automatically. There’s a flower stuck on Dazai’s lips, the last of his coughs for the moment. It’s a lone white gardenia.

Chuuya sighs as he realizes that he didn’t quite make it to asking Dazai where he wants to go during their vacation. Chuuya arranges Dazai on the bed, fluffing up the pillows and arranging his limbs like he’s some fairytale princess waiting for a prince to come and wake him up.

Chuuya picks up the flower from Dazai’s mouth, stares at its glaring white purity.

Love.

Dazai’s suffering like this because of love.

Chuuya can’t help but think that Oda Sakunosuke is lucky that he’s already dead, because Chuuya would rather like to kill him for causing this.

Chapter Text

6.

“Good morning,” Chuuya greets Dazai the moment he opens his eyes and meets Dazai’s solemn gaze. Chuuya’s back and neck protest from hours of being bent over at an awkward position. “Ah, I fell asleep like this…”

Chuuya’s surprised that the bed isn’t overrun by petals, but it’s a small saving grace. Chuuya’s knees also hurt and his thighs are almost numb, having fallen asleep kneeling by Dazai’s bedside as though from an overnight vigil. Chuuya attempts a smile as he feels Dazai release his hand. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Dazai shakes his head and coughs, the first flower for today. “Aren’t you going on some vacation?”

“We’re going on a vacation,” Chuuya corrects Dazai as he stands up and stretches the kinks out of his muscles. “After we eat, you can pick where we’ll go.”

Chuuya continues stretching, some of his bones popping. He manages to complete a full five minutes of stretching and Dazai still hasn’t replied.

Dazai doesn’t look like he’s overcome with coughing, but he does look bewildered. It really is a strange look on him. There’s pink on his cheeks, similar to that one time he went to have an endurance contest with Chuuya on a sauna.

“…Oi, Dazai. You okay?”

Dazai shakes his head again, but there’s a small, rueful smile on his face. “I want pancakes and bacon.”

Chuuya sighs, because he doesn’t have any instant pancake mixes so he’ll have to make one from scratch. But it’s the first time that Dazai actually sounded interested in eating aside from their crab dinners, so Chuuya figures that he’d like to keep this momentum going.

“Gotcha. Do you want to go to the living room or stay here until I finish cooking?”

“…I’d like to watch Chuuya,” Dazai’s voice is strangely small, like he’d rather not say it. “Just to make sure that Chuuya actually knows how to make pancakes.”

“I do know how, you ass,” Chuuya says with a roll of his eyes, but he does dutifully bend down so he can carry Dazai to the dining table that has a view to the kitchen. Chuuya feels Dazai wrap his arms around his neck and Chuuya’s gratified to see that there’s only that one flower left on the bed.

-

“So? Where do you want to go?”

“…you’re going to spend your two months of precious vacation time with me?”

Chuuya shrugs, his shirt sleeves folded up to his elbows so that he can wash their dishes. It’s not that different from his everyday life for the past few weeks anyway. The only difference is that he’ll have the freedom to go out of Yokohama, possibly, depending on what Dazai wants.

“I see.” Dazai sounds contemplative. Chuuya’s just grateful and hopeful that his improved condition will continue. He only coughed once during their breakfast, which interrupted Chuuya from replying to texts from Tachihara and Kajii asking whether he’ll be available to drink with them soon.

“If you want to just laze around here…” Chuuya doesn’t really want to stay holed up in his apartment for two months, but given that Dazai’s body is unstable, it’s something that he’s mentally prepared himself for already. “It’s up to you, really.”

Chuuya’s wiping the dishes dry when Dazai speaks up. “Chuuya likes driving to beaches, right.”

“Like a roadtrip until we find a beach?” That sounds more like Chuuya’s idea of relaxation, but he’s not so sure it would be good for Dazai’s health. At least not the aimless roadtrip part. “Or we can go drive up to a more secluded beach? Outside air is good, but you might get too tired if…”

Dazai coughs up two yellow flowers, the tulips and camellias. “Heh… Chuuya’s taking my weakness into consideration, huh.”

Chuuya doesn’t like the expression on Dazai’s face, so he marches from in front of the kitchen sink and makes his way to the dining table, so he can flick Dazai’s forehead. “You’re sick, so I don’t want to make your situation even worse, damn it.”

Dazai’s pouting, even if he won’t admit it, so Chuuya flicks his forehead again.

“We can leave today – I’ll check my contacts if they can get us a beach-side cottage or something.” Chuuya picks up his phone and finishes his message to Kajii and Tachihara – he’s not able to go drinking with them anytime soon. How can he enjoy wine when there’s Dazai spilling his love all over the place and suffering because of it? It’ll just make the wine taste bad. “I’ll take a bath first – do you want to watch TV in the meantime?”

-

One carry-on suitcase and a briefcase in hand, Chuuya’s all packed for their vacation. He’s already ordered clothes for Dazai that would be delivered directly to the cottage, so there should be no other problems. Dazai’s all buttoned up too, his cheeks looking healthier than the past few weeks.

“We can take my car to drive up there,” Chuuya says as he shows pictures of the place he’s booked for Dazai’s perusal. He knows that Dazai tends to get paranoid when going to unfamiliar places, that mind always going on different trains of thought and eager to devise escape routes even before he sets foot anyplace.

“…Ah. Your car… you need to check it first.” Dazai coughs white gardenias, but it’s at a rate that’s thankfully more subdued. Chuuya truly hopes that this vacation will help boost Dazai’s health, even as his insides are thoroughly invaded by the disease.

“Huh? Why?”

Chuuya’s never used his car ever since he found Dazai in that warehouse, because he’s been using his motorcycle a lot. Riding it helps him relax and the past few weeks have been hell on his stress levels.

“I may have… planted a bomb there…”

Chuuya rolls his eyes and flicks Dazai’s forehead again. “For fuck’s sake. Okay, wait here, I’ll disable the bomb.”

-

(Chuuya hurries in disabling the bomb, not because they’re expected at a certain time at the cottage, but because he doesn’t like the thought of leaving Dazai for long. His disease seems to be improving a bit, but he still just had that worsened condition last night…

In his hurry, Chuuya doesn’t get to pay too much attention to the fact that there are two dummies in the car, dummies that are surprisingly similarly-sized to both him and Dazai.)

-

Their drive to the beach takes five hours, because Chuuya’s not interested in courting death with insane speeding and stunts. They squabble over the radio, Dazai changing it every-so-often to stations that play enka and Dazai loudly singing along while being horribly off-key. They buy practically every item in the convenience store they pass by as Chuuya reloads his gasoline tank, Chuuya’s backseat harboring a box filled with MSG-filled snacks and another box filled with way too much anpan two people can reasonably eat.

Chuuya’s always preferred driving alone, but the feeling of the wind whipping by as both of their windows are rolled down, Dazai’s cough-hoarse voice grating like nails on a blackboard, Chuuya’s cheeks dirtied with crumbs…

It’s a surprisingly enjoyable time.

-

It’s nearly sunset by the time they reach the cottage.

Chuuya makes two trips from the car to their house for the next two months. The first trip has him and the floating contents of the car, while the second trip has him carrying Dazai. The cottage is tucked away in a secluded beach cove, a relatively unknown private beach surrounding it. The sand isn’t the pure white of popular resorts, but it isn’t dirty. It’s quiet enough that the sounds of the waves hitting the shores is a loud, rhythmic music.

“What would you like for dinner?” Chuuya inspects the fridge and finds it empty. At least it’s already plugged in, so Chuuya stuffs it with the perishables from their convenience store haul. There’s a wet market a half-hour’s drive away, if Dazai’s condition remains well tomorrow, maybe they can shop together? There’s bound to be a lot of seafood here too…

“I want crab.”

Chuuya chuckles a bit. “Crab-flavored instant ramen, coming up…”

Chuuya tests the tap and finds it clear. He makes a mental note to send an extra tip to his contact that prepared the cottage. He fills an airpot with the water and sets it up to boil. While waiting for it to be ready, Chuuya goes back to the living room where Dazai’s seated on a couch.

“Do you want to watch the sunset for a while?”

Dazai blinks slowly at him, before raising both hands.

Chuuya bends down and picks Dazai up, going outside to the small wraparound porch and deposits Dazai on one of the two rocking chairs facing the sea and the horizon, the reds and purples of the sunset adding color to his face. Chuuya then sits on the other rocking chair, closing his eyes as he lets the gentle rocking, the salty sea-breeze, the rhythmic splashes surround him.

“…Chuuya?”

“Hmm?”

“Let’s—”

Chuuya waits for Dazai to finish, but it doesn’t come. Chuuya ends up opening his eyes, and tilts his head so that he can see Dazai. Dazai’s fists are on his lap and there’s flower petals slipping out of his mouth but not fully, like Dazai’s grinding them with his teeth, like Dazai hates for them to spill out. Then, Chuuya’s gaze focuses on Dazai’s fists, where his nails are digging to his palms with enough force that there are crescent welts, nearly enough to break skin.

Chuuya leaps from his chair so he can put his hands around Dazai’s fists, stop his nails from digging into his skin. “Dazai, don’t—I, how can I help you? Tell me, I don’t—”

Chuuya doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know how he can stop this from happening.

“Just—let’s just have dinner,” Dazai eventually manages to say, his mouth dripping white and yellow flower petals.

Chuuya knows that it’s not what Dazai wanted to say, but he doesn’t have the right to force Dazai. As his partner, he’s just here to try and help Dazai as much as possible.

Just that.

“…Okay,” Chuuya agrees shakily. He continues holding onto Dazai’s hands, just to make sure that they won’t curl into cruel fists, the sunset that Chuuya enjoys watching so much ending while Chuuya’s gaze is on the flower petals, ruined and yet still so beautiful.

-

The cottage only has one bedroom. It doesn’t pose as much awkwardness as Chuuya thinks it should. The two of them sleep back-to-back, Chuuya feeling each shiver and each cough that erupts from Dazai’s frame.

Chuuya ends up staying wide awake despite being in bed, for a couple of hours until his eyelids are too heavy with sleep.

-

Dazai’s propped up against the headboard by the time Chuuya wakes up the following day, his hand quickly dropping Chuuya’s wrist from where he’s been apparently playing with it while waiting for Chuuya to rise from the grip of slumber. Chuuya yawns a good morning, flopping back to sleep. Before he snuggles back to his blanket, he makes sure to offer his wrist back for Dazai to play with.

-

Chuuya wakes up again after two hours, Dazai shaking him by the shoulder. Blearily, he opens his eyes to the sight of his phone already opened to an important email briefing—apparently, the international Ability-user organization that Chuuya was helping deal with some uprisings have actually been defeated by the rebels.

“They’re fucking idiots,” Chuuya ends up blurting out after he finishes reading the report. “They only had one squad’s worth of enemies left, what the hell were they doing?!”

“It’s not your fault,” Dazai says as he lets the phone drop on Chuuya’s nose. “But the strategy you gave them could have been crueler.”

Chuuya rubs his nose. “I didn’t think they’d be so stupid to need anything else!”

Dazai hums, then pokes Chuuya.

“I’m hungry.”

Dazai doesn’t cough for two hours after that.

-

They eat anpan for breakfast.

“We should get groceries,” Chuuya mumbles around his bread. “There’s a market half-an-hour away…”

“Chuuya not enjoying our processed-foods haul?”

“It’s unhealthy,” Chuuya says with a scrunch of his nose.

Dazai’s face is a bit pale, but he still says, “It’s not like you’ll grow taller even if you eat healthy…”

“You—!!!”

In a way, Chuuya’s happy that Dazai still has the strength to infuriate him, even if only in short bursts.

-

Their drive to the market is filled with Dazai shamelessly butchering the English pop songs that plays on the station. It’s so bad that Chuuya has to correct him for nearly an entire song that Chuuya ends up singing along anyway. The half-hour drive becomes a full hour because they stop by the mostly-empty roadside when they pass by a line of ducklings following their mother, Dazai insisting that they feed them anpan crumbs for the sake of the ducklings’ health.

It takes longer than it should be because the animals seem to have sensed Dazai’s infuriating nature and avoid him even though he has food for them. The ducklings quack and circle Chuuya, who flails about, unable to figure out why the ducklings keep on following him closely. Dazai laughs at him until he has tears in eyes. Dazai laughs until he’s hiccupping yellow camellia petals, their bright gold color floating in the breeze.

Despite the flowers escaping him, Dazai seems… lighter, that Chuuya feels lighter too, simply watching him point and laugh at Chuuya.

-

They arrive at the market and Chuuya’s never hated his impulsiveness so much. Dazai’s strength isn’t back completely and the market is much larger than the cottage and the convenience store combined.

“I can walk a bit,” Dazai tells him, sensing his distress. “I just need to…”

“Okay!” Chuuya agrees a little quickly. “I’ll support you. I—didn’t think this through.”

“…it’s fine,” Dazai mumbles as Chuuya kills the car engine. “Thinking isn’t your forte at all.”

“You’re such an ass,” Chuuya complains, but he steps out of the car and rounds it quickly, helping Dazai out of the passenger seat. “Come on, hold onto me.”

They walk in a rather uneven gait towards the stalls, Chuuya’s arm around Dazai’s waist as the other leans most of his weight against him. Dazai’s always been rather lanky, but like this, Chuuya feels like he can break Dazai apart like some wet papier-mâché.

Chuuya’s free hand takes care of the ecobag that’s being slowly filled with produce. Chuuya smiles and grins and doesn’t refute it when most of the shop-owners coo about the cute couple shopping together. Dazai doesn’t refute them as well, sometimes even leaning his cheek on top of Chuuya’s hat as they comment about how they look like they’re so in love.

Chuuya keeps his arm around Dazai and draws him closer. Chuuya supposes that pretending to be together for the sake of not having to explain the Hanahaki Disease is a much better alternative.

-

Chuuya drops Dazai off the car along with the groceries.

“I forgot something,” Chuuya says as calmly as he can. Dazai looks too tired to protest, his eyes growing glassy again. It’s a warning sign that Chuuya’s seen before – Dazai looks tired and kicked out of his mind whenever he’s about to have a bout of coughing. Which means that Chuuya needs to do this quickly.

He locks his car and uses gravity on himself to propel him faster.

While they’ve been going around the market, Chuuya’s noticed three men following them around. It could just be a group of close-minded folks who have strong, bigoted feelings, or—it could be some enemies that need to be taken care of. Chuuya finds them easily and Chuuya uses gravity to control a couple of rocks nearby and make them fly towards the trio’s heads. Once they’re sufficiently knocked out, Chuuya rushes back to Dazai in his car.

Chuuya heaves a sigh of relief when he sees Dazai still in one piece, only a couple of flowers in his lap.

-

Their days pass by relatively peacefully.

They go to a local festival, wearing yukatas and wooden sandals like the locals, yet managing to stand out despite it. Of course, Chuuya’s foreign-looking features and Dazai’s bandages stand out. They stand out even more when Chuuya ends up winning a huge plush lion toy after competing in an arm-wrestling competition. The lion ends up hanging over Dazai’s head, acting like a plush hat, because he complains about his head being cold.

Despite his cough-shaky hands, Dazai manages to scoop up two goldfishes that they end up giving away to one of the kids who cried upon failing to catch one. Chuuya wins a fake turquoise necklace from a sharp-shooting contest and gives it to Dazai because it will clash against his choker.

They don’t stay to watch the fireworks because the crowds tire Dazai out, but they buy candied apples, cotton candy and fried squid, along with some sparklers. They go back and light the sparklers on their beach, wet sand between their toes as they use the small bursts of light as makeshift flashlights as they stroll along the beach.

The moon is high overhead, the waves stronger in their splashes against the shore. Chuuya’s yukata is wet and cold at the bottom, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

The short bursts of light make colors play on Dazai’s face, but it really is the moonlight that serves as his best spotlight.

“It’s peaceful, like this,” Dazai comments, tilting his head up, the moonlight shining down on his features even more.

“It is,” Chuuya agrees.

Chuuya’s never expected to find peace, not the kind of peace that one would never want to leave. But like this, just like this, it doesn’t seem so bad.

-

Dazai’s been coughing less recently, but Chuuya supposes that he’s been too complacent. Two days before they have to return to Yokohama, Chuuya and Dazai buy groceries again and get mistaken for a couple again. Chuuya supposes that it’s easy to see why – the two of them are holding hands because they’re testing if Dazai can walk with less support, given that he’s starting to feel strength again.

They buy a lot of seafood, more than usual.

When they arrive at the cottage, Chuuya declares that he’d like to make a lot of tasty fresh crab for Dazai.

Dazai stares at him, before coughing up flowers.

The yellow camellias, the yellow tulips, the white gardenias – they’re flowers that Chuuya’s seen before.

What makes Chuuya panic is the addition of red flowers that he’s never seen spill from Dazai’s mouth before.

Red carnations and red camellias.

From a distance, they look like clumps of blood and they make Chuuya drop one of the live crabs, that he’s supposed to be boiling, on the sink unceremoniously.

“Dazai—!”

Chuuya rubs Dazai’s back as the other bends forward until his forehead is against the dining table, a stream of red being hacked out of his throat. Dazai’s entire body trembles as he continues to cough, until the entire dining room is basically flooded by flowers, until Chuuya’s starting to legitimately worry that they’re going to drown in flowers.

Chuuya’s own chest hurts, as he watches Dazai hurt himself with his feelings. It’s horrifying, how Dazai’s feelings continue to grow for someone who’s been dead for months. It’s almost unfair. It’s really unfair.

Dazai’s been doing better, been smiling peacefully, been coughing less, and then, and then—what? He suddenly is caught by emotion and he remembers his dead beloved and then he’ll suffer all over again. The amount of flowers is now bordering on absurd, because there’s no way that there’s still something remaining inside Dazai, with the way that he’s coughed out liters’ worth of petals.

The flowers are generated by the amount of love that Dazai is feeling, so to have this much—

It really isn’t fair.

Chuuya bows his head so that his forehead is resting on the back of Dazai’s head, his hands nearly automatic as they try to help ease the pain.

“…Chuuya…?”

Chuuya exhales when he hears the odd note of uncertainty in Dazai’s voice.

“I… I’ll help you… I promise… I just need to know how…”

Dazai takes a trembling breath—and stops coughing.

Chuuya doesn’t move from his position, even though his neck is protesting, at least until there’s a rattling sound as the escaped crab climbs out of the sink and drops to the kitchen floor.

-

The day before they have to return to Yokohama, they take a stroll in the beach. They both wear shorts so that they can walk near the waves, Dazai a few steps ahead as he claims that he feels much better that day.

“It’s really peaceful here, huh,” Dazai says as they go beyond where they usually stroll. “Such a pity we’ll have to leave.”

“My vacation time is only two months,” Chuuya murmurs, though he can understand where Dazai’s coming from. It feels like they have their own world out here, untouched by any other concerns. Even though it’s not really like that.

Dazai laughs, but it’s not the happy kind. It sounds self-deprecating and Chuuya hates how it sounds, hates how it makes Dazai’s loneliness stand out.

From a few steps ahead, Dazai whirls around so that he’s walking backwards, so that he’s facing Chuuya. With an outstretched hand and an ugly smirk, Dazai waves the dagger he stole from Chuuya and makes a sudden slice at his forearm.

“Oi—!!!”

Chuuya’s breath stutters in his throat, seeing red flow from the wound. But it’s red petals, red carnations and red camellias, pouring out from Dazai’s wound. It flows freely, like there’s so much petals, like there’s so much emotions bottled up inside Dazai that they’re just waiting to burst out of his skin. Chuuya still vividly remembers the flood of red in their cottage’s dining room from last night and he feels sick with worry about where the flowers are coming from, because if they run out and they’re supposed to signify Dazai’s life, then—

“I know that you’re an idiot who actually likes Mori,” Dazai says with a shrug, throwing the dagger back to Chuuya. Dazai keeps his wounded arm raised, the petals being carried by the sudden gust of sea-breeze. “But I really would rather not spend the rest of my days under his thumb.”

“…What are you saying?”

Chuuya stops walking. Dazai does too, because they’re synchronized, even like this.

“I could escape,” Dazai’s whisper is punctuated by water lapping against the shore, his wound still bleeding flowers. “I was planning to leave back then, you know.”

“So, what—what are you telling me?” Chuuya’s heart hurts. Chuuya’s head hurts. Chuuya’s whole body hurts. “I—I’m not like you, you know. I don’t think like you, so if you don’t tell me—”

“I’d like to run away.” Dazai makes it sound so simple, when his body is breaking down, when his love is a poison, when everything hurts. “And Chuuya—you’re an Executive, aren’t you? Will you execute me for being a traitor?”

“I—”

Dazai.

Dazai’s hurting.

Dazai’s hurting for so long and Chuuya didn’t notice it for so long, not until there are flowers spilling out of his veins.

They’re on a vacation, but that doesn’t change the fact that Chuuya is an Executive. And traitors to the Port Mafia must pay the exit fee with their lives. Those are facts.

But Chuuya—

“I can’t.”

Chuuya can’t kill Dazai, not when he’s planning to leave the Port Mafia because he wanted to try being a good person, not when he’s suffering like this, not when—

The Port Mafia demands a traitor’s life. Boss Mori will be disappointed in him. Kouyou-anesan will be worried about him. His subordinates will lose their trust in him. Chuuya has grown to love the Port Mafia, in his closest approximation of the human emotion. He’s not sure if it’s something that can be really called love, but he loves the Port Mafia.

But Chuuya can’t.

Chuuya can’t give them Dazai’s life.

Dazai’s life, Dazai’s comfort during the ticking down clock on his life, Dazai himself… has grown to be more important than the Port Mafia.

“…Why are you crying, Chuuya?” Dazai sounds mystified. His wound has already closed, the skin looking unmarred, the red petals already blown away by the breeze.

“I’m not crying,” Chuuya snaps, but he raises his hands to his face and finds wet streaks on his gloves. “I’m not.”

…Chuuya’s grown to love Dazai, even more than the Port Mafia.

He’s not sure how the Hanahaki Disease spreads, but there’s a good chance that he’ll get it too, because the thought of loving Dazai is now deep-rooted in him, the moment he realizes it. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is—

“I promised to help you, didn’t I?” Dazai’s eyes are wide with shock, so Chuuya continues: “So if you want to leave the Port Mafia, I’ll—”

“What are you saying, Chuuya?” Dazai sounds incredulous. “Are you implying you’ll—what, leave with me?”

Chuuya bites his lip, feels his heart pound. He’s getting dizzy from all of these thoughts.

“I want to continue staying by your side,” is what Chuuya eventually manages to get out. “If you’ll let me.”

Dazai wears incredulity in his expression, when Chuuya looks up at him. His form is trembling, he looks both excited and dismayed at once. It’s an odd juxtaposition of emotions on his face. “Then why did you not go with me—”

Dazai doesn’t get to finish his question though.

There’s a sudden gunshot and Chuuya watches Dazai suddenly sink to his knees, red tainting his torso.

From behind Dazai, there’s the three men that Chuuya had knocked out during their first trip to the market. They’re now wearing a uniform, the same uniform that international Ability-user organization that he helped—and left abruptly, because of Dazai’s message back then. The same international Ability-user organization that’s now looking accusingly at him like he’s the sole cause of their downfall because he didn’t finish his mission to assist them properly.

But they don’t matter.

Because all Chuuya can see is the red on Dazai’s torso.

Instead of red camellias or red carnations—

Instead of flowers that represent his love—

This time, it’s actually blood.

Chapter Text

7.

The three wannabe-assassins are erased in a blink of an eye. They leave imprints of their bodies on the sand, but they’re buried deep enough that even if Chuuya’s Ability is canceled, once they regain consciousness—if that even happens, they’ll have an uphill battle to get themselves out.

More than because of his Port Mafia affiliation, Chuuya hopes that they suffer in their last moments—breathing in lungfuls of sand and dying while surrounded by darkness that drowns them alive—as punishment for even daring to think about hurting Dazai.

Chuuya immediately rushes to Dazai’s fallen form, blood dripping out sluggishly from the gunshot wound. Chuuya can see the edge of the bullet peeking out, Dazai’s hand that instinctively cups around the wound being able to prevent the bullet from exiting properly—and possibly hitting Chuuya in its trajectory. Chuuya sets Dazai down on the sand properly, before removing his own shirt so he can use it as a makeshift bandage until he’s able to floor it towards the nearest clinic and have them treat Dazai.

“You—”

Chuuya’s hands move automatically, practiced in the art of helping Dazai get bandaged. Chuuya doesn’t understand. It’s just been minutes since Dazai’s able to demonstrate that he’s still bleeding his love all over the place. Dazai’s still bleeding actual blood—and when Dazai coughs, blood drips out from the corner of his lips. It’s just been minutes since Dazai still had the Hanahaki Disease.

What changed?

Dazai still had the disease when he said that he’d like to run away, when Chuuya admitted that he can’t kill him for being a traitor.

Why did Dazai have to get cured now?!

Dazai still had the disease until Chuuya said that he’ll help Dazai leave.

“A person involved in such strong, tragic unrequited love will cough up flowers until he overcomes his feelings, until his feelings are reciprocated or until he dies.”

Until his feelings are reciprocated—

Chuuya admitting that he’d like to stay with Dazai and run away with him is what cured Dazai, in the end. No, that’s not it. Rather, it’s Chuuya realizing that he’s fallen in love with Dazai—

…Oh.

Oh.

Chuuya looks down at Dazai, focuses his eyes on Dazai’s face instead of his gunshot wound.

As expected of a suicide maniac, as expected of Dazai, he’s smiling even at the face of pain. Dazai sits himself up, and presses a quick kiss over Chuuya’s mouth. Dazai’s smiling up at him, looking like he’s won everything.

“You’ve finally fallen in love with me,” Dazai says with certainty, even as he’s steadily growing paler from blood loss. “Took you long enough, Chuuya.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Chuuya replies, because only Dazai can have such screwed-up priorities.

Dazai does shut up, falling unconscious heedless of Chuuya’s yells.

-

Honestly, Chuuya’s not sure how the next couple hours of his life went. He must have managed to successfully transport Dazai to his car, just as he must have successfully scared the wits out of the town’s clinic manned by easygoing locals. He must have looked convincing enough because they still helped operate on Dazai without any questions, despite Chuuya looking positively deranged with blood all over his shirtless torso and his pants.

Chuuya camps outside the tiny all-purpose operating room, opting to sit cross-legged on the floor so that the other patients that he bumped down on the queue due to his emergency can sit on the bench. A vaguely familiar kid peers down at him and shoves a juice pack to his face, drops a hero-printed handkerchief on his lap. Chuuya blinks up at the kid, recognizes him from the festival that they went to before.

Ah.

“Goldfish kid,” he greets, tipping his head in thanks as he uses the handkerchief to clean the blood and sweat off his body. “Appreciate it.”

“Your husband is hurt?”

Chuuya’s ruing how the local townsfolk are able to discover what’s brewing between him and Dazai faster than him, even though he’s the one who’s Dazai’s partner, the one who’s there by his side. Or maybe that’s the reason, because Chuuya’s so caught up with the specifics that he doesn’t see the whole picture, until it’s too late.

“Are you going to cry? Aizawa-sensei is really good, so you don’t have to worry that your husband will be buried with the worms!”

“I see. I’m not going to worry then,” Chuuya says with a smile so that the kid doesn’t get worried about some stranger. But it’s true. Chuuya shouldn’t be worried. Dazai’s lifeforce is stubborn enough to possibly sustain itself even in a nuclear holocaust. Dazai’s like a cockroach that way. Chuuya shouldn’t worry, but he is. Love sucks balls. “You have some wise words, goldfish kid.”

“It’s because I’m eight,” the kid says proudly, puffing up his chest.

Chuuya wonders if it’s supposed to be this easy, just surrounding himself with people who don’t breathe mafia black, just building a new world for him and Dazai from scratch.

“Toshi-kun!” The kid’s mother calls out for him from the front desk. “Stop bothering the handsome man and let’s go!”

“Thanks again.” Chuuya salutes the young boy as he makes a mental note to memorize the kid’s face and name so he can order a delivery of new sets of handkerchiefs and fruit juice in replacement.

-

Chuuya must have looked quite pitiful, because the three hours he spends on the clinic floor amasses him a small mountain of offerings. There are two sets of blankets wrapped over his shoulders, another blanket around his torso as a makeshift shirt. There’s a half-eaten packet of fish crackers, a can of orange Fanta that he shares with Yukari-chan and Tamura-kun as they experiment being hairdressers by weaving weeds and ribbons into his hair. Michiko-san gives him a packet of cheese rings, presumably so that her grandson would stop munching on them loudly. There are two empty cups of coffee, brewed by two different people—that he helped settle the dispute about whose brew tastes better (he said it’s a draw, but only because he can’t bear picking one over the other). There are octopus takoyaki and red bean taiyaki. Satsuki-san buys him two boxed bentos.

It’s rather embarrassing, but he feels his heart suffuse with warmth.

Chuuya can only think about how he’d like for Dazai to wake up so he can bask in this warmth as well.

-

One of the nurses, Yuuki-san, guides him to a handicapped restroom that has a built-in shower and it’s with regret that Chuuya dislodges the weeds and ribbons from his hair. Yuuki-san hands him a change of clothes, thin cotton pajamas in the same shade as the hospital’s color theme. He scrubs at the blood and is immensely relieved that they don’t turn to petals as they’re washed away.

-

The moment Aizawa-sensei clears Dazai for visitors, Chuuya practically flies towards Dazai’s bedside. Dazai is asleep from the anesthesia, his cheeks having gained a bit more color in them. Dazai is asleep and Aizawa-sensei tells Chuuya that Dazai’s stats are stable.

That’s all that Chuuya needs to hear.

Chuuya collapses by Dazai’s bedside, relief coursing through him.

“You don’t need to worry so much, Nakahara-san,” the doctor advises him kindly, “if you wish, you can stay until visiting hours are over.”

Chuuya grins wryly. The doctor must have sensed his intent to break in anyway if he’s banned from holding a vigil over his unconscious partner. Aizawa-sensei gives him a few more information, instructions about the care for a bullet wound. Chuuya does his best to look interested and ask perfunctory clarifying questions. There’s no point in making it obvious that he’s rather used to handling such wounds, after all.

-

Chuuya sits on the uncomfortable folding chair by Dazai’s bedside, elbows resting on the bed as both of his hands hold Dazai’s, so that he’ll be alerted by the smallest twitch of consciousness returning to Dazai. Two hours after the clinic has been closed up and emptied save for the skeleton night crew, Dazai’s fingers twitch awake.

It takes up all of Chuuya’s self-control to not jump forward and shove his face over Dazai’s, shake the man’s shoulders for answers.

Chuuya waits for Dazai to fully wake up.

Five minutes.                                                                                                                    

Dazai’s eyes don’t open.

Chuuya fumes. “Oi, you shithead, now you’re just screwing with me, damn it!”

A few more minutes.

“Damn it, why won’t you open your eyes?!”

“…I think I need a kiss to wake me up…”

Chuuya rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they’ll actually leave his head. But he leans over Dazai and presses a kiss—two, three, four, five…—over Dazai’s mouth, before he nips at those lips and settles back on his uncomfortable chair.

Dazai’s lips twitch, before he ends up opening his eyes and grinning boyishly at Chuuya, looking impossibly bright even though he’s surrounded by sterile white. “Good morning to you too, Chuuya.”

“It’s eleven in the goddamn evening.”

“Still…” Dazai’s hands twitch as they’re held in a vise-like grip. “To wake up to Chuuya’s grumpy blushing face and tsundere yelling… it can only be greeted with a ‘good morning’, ne?”

“That makes no sense,” Chuuya protests, but he’s feeling tension bleed out from his body. Truly a terrifying ability of Dazai’s—to wind Chuuya up in a tornado of rage and make all of that tension crash and disappear in a matter of a couple of words. “…How are you feeling?”

“Much better.” Dazai’s grin is still present when he teases, “Much better since you’re not wearing that unfashionable shirt anymore.”

“That unfashionable shirt helped you survive by being your bandage, asshole.” Chuuya heaves a sigh as he looks over at Dazai critically. “Your sense of fashion is being wrapped in bandages.”

“A pretty great fashion sense, I must say.”

“Should I call in Aizawa-sensei? Seems like you’re still delusional.”

Dazai laughs, but that turns to a light cough. Chuuya’s heart stops, then resumes beating when he doesn’t see Dazai’s mouth releasing flower petals. Dazai’s hand squeezes his, a rare show of comfort.

“I’m now cured,” Dazai confirms with another squeeze to Chuuya’s hand. “So Chuuya can stop looking so beautifully concerned if he hears me coughing!”

“What the fuck is ‘beautifully concerned’ even…”

“But if Chuuya wants to pamper me and fawn over me, I really won’t say ‘no’ to it…”

Chuuya rolls his eyes and shifts, so that he’s seated beside Dazai on the tiny infirmary bed. His right hand is wrapped around Dazai’s right wrist, as Chuuya runs a hand over his hair as he tries to gather strength for the upcoming conversation that they need to have.

Because they’re soukoku, Dazai senses it and sobers up, looking much more serious than Chuuya ever remembers him being.

“…how did you get the disease?” Chuuya eventually asks, because there’s no point tiptoeing around the things he needs to know.

“…OdaSaku said.” Dazai pauses, eyes taking on a brief sheen of nostalgia and grief. He blinks, as though to get rid of hesitation. “That I should be on the side of the good.”

“…So that’s why you wanted to leave.”

“Yes.”

A few minutes of silent contemplation and Chuuya takes a deep breath, before he prompts: “And then…?”

Dazai’s face is a moue of distaste. Upon closer inspection, he actually looks embarrassed. “And then, I figured that if I already lost my friend, I don’t want to lose my dog at the same time.”

Chuuya slaps Dazai’s wrist for that comment, but returns his grip around it after a second anyway. “Don’t call me a dog, damn it…”

There’s a touch of color high on Dazai’s cheeks. “So, I sent my dog a text message. Asking him to meet up with me before I leave.”

“…so we can leave together.”

Dazai shoots a triumphant look upon his inadvertent agreement that he’s a dog. Chuuya pinches Dazai’s wrist this time.

“I even prepared Chuuya’s car. I’ll blow it up with our dummies so they’ll think we went out in a glorious double suicide!”

Chuuya remembers the dummies that he saw from his car and chucked to the trunk.

“…I can’t fucking believe you were gonna blow up my car.”

“But Chuuya didn’t arrive.” Dazai suddenly looks somber. “Chuuya didn’t arrive and I thought that anything that I would never want to be lost is always lost. And then I started coughing up flowers.”

“So let me get this straight,” Chuuya asks while tugging at the ends of his hair with one hand, the other hand still wrapped around Dazai’s wrist. “You got the disease because you thought I wasn’t going to show up?”

Dazai’s eyes are fixed a few centimeters beyond Chuuya’s forehead. “You were late.”

“By thirty minutes!”

“You were only ever late by five!”

“So you thought that I abandoned you?!”

“You were late,” Dazai repeats, insistent. “And then, I thought—OdaSaku was gone and he said that I can’t ever fill the void, and then you don’t even show up—”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Chuuya declares, but that isn’t so nice, because what does it say about him, being the one who’s intertwining their fingers together? “We’re fucking idiots.”

“—and then Mori shows up and he tells me that you’re still at your mission abroad and I—!”

Chuuya puts his hand over Dazai’s mouth.

“Shut the hell up.” Dazai licks his hand, but Chuuya glares at him for that. “Listen to me, okay? I’ll only say this once.”

Chuuya doesn’t wait for Dazai to nod.

“I was an idiot for not understanding my own feelings. But—next time, just talk to me, okay? Don’t go around assuming that I’ll ever leave you behind. Even when I wasn’t in love with you yet, I—I’ve never thought of leaving you. So, just? Okay?”

Chuuya removes his hand from Dazai’s face and Dazai eagerly takes that chance to complain: “…Chuuya, your confession doesn’t make sense. ‘Okay’, what? As I feared, Chuuya’s brain is also microscopically-sized, so it’s very—”

“—I promise to stay forever with you. That good enough for you?”

Dazai’s shocked face actually looks endearing and Chuuya savors it, because he has a feeling that Dazai will make him pay for this tenfold in the coming days.

Dazai eventually clears his throat after a few moments of simply gaping uselessly at Chuuya. Dazai’s hands are clammy in Chuuya’s hold. But that’s fine. Chuuya’s hands are sweaty with tension as well. They truly deserve each other.

“…I demand a ring.”

It’s said with the most ridiculous pout and the most adorable voice that Chuuya just—laughs. The Demon Prodigy, the youngest Executive in Port Mafia history—demanding a ring like a spoiled princess. It truly is priceless.

Chuuya sobers up and reaches down to the spot beside the foldable chair for his small mountain of loot from the fellow patients and visitors earlier. Chuuya presents the packet of cheese rings with a flourish, and he relishes in Dazai’s mock horror when he takes one of the larger (air-soggy) rings and slides it on Dazai’s ring finger.

“…your turn,” Chuuya nudges Dazai when the other just stares at the yellow ring on his finger. “Don’t you dare cry over junk-food rings, damn it.”

“Chuuya’s the one with teary eyes right now,” Dazai retorts, but his hands tremble a bit when he chooses the smallest cheese ring and destroys it when he shoves it over Chuuya’s ring finger.

“Choose a bigger one, you fucker, my hand isn’t that small!”

“Really? I’m having trouble because I can’t even see Chuuya’s tiny finger…”

“I’m going to fucking eat that ring I gave you.”

“Eh?” Dazai cradles his left hand close to him, rather protectively. “It’s mine already, you can’t have it!”

“What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours—that’s how it’s supposed to be, right?”

“…Chuuya should stop being like this if he wants me to not jump him this very moment.”

Chuuya flushes, but he forces himself to power on and ask, “Who said I don’t want that?”

Dazai claps his hands together in delight, not too hard that it destroys his own cheese ring. “—Chuuya!”

“Geh. Stop—no, you have a gunshot wound, oi—!”

-

The next morning, Yuuki-san wakes them up with a gentle smile on her face. She kindly doesn’t scold them for the cheese crumbs all over the bed and their clothes. She even congratulates them on the fact that they both have cheese rings on their ring fingers.

-

Dazai checks out of the clinic that afternoon, Chuuya paying thrice the bill in thanks.

They return to their beachside cottage, Chuuya checking up on the corpses he buried under the sand. As soon as he settles Dazai by the armchair on the porch, Chuuya then floats the corpses and dumps them far into the ocean, using the absolute limits of his gravity to ensure that it’s far and deep enough that deep-sea sharks can benefit from the meal.

Chuuya then sinks to the armchair beside Dazai’s, his left hand reaching out so he can circle Dazai’s right wrist, the pulse he finds there washing over him with calmness.

“…What do you want to do from here?”

“…Someone can help erase our records so we can start fresh in Yokohama.” Dazai’s voice is serene amongst the rhythmic clash of ocean waves on their tiny shore. “We just need to lie low for two years. And then… we can be on the side that saves people.”

Yokohama.

The city that has taken and given Chuuya so much. Chuuya thinks of Boss Mori, who’d surely be unhappy with this—of Kouyou-anesan, who’d surely be disappointed that he’s taking the riskier road—of his subordinates, who’d surely resent him for abandoning them without a word. Chuuya thinks of Dazai, of how he’s been so close to death without Chuuya ever knowing how he looks like when he’s genuinely happy, without Chuuya ever having a chance to learn being a proper human with for the rest of their lives.

“…Okay.”

Dazai’s breath hitches and his pulse spikes.

Just that one word and Chuuya can already make him feel so much.

—Purple primroses for desperation. Yellow tulips for one-sided love. White gardenias for secret, spurned love. Yellow camellias for longing. White camellias for waiting. Red carnations for a heart that aches for one’s deepest love. Red camellias for being passionately in love.—

They wouldn’t need the flowers to tell each other how they feel, from now on.

“…Last time, I wanted to tell you.”

Chuuya hums.

“I wanted to say—”

And because they’re soukoku, synchronized even without having to exchange words beforehand:

“Let’s stay together like this forever.”

-

For the next two years:

The two of them stay in the beachside town and become well-known for being the insufferably-sweet couple who puts all the other couples in town to shame. Chuuya ends up buying five dozens of handkerchiefs that he gives out to the neighborhood kids and the two of them end up being banned from the festival’s game booths for winning all of the huge plush toys. Chuuya ends up opening a small coffee and pastry shop that mostly provides food for the local clinic and the patients’ visitors. Chuuya doesn’t have official assistants, but he has a small army of neighborhood kids who provide entertainment and free flower crowns to their patrons.

Dazai ends up working as a receptionist in the local clinic. Between his handsome face and flirtatious words and his shameless flirting with Chuuya, coupled with Chuuya’s food and coffee, the local clinic sees a spike of patients that temporarily worries the local government about a possibility of a pandemic.

-

Inside those two years:

The two of them go to a vacation and buy actual rings and actually get married under their names.

The two of them deal with wayward Port Mafia squads sent to bring them back, and Chuuya wonders if he’s inadvertently helping an uprising in the local shark population.

The two of them grow flowers around their porch—red carnations and red camellias—as a reminder to themselves.

The two of them make it their routine to sit together on their porch as they watch the sunset, holding hands under the calm of the waves. Their nighttime routine includes a stroll in their beach, before they inevitably end up jumping each other.

-

After two years, Dazai gets a call from Sakaguchi Ango who tells him that a place has been made for two people to take the exam for joining the Armed Detective Agency.

The two of them will still be known as soukoku, after they’re able to rescue a weretiger and after they’re able to recruit a couple more people from the Port Mafia and after they’re enough to utterly destroy The Guild before it can even think of destroying Yokohama.

But that’s another story for another time.

-

For now:

“It was a pain, but I’m glad I fell in love with you.”

“You take that back, I’m an absolute delight to fall in love with!”

“Hmm, I think I need some reminding…”

“…Okay, go on and reminisce while I take a bath.”

“Eh?! Chuuya, come back, it’s still early?! No, don’t leave meeeeeee—”

They don’t leave each other.

Which leads to them being late for work, but that’s just how they are.

-
end