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Chuuya wakes up with an arm encircling his waist, opportunely five minutes before his alarm goes off. He rushes to turn it out so the stirring sound doesn’t wake his partner up, then attempts to raise without disturbing Dazai’s deep slumber, for it’s something so unusual he won’t dare interrupt.
Besides, the bastard deserves the sleep this time. Chuuya brushes Dazai’s bangs off his face once he has managed to sit up, and allows himself to stare for a little longer than appropriate at his peaceful expression. If only the genius asshole remained like that all the time, Chuuya would not ask for anything ever again.
With a deep sigh, Chuuya proceeds to get ready as silently as he can. It’s not usual for him to indulge Dazai in sloping off work, more even if they have an early morning reunion as soukoku with the other executives. Yet Dazai has really outdone himself in last night’s job, planning a safe escape route for Chuuya’s subordinates although he didn’t have the obligation to. And Chuuya is more than grateful for that.
Chuuya crouches down near the bed one last time so as to watch Dazai’s soft breathing pattern, and yearns for touching his face. He doesn’t, nonetheless, even if he is aware that Dazai will wake up sooner or later at noticing one side of the bed empty.
And just so his partner doesn’t do anything stupid, Chuuya swiftly takes a hold of his pen, leaning closer to Dazai’s hand. There he writes ‘ Sleep in. Your favorite pastries are on the top shelf’. He also considers leaving a smiley face or a heart, but drops the idea.
At the thought of the Demon Prodigy of the Port Mafia bearing a domestic reminder on his hand, Chuuya can’t help but leave his penthouse chuckling.
Chuuya hasn’t been resting at his office for even five minutes before the door breaks open again, the intruder not bothering to knock.
“Show some respect,” Chuuya complains as Dazai says, “I see that you’re back.”
Chuuya sighs, “Yeah, Yokosuka was easy, but tiring.”
“I can imagine, without me there to be the brain.”
Chuuya frowns at Dazai’s sly smirk, and rolls his eyes because he is far too wasted to deal with his bullshit so late in the night.
“You’re extremely stupid tonight, did you miss me that much?” Chuuya says, crossing his arms. However, he needs to move his chair back when Dazai decides to seat on top of his desk, trapped in between his legs and the furniture.
The sight of Dazai sprawled all over his table sends a shiver down Chuuya’s spine.
“How could I, if Chuuya left me with such a cute note to stare at all day.” Dazai shows his written skin proudly, making Chuuya struggle to repress the arising embarrassment. “Though, I’m gonna have to say that if you plan to keep on leaving me alone in bed with no goodbye whatsoever, this marriage is going to sink.”
Chuuya bites down his own tongue not to say something he would regret, then summons some irritation into his voice.
“I’d be dead before marrying the likes of you.”
Dazai rolls his eyes at having his advances frustrated, and reaches for Chuuya’s hand to pry him off the chair.
“Yeah, yeah.” He walks, “let’s go home, my dear sheepdog.”
Chuuya’s fingers slip from Dazai’s in that moment, the redhead fixated on his place as his partner takes one step closer to the door before looking at him over his shoulder –confusion clear in his eyes.
“I’m not your dog, Dazai.” Chuuya states firmly in place, “I’m your equal, your partner.”
Dazai stares at him with now a blank expression for a second, then he turns around to say, “I don’t agree, though.”
Dazai bows in front of Chuuya, keeping his eyes over blue ones. Chuuya looks dumbstruck, taken aback by his partner’s sudden demeanor.
“After all, you’re a god.”
Dazai catches a hold of Chuuya’s hand, his lips resting ever so lightly in a kiss over his knuckles. Their eyes never break the contact.
“And I’m just a believer.”
Dazai urges Chuuya’s body closer to his, inhaling the fresh scent of his hair the first thing in the morning. He doesn’t need to dive his nose in the junction with the shoulder to know Chuuya smells of that expensive chocolate body lotion he loves –but Dazai does anyway, his lips caressing the soft, porcelain skin he so willingly would have a taste of.
Dazai takes in Chuuya’s even breathing, his long red lashes resting upon flushed cheeks, his lips slightly parted, ever so inviting. Waking Chuuya up when he is in such a beautiful state must be a sin sentenced with a penalty worse than death, and Dazai decides against it, relishing in the feeling of his warm skin alone.
He snuggles, engulfing Chuuya’s body all he can, only shifting his hand to take a pen abandoned on the nightstand. Dazai traces the shoulder in front of him with it, before clicking the point out and meticulously writing on the back side. It’s just a silly ‘ We spooned tonight, Chuu ’ accompanied by a heart that works both as a revenge and a reminder that even in their sleep they reach for each other.
Chuuya stirs in his slumber so Dazai loosens the grip a little for his partner to wake up comfortably in his arms. Chuuya drifts his eyes open slowly, still clouded by the dreams, before turning his head over his shoulder to meet Dazai.
“Morning,” they both say, Dazai next to Chuuya’s nape, and Chuuya closing his eyes to the gesture.
“Do we have to wake up?” The redhead says, his mind wandering between awake and sleep –Dazai’s favorite state of his, one where he’s adorably needy and hating the world.
“Only if you want to.”
“Okay, so I don’t have a choice at all.” Chuuya complains, barely sitting up, his hair leaving a prominent trace of scent from last night’s shower Dazai can’t help but follow in motion.
He watches Chuuya zombily get ready from the bed, the redhead never noticing the blue sentence adorning his skin.
“I don’t know what you’re plotting from there,” he says when he catches the smirk not leaving Dazai’s lips, “but if you’re not ready to leave when I have breakfast done, I’m leaving you behind.”
“But we have work together today!”
“Still,” Chuuya’s word come from the hall, making Dazai chuckle because he know it’s a lie.
It looks like a funny day.
It has been such a shitty day Chuuya regrets even waking up from bed. He is drenched, and most of his outer clothes are getting ruined against Dazai’s leg because the bastard decided that getting shot was part of the plan. So Chuuya is shivering cold, walking alongside some of his subordinates to the extraction point –which can’t be close enough considering that if Chuuya doesn’t arrive to the hospital where Dazai is under surgery in the next ten seconds, he is going to burst a nut, or worse.
“Chuuya-san, are you okay?” Tachihara asks, and Chuuya fumbles something while quickening the pace.
What god he has angered to deserve such a bastard partner, he doesn’t know.
“Oh, you’ve got something on your shoulder!”
Tachihara’s words make him halt for a second, while his subordinate makes weird faces from a stupid, appropriate distance trying to guess.
“What is it? I can’t see, come and tell me!"
Tachihara nods enthusiastically, stepping closer to move what remains of Chuuya’s shirt down.
“Huh, someone wrote on your skin,” the subordinate murmurs, as he suddenly blushes, “it says ‘we spooned tonight, Chuu’... Along with a heart.”
Chuuya steps out of Tachihara’s hold in a snap, groaning in embarrassment and covering the area with his hand. Next second Chuuya is running down the street to the meeting point, his cheeks red but not from exhaustion, his heart beating in his throat even though he’s trying to be mad.
“I’m going to kill him,” Chuuya says to a tired Tachihara attempting to keep his pace from a few meters behind, “once he’s alright I’m gonna fucking decapitate him.”
Chuuya closes up his suitcase for a week, and drops it near the door – his shoes being the last thing left for him to wear so he can depart to his abroad mission.
He tiptoes into the bedroom one last time before leaving, just to say goodbye even though he knows Dazai is still asleep. Chuuya finds him sprawled over his back, mouth parted and chest bare of clothes and bandages due to last night activities.
He should have taken a picture, really, but the light is dim, and Chuuya is smiling wide at the sight of it. He goes for a pen on his nightstand drawer, then sits down on the mattress beside Dazai.
On his collarbones, Chuuya writes ‘ I’m leaving to Finland now’. He half expected Dazai to stirr at the contact, yet he doesn’t, so Chuuya feels free to add ‘ Didn’t want to wake you up’ along with a quick and messy ‘ Take care’.
Chuuya hesitates, but finally places barely a kiss over Dazai’s shoulder, and silently flies out of the room.
He leaves the penthouse with a smile lingering on his lips.
Dazai wakes up to an empty bed, again, and suddenly he is hating the Mafia a little more that morning. Chuuya’s side is already cold so he doesn’t bother shirking, instead he gets ready to go annoy Mori –enough he considers it twice next time he thinks about sending Chuuya out to another abroad mission without him.
It is then, when Dazai comes upon a messy but familiar handwriting all over his left collarbone. The words have him less angry even though he doesn’t want it that way. He pouts at their reflection.
Dazai proudly wears no tie and the top buttons of his shirt off so the message is visible for the most part. And if the day Dazai Osamu, Demon Prodigy of the Port Mafia behaved mercifully with his enemies becomes one of the wonders in the Mafia’s history book, nobody ever dares mention it.
Chuuya squirms against the cherry tree he is sitting under trying not to disturb Dazai, who is lying in between his legs, in an attempt to reach for his backpack. If possible, not dropping his ice cream in the process as well.
Dazai munches delightfully into his menta chip cone even when he is getting his hands messy anyway, and Chuuya just sighs at the sight. Dazai’s head is resting against his chest so he can’t exactly picture what kind of expression he must be making, but Chuuya is pretty sure Dazai is eating like a child just to make him burst a nut in public.
With a finishing bite to his own mango cone, Chuuya rummages inside his backpack looking for a napkin.
“You’re so cruel to me, Chuuya.” Dazai mumbles with the remaining of his ice cream filling his whole mouth.
Chuuya rolls his eyes.
“How am I cruel?”
“You didn’t even offer me to taste your flavor, of course!”
Dazai looks up at him swallowing, which has Chuuya grunting and urging for his partner to give him his hands. Dazai raises the right first.
“You don’t like fruity flavors, bastard.” Chuuya says, wiping Dazai’s fingers clean with his napkin.
“But lovey dovey couples do it all the time!” Dazai raises his other hand once Chuuya is done with the first, “you let me try your ice cream and I make a sour face you kiss off my lips! It’s all explained in movies, silly Chuuya.”
Chuuya drops Dazai’s hand in dismay, taking care of his own then.
“I’m not about to waste my flavor with the likes of you,” he complains, leaning back against the tree trunk. “And we’re not a couple.”
Dazai humms in agreement instead of retorting just because Chuuya starts caressing his scalp and drifting his fingers in between his locks. Chuuya grins smugly at managing to get his partner to behave with such a simple gesture.
Dazai rests his arms over Chuuya’s knees, evenly breathing with the contact, and the redhead seizes the moment of tranquility to look for a pen inside his bag with his free hand. His partner’s thin sweater is slightly low on one shoulder, and Chuuya slides it further down his arm a bit so he can write over skin.
However, his partner catches his wrist in an amazingly swift movement, staring up at Chuuya with his eyes playfully lidded and a smirk making its way past his lips. Chuuya finds himself blushing.
Dazai takes the pen off his hand, finding no resistance whatsoever. He then catches a hold of Chuuya’s arm, bringing it forward so he can contain his fingers captive. The redhead feels the tingling sensation of his poetry quill’s point on his skin as Dazai writes something he doesn’t allow Chuuya to see.
He scoffs, “come on, what is it?”
“Only if Chuuya gives me a kiss, I’ll show it to him.”
“What?” Chuuya breathes out, and Dazai raises the head against his chest expectant.
“You heard me just fine.”
Chuuya blinks embarrassed at Dazai’s pristine smile. He sighs, but with a nod Chuuya leans in under his partner’s perplexed stare. When his lips drop at the corner of Dazai’s mouth, Chuuya feels it part in anticipation. He lingers there for a second, nose brushing against Dazai’s jaw before leaning back.
Chuuya sees the pout form upon Dazai’s lips once the bastard opens his eyes again.
“That’s not fair, Chuuya.”
It’s a whisper, and it has Chuuya grinning nervously.
“You promised,” Chuuya says. Dazai lets go of his hand but not of his eyes.
Chuuya breaks the contact briefly to take a look at what’s written on his skin, the words ‘ You’re heavenly pretty’ meeting his eyes right there. He stares astounded at the ink, his skin tingling all over his body with a warm wave of surprise, and he’s so captivated by them that when Dazai caresses his cheek, Chuuya shivers.
He looks back at his partner, as Dazai is expecting him to, hot-cheeked and only to find him staring back softly. It is then, when Chuuya leans in once more so his lips can meet Dazai’s with so light a pressure it feels like feathers over his mouth.
Chuuya beams into the kiss when he acknowledges it is the closer they will ever be to a Spiderman kiss, and Dazai follows suit thereafter.
“You told me it was safe,” Chuuya says, teeth gritting and fists clenching at his side.
Dazai stares at him in condescending indifference, the battleground still burning and smoking from the sudden explosion. He doesn’t muster a word.
“You told me it was safe, and it was a lie.” Chuuya repeats, anger now filling up his voice. “There was still a whole mafia squadron inside that building when I crushed it, you stupid bastard. And you told me it was safe.”
“You destroyed the enemy, good work, Chuuya.”
Chuuya’s name comes out of Dazai’s mouth honeyed, his attention clearly somewhere else looking for the extraction convoys. Chuuya shoves him down by his tie in a furious movement, his blue eyes shining with rage when Dazai meets them.
“You goddamn liar, did you hear them scream? Because I did, you imbecile, I had my comrades die by my hands when I could’ve gotten them out and wipe the enemy using Corruption instead!” Chuuya shoves down harder. “But you lied to me. You don’t lie to a partner, asshole!”
Dazai tries to rise again, yet the grip is unrelenting. He sighs, “you’ve used Corruption three days ago, you’re not fully recovered.” Dazai takes in Chuuya’s whitening knuckles, and continues, “the Mafia won’t risk its most powerful weapon for a bunch of useless subordinates.”
Chuuya lets the tie go as if it had burned him, his eyes widening in something akin to fear but slightly closer to disappointment. He takes a step back in a second, then two, and even three. Dazai stares at him cautiously, confused even when he doesn’t show it, although the moment he tries a step closer to his partner, the redhead retrocedes as well.
“So that’s what I am to you.” Chuuya is the first one to break the silence, his words less aggressive but stinging the same. “A weapon.”
Dazai doesn’t have the time to respond because Chuuya has already turned around, his steps firm on the ground until he’s floating mid air and leaving the battleground.
The atmosphere constricts his throat and Dazai really feels like puking.
Chuuya wakes up with his head throbbing and his eyes stinging, but none of that hurts as much as the emptiness weighing down his chest. The left side of his bed remains undisturbed, and Chuuya tentatively places his hand over the cold, empty, pillow.
He gets up fast, not wanting to keep sulking and worrying about a bastard that right now doesn’t deserve it. Because he could have used a hand stroking his hair to help him through the nightmares full of screams from his comrades he can still hear.
So what if he cares. What if he cares so much it kills him one day. It’s the only thing deeming him human, anyway.
Chuuya steps into the bathroom hoping that a morning shower can get him through the day, even if he has to take it alone –with no bastard to complain about saving water and so on. He is angry at Dazai, because he trusted him and he lied to Chuuya. But he’s angrier at himself for being so weak he lost friends in the battleground by his own hand.
He doesn’t even want to stare at his own reflection in the mirror. But then again, there is something scribbled on his face, so he takes a closer look. Dazai’s handwriting is all over his left cheek, the message forcing Chuuya to take a strong hold on the sink.
‘ You’re precious to me.’
Chuuya’s legs tremble the slightest. His hand hesitantly caresses the words he knows are written there so he needs to wash them out and Dazai can pretend they didn’t happen. The coward.
And yet Chuuya finds himself smiling –the more he doesn’t want to, the more the grin inevitable grows.
Chuuya meets Dazai at the main doors of the Port Mafia headquarters, the notification of a soukoku mission resting read on his phone. Dazai stares at him with bags under his eyes and his lips worried, thus Chuuya makes a mental note to indulge him a little that night.
“So, what’s on our agenda today, partner?”
Dazai drops a trail of kisses up Chuuya’s spine, his fingers tracing the tight muscles on his back. Chuuya squirms standing in between his legs, soft chuckles arising from his belly.
“I need to finish dressing, you bastard.” Chuuya tries stepping out of Dazai’s embrace, but the asshole gets a grip on his legs and draws him back, closer to the bed. “Dazai.”
He sighs, “alright, Chuuya.” The disappointment is clear in Dazai’s voice, mostly with Mori having sent Chuuya out on a mission alone, again, just to spite him. “One last thing, then.”
Dazai reaches for the pen resting on top of Chuuya’s poetry book, then writes something down quickly on top of the dimples on his lower back.
“What? What did you write?” Chuuya attempts to see, though Dazai doesn’t allow him to. He picks Chuuya’s shirt from the bed and swiftly helps it on him.
“You can’t read it until you land on France,” Dazai says, buttoning the shirt up.
“That’s unfair,” Chuuya resorts to a pitiful expression only to have Dazai shaking his head.
“Promise me.”
Chuuya hesitates, staring deep into his eyes in a match he’s never come victorious of.
“Okay, I promise,” Chuuya concedes, “but give me a clue or something.”
Dazai throws himself on top of Chuuya, his lips landing just beside his right ear. Chuuya takes a step back at the sudden lump in his arms, barely regaining himself in time not to fall on the bed.
“It’s just a reminder,” Dazai whispers against his ear, “that no matter how many hot parisians you meet, you’ve got a hot japanese waiting for you at home.”
Chuuya steps out of the embrace so fast Dazai ends up hanging in the air. His cheeks are deep red and his lower lip is trembling in between his teeth, while his attention seems now completely engulfed by his luggage.
“You’re spouting nonsense again, I see.” Chuuya fumbles under Dazai’s amused stare.
He zips his backpack closed and steps out of the room, the reddish flush descending to his chest.
“Oh, come on, Chuuya! Is that your way of saying goodbye?” Dazai complains, following close behind.
Chuuya halts on the threshold, turning around. He is still visibly embarrassed, though he's not pouting at Dazai anymore.
“Alright,” he says, folding his arms over his chest, “come here.”
Dazai does take a step closer, but doesn't move further than that. Chuuya groans, but closes the distance to stand on his tiptoes and brush his lips against Dazai’s. It takes the latter a second to deepen the kiss, because if he is going to spend a month running on no Chuuya, he’ll need something more than a chaste peck.
Chuuya ends up slammed against the door, kissing Dazai back with all his might even when he knows he's already close to missing the flight. He bites down on Dazai’s lower lip one last time before tracing it with his tongue, only to lightly push his partner apart the second after. Dazai follows after him for a moment before leaning back.
“I'm leaving now,” Chuuya pants, taking a hold on his luggage again.
“Yeah.”
Dazai watches Chuuya step out of their penthouse, and neither of them break the eye contact till the elevator door closes.
Chuuya reads the words on his back without difficulty even though they’re backwards, and the message has his body still on its place, nerves tingling and a wave of warmth spreading over his body. His core clenching, throat closing.
It says, ‘ I love you ’, and Chuuya breaks into a burst of giggles.
Stupid Dazai.
Chuuya marks the days left to see Dazai again on his calendar, hoping for the moment he can slap, then kiss the bastard for embarrassing him in such a way.
Chuuya lands back on Yokohama exactly thirty days later, expecting his other half to pick him up on the airport. Instead, it's Kouyou the one who meets him.
Chuuya lands back on Yokohama and he doesn't have a partner anymore.
It really is a bad day for being an executive, Chuuya decides, because it's probably the hottest evening in June by far and he has to waste it inside the enemy's office. The Armed Detective Agency must be a living hell inside since Chuuya feels like melting on his seat, his clothes glued to his body –the leather ones sticky enough it's getting uncomfortable.
Chuuya sees the words coming out of the Agency’s president, though he is not listening at all. His right leg is beating silently against the floor, and his hands are starting to get sweaty in a way it's making him regret most of his fashion choices.
He takes in his surroundings, because keeping his gloves on is not an option anymore. The traitor –also known as Dazai; is seated at his right, close enough to see his hands if he does take off the garments. Mori, on his left, is too far to catch a glimpse of the numerous scars. They are not something new to Dazai, anyway, even if it makes Chuuya sick to the core.
Chuuya slides the gloves off his fingers, the skin already grateful for the fresh air. He places them under the table so the dark scarrings remain unseen, yet there is already movement on his side that predicts a disaster.
Chuuya shifts uncomfortably on his seat, the pair of eyes piercing his nape now adding a new weight to the whole evening torture. He wants to ignore it. Sadly, he can't.
Then, he catches Dazai’s chair sliding closer to his and Chuuya tenses in anticipation. He wants him as far as he can.
Since the stupid alliance between organizations, Dazai has been trying to irritate him each and every time they had to casually work together as a pair once more. Chuuya is not dumb enough to go through his bullshit again even if he still sleeps with a shirt too big to be his own and on Dazai's abandoned side of the bed.
So, Chuuya is a goddamn fool. And he might still make too many pancakes on weekends for breakfast sometimes, but he's prideful enough not to let Dazai toy with him a second time.
Dazai isn't part of his life anymore, he should have learned it by now.
Chuuya is so deep in thought that the brush of something cold against his palm startles him, and it takes a quick look to discern the point of a pen about to mark his skin. Chuuya retrieves his hand immediately, his eyes falling for the first time in the evening straight on Dazai's.
The exchange is brief and the indifferent expressions unchanging before Dazai goes for Chuuyas hand again. Chuuya snatches it away, though never out of its place under the table –just enough to escape Dazai's attempts to write on his skin.
That tradition is dead anyway, along with what they used to have.
But Dazai is nothing if not persistent until he obtains what he wants, and soukoku, Chuuya has to admit, has never been known for subtlety.
A strong, intentional cough from both Fukuzawa and Mori has them stopping on their tracks, the disappointed look on Kouyou’s face urging Chuuya to slide further down his seat in embarrassment.
Chuuya drags his attention back to the meeting knowing deep down he's just being Dazai's plaything once again. With a sigh, he extends his arm to the right because he knows Dazai won't stop otherwise.
Even though he doesn't look back at Dazai, Chuuya can feel his cold fingers encircle his wrist, the so very well known bandages scraping against his palms. Chuuya inhales abruptly at the ink spreading upon his outer hand, the sensation too thick to be a simple pen.
Chuuya directs a look at their joined hands, and he would have gulped if he didn't spot Dazai using a permanent marker to leave who knows what stupid message in his hand.
“You used a marker?” He whispers, though kind of aggressively, when he catches the bosses of both organizations agree on finishing the reunion for the day.
Dazai's response is a devilish smile and he doesn't let go of Chuuya’s hands as he raises from his seat. He turns to leave the meeting room alongside his new comrades, their fingers staying linked together until they have to forcefully separate.
Chuuya shoves his gloves on again before standing to leave the building with Kouyou and Mori, his hand itching inside the leather but not from sweat anymore.
It's not until he's at the safety of his own house that Chuuya retrieves his gloves, understanding that the words are going to be a hell to erase. And isn't that the reason Dazai used a permanent marker, so Chuuya would have no chance at wiping them out without reading the message first.
The bastard bunch of words is a great reminder to Chuuya that fate is a bitch, and that no matter how many damn barriers he raises, Dazai will always be able to come into his life, turn it a mess and leave when he pleases.
The words that won't vanish from Chuuya’s hand for, at least a couple days, say ‘ Looking forward to being the most vicious duo of Yokohama with you again, partner’ , altogether with a smiley face that makes Chuuya unintentionally smile again –even when the count back for the moment when Dazai dumps him once more has just started and is ticking aloud.
It is indeed a sight to behold, having Yokohama lay bare in front of him so late at night –first hours in the morning, more accurately. The height is not so bad itself, the rooftop of the enemy building they just defeated is situated well enough that it brings out a new side to the city.
Also, Chuuya needs a cigarette real bad. The job is done impeccably so, as everything his former partner is involved with; but working with him again so repeatedly is taking a toll on Chuuya he thought had paid long ago.
The steps sound clear at his back and Chuuya rushes to take the last drag before coming back to reality. He drops the stub when Dazai halts at his side, the smoke still warming his lungs.
“Bummer,” Dazai says, though he's only staring at Chuuya from the corner of his eyes, “I was hoping you'd share.”
Raising an eyebrow at the easy bait, Chuuya beckons Dazai to slide closer, which he does. Taking a hold of his nape, Chuuya brings their mouths together –not enough to kiss but enough to do the trick, and transfers the smoke to Dazai's lungs. Dazai tastes it for a second, eyes closed, before breathing it out through his lips.
There's something about seeing smoke from his own mouth slipping out of Dazai's lips that strikes Chuuya as erotic even after all this time. And it has him swallowing down hard, his attention undivided.
“Great job tonight,” Dazai says, looking straight at him.
“Ran out of clever things to say?”
Dazai laughs loudly at the comeback, shaking his head amusedly.
“I was just praising you.”
“I figured,” Chuuya furrows, but his gaze is back upon the city, “you only do that when you want something from me.”
Dazai breathes out a complain that falls silent against his lips when Chuuya raises an eyebrow in defiance.
“Well, you're right,” Dazai shrugs, “it's easier approaching you when you're in good humor.”
“Who said I care about your praises?” He tries to keep it impersonal, but when Chuuya decides to look at Dazai, he fails.
“You used to thrust in me harder when I said it felt good.”
Chuuya’s mouth falls agape at Dazai's words, his serious expression not managing to cover the sneer glint in his eyes, which makes it just worse. Chuuya turns his eyes apart quick.
“I can't fucking believe you, Dazai.” He groans frustrated, yet he can't say his cheeks haven't turned red from the memories.
His pulse speeds up, beating soundly against his ribcage.
When Dazai takes a step closer, he takes a step back. Dazai winces at the reaction, but it's so brief Chuuya might have imagined it.
“What are you trying to gain from this?” The question comes out naturally, because Chuuya may trust Dazai with his life but not with his heart anymore.
Dazai rushes to stand near, though Chuuya is already backing. Not running away, never running away. But keeping Dazai at a distance enough for his mind not to start sending mixed signals.
“Nothing, Chuuya,” Dazai states, “I…”
Dazai stands awkwardly on his place for a moment, before swiftly looking for something in his pocket. He shows Chuuya a pen.
“May I?”
Dazai's words come out as a whisper hanging mid air before Chuuya’s clear hesitation. His thoughts travel a hundred miles per second inside his brain, all of them urging Chuuya to remember he is standing in front of a traitor. That in front of him is a man who dared lie to his face, toy with his feelings and then betray him.
The man he had once loved, and never could fall out of love with.
There is no reason for Chuuya to be stupid enough to follow his whims into the same trap twice –the shame of being a disposed plaything still weighing down his chest. There is no reason to have a broken heart again. And yet Chuuya finds himself taking one step closer, then another.
Chuuya nods, and then offers his bare inner arm to his former partner. Dazai takes a hold of it carefully, delighting himself in stepping into Chuuya’s personal space only to write down on his skin more comfortably.
When he steps back, in the places where his fingers have been stays a warm, itchy sensation lingering over Chuuya’s skin.
“I never wanted you out of my life. Please let me come back home, it's cold in the light without you.” Chuuya reads aloud as a murmur, and he blinks in response to the words.
Dazai is staring at him with a troubled smile, and Chuuya thinks this is it, he is gone beyond salvation. He stares dumbly at the words, arising some trembling sensation all over his body, and it doesn't help the cause.
Chuuya attempts one last time at reasoning, being aware that Dazai will dump him once he is tired of him again. But this is what being in love means, Chuuya thinks, yearning for the things that hurt the most.
Chuuya extends his arms to Dazai and manages a smile before saying, “welcome home.”
Dazai relishes in the bright blue eyes he's missed like a crazy man and deliberately engulfs Chuuya’s body in a tight embrace.
“I missed you,” he says.
Dazai drags his feet over his flat’s carpeted floor, movement in autopilot and guided solely by the smell of coffee and pancakes. His eyes are still closed –even though he’s supposedly ready to leave for work, but he has navigated the place enough times not to collide against the little furniture that came with it.
He does stop dead on his tracks on the brim of his kitchen, the sight in his front so recently added to his everyday life that it still makes Dazai heavy in the chest and dizzy in the head.
Chuuya is wearing the shirt he had intended to get on for work that morning, something Dazai doesn’t mind since it suits him so much better after all; and presumably nothing else underneath. He’s got his back on Dazai, as Chuuya is still finishing breakfast, and Dazai finds himself swaying towards him, hoping to drop himself on Chuuya’s shoulders.
Chuuya catches his weight as if he was ready for it, which he most likely was; without batting an eyelash. He flips the last pancake onto a plate saying nothing, though there is a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Dazai whines tiredly, “I don’t wanna go.”
They are not many the days Chuuya leaves for work after Dazai, even more seeing he doesn’t bother with punctuality. And so he wants to spend the morning with Chuuya, reclaim his shirt back.
Chuuya doesn’t look at him yet, but says, “stop bitching and go to work, bastard.” And then, softly, “I just made you a bento.”
Dazai catches the sight of a neatly packed lunch box, and merrily nudges his face in Chuuya’s shoulders, placing a soft kiss over his neck he hopes conveys how grateful he is. Just in case it doesn’t, Dazai turns Chuuya around by the shoulders, at last being able to meet his striking blue eyes.
Chuuya mouths a silent dare with his lips that has Dazai unclasping the first buttons of his shirt, enough that it can slide further down Chuuya’s shoulder. He grabs the pen resting beside the shopping list in a swift motion, and leans in under the redhead’s attentive stare.
There he writes ‘beautiful ’, and then some more. Over the soft skin Dazai leaves words like ‘precious, astonishing, enticing ’, which he whispers aloud. He lists down over Chuuya’s front once he has run out of space ‘fascinating, gorgeous ’, and the latter starts to tremble.
‘Heart-stopping’ , he writes, and Chuuya lets out a laugh.
“Stop it, that tickles!”
Dazai concedes, but leaves a kiss on Chuuya’s forehead that only embarrasses him further.
“Thank you for the trouble.”
Chuuya squirms under Dazai’s smirk and snatches the pen out of his hands, forcing him to turn around as well. He tiptoes to reach the part of Dazai’s nape that is still visible, and scribbles his own message there before leaving a quick kiss on top.
“You should leave now, you don’t wanna be late.” Chuuya steps back as Dazai turns around to face him.
The redhead hands him the bento in exchange for a brief kiss, then watches Dazai walk backwards to the door, his eyes never slipping away from Chuuya.
“See you tonight.” Dazai is smiling.
“Partner.” Chuuya fills in, waving goodbye.
Dazai stretches his arms above his head, walking along the riverside while humming an obnoxious tune Kunikida is on the verge of exploding because of.
“Ah! I can’t wait to get back home!”
“Finish your reports first.”
Dazai rolls his eyes at his coworker’s words, but his grin is unfaltering.
“Yes, yes…” Dazai adds, “At home.”
He can hear Atsushi laughing behind him, but his attention is already somewhere else, deep in thoughts of red curls sliding between his fingers, the bluest eyes looking at him and only him. A smaller man using him as a bodyrest because he says it’s comfier that way, surely no further reason implied.
Dazai is chuckling before he can stop himself. It’s Atsushi’s voice what makes him come back from the brain limbo.
“Dazai-san! You’ve got something on your neck!” The boy shortens the distance in a moment before Dazai can assimilate his enthusiasm, and takes a peek at his mentor’s skin –Kunikida walking closer as well. Atsushi blushes down hard.
“It’s Nakahara’s handwriting,” Kunikida half asserts.
“Huh?”
“It says ‘I love you’ ?” Atsushi stutters the words out before Dazai can assess the situation. However he resumes walking thereafter as if it’s nothing, just wanting to get home already.
He says, “I know.”
He loves him, too.