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In a small town- with a population barely big enough to call it just that- Dazai ran away with Chuuya from their makeshift altar. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. Chuuya’s laughter bubbled in his ears. The feelings in his chest made it impossible to frown. This was easily the best day of his life.
Happiness was in Chuuya right beside him.
Happiness was in the golden band sitting snug on his finger.
His happiness reflected back at him in the crystal blue eyes of his husband.
Dazai thought it was a miracle they even stopped pining and got together, having been going at their dumb game since childhood. Nevertheless, everything turned out perfectly and Dazai thought-
-It was the start of a good life for the two of them.
--
Luckily, Dazai was a teacher and could support them both on his salary alone. He bought them a small house on the outskirts of town riddled with renovation projects. It was the perfect little house for them to start their new lives.
After a failed attempt at carrying Chuuya over the threshold of the house bridal-style, Dazai found his center of gravity thrown off balance and he realized he was being carried over instead. He whined the entire time, but honestly wouldn’t have it any other way.
They barely had anything to move in- two old suitcases filled to the brim with their clothes, a new cream-colored couch, and lumpy mattress they’ve had for a while. They finished setting everything down where they belonged and got to work.
The living room was the first to go- the old, peeling gray paint changed out for a bold navy blue. Together they pushed their couch over across the fireplace.
Dazai helped Chuuya renovate the house after he came home from work, no matter how tired. That didn’t mean he couldn’t complain.
It took them a year of work to slowly get everything done, but once they were done, they had a home that reflected them.
--
Chuuya had always been a free spirit, thriving in adversity, so Dazai could understand that when he was done with the thrills of domestic life, he’d want to get up and out of the house. Maybe start a shop or get a job.
What Dazai couldn’t understand was his choice to join the military.
He’d always encouraged Chuuya to do what he loved- in more than one respect- but this was something he couldn’t stomach. Chuuya would have to live on the military base, he’d be away from home for periods at a time, and if the time came to it, he’d have to risk his life. Chuuya could die out in a foreign battlefield surrounded by violence.
He made his concerns known to Chuuya, but it was a very Dazai way of making them known. He ridiculed Chuuya’s decision to try to get him to understand the severity it, but the redhead was having none of it.
That night was their worst fight ever and it lasted longer than any of their other ones. Dazai felt terrible and worst of all, Chuuya was miserable. They avoided each other in their own house, but without fail, there was always coffee ready for Chuuya in the morning. There was always a plate of food ready for Dazai when he got home.
Dazai readied a glass of wine before he knocked on the door to the bedroom three nights after their original shouting match. A beat passed and he heard a muffled “come in.”
Nervously stepping inside, Dazai took a deep breath to calm himself down. He looked at Chuuya reading on the bed and sheepishly said, ”Hello, love.”
Chuuya sighed, set aside the book he was reading on the nightstand, and said tiredly, ”What do you want Dazai?”
Dazai threw away his pride. “I love you, Chuuya, I-I’m sorry I was just so worried I-”
He stopped when he saw Chuuya open his arms.
He fell into them and finally relaxed. Forgiveness.
--
People in the army reserves were required to live on the base, only given a couple days off whenever they completed a month of service. Meaning, Dazai had to come home to an empty house more often than not. Chuuya always visited home every opportunity he could, asking for days off as soon as he finished the prerequisite.
They exchanged letters often, they talked about how things were going and how much they missed each other. It really didn’t help and Dazai lost sleep regardless.
Sighing, Dazai turned the keys in the lock and opened the door. The house was cold and dark, like usual. He left his shoes and bag at the door and forewent turning on the lights, instead flopping down on the couch. He had pulled an all nighter the night before grading papers and he was beyond exhausted.
He fell asleep and didn’t know how just how much time had passed, but he jumped up as soon as he heard a soft click at the door, all previous notion of emptiness gone.
The lights turned on and he was briefly blinded, but when his vision came into focus he made eye contact with his small husband. He felt a smile involuntarily forming at the sight and he watched as a reciprocating smile bloomed on Chuuya’s face.
Dazai bolted up from the couch, ran into open arms, and whispered, ”Welcome home.”
--
It was a gloomy day when the letter arrived, overcast and chilly, thick black clouds threatening a storm. Dazai knew that Chuuya was on the military reserves, he knew that Chuuya always had a chance at being deployed, but nothing could prepare him for the day it actually happened.
His shaky hands wanted to hide the letter, protect him from the pain of war. Dazai’s hopes were crushed when Chuuya came up behind him and gently took the letter from his hands. He watched as Chuuya read the letter, his eyebrows creasing with every sentence, the once endearing sense of commitment and duty painting his face a somber color.
This was his worst fear realized.
He should’ve known fate- that fickle, pathetic thing- would throw this at them, try their relationship.
In shock, he could do nothing but wait for Chuuya’s reaction. The man that was usually so full of life, now eerily devoid of emotion, his face straining to keep the calm facade. Well, he could do nothing but reach out and hold Chuuya as close as possible. As tightly as possible. Their only time spent together was ruined indefinitely.
He felt something wetting his shirt- ah, the hatrack was crying. It took him awhile to realize that there was moisture on his cheeks, softly falling from his closed eyes. He tucked his head in Chuuya’s hair and swayed them back and forth, a futile attempt at comfort.
Gone are the days when they’d be able to spend at least a little time together when Chuuya was able to get away from the base. Apparently the situation was dire and they needed soldiers as soon as possible. They only had until tomorrow at noon and then their world would be turned upside down.
His train of thought was broken when Chuuya pulled away. He suddenly felt colder, the distance between them was daunting. Staring at each other, Dazai was finally able to see Chuuya’s face- eyes red and puffy, cheeks blotchy- and couldn’t help but think that he was beautiful.
He pulled Chuuya close again and kissed him deeply. He pulled away a little and breathed against the redhead’s lips, ”It’s going to be ok, you’re going to be ok, we’re going to be ok.”
The next day Dazai watched Chuuya pack his bags. He stopped the man at the door, ”Hey Chibi, I love you.” he said quickly, in a shaky breath.
Chuuya put on an unconvincing face of confidence and reassured him, ”Don’t you worry about me, Mackerel. Please don’t be a nuisance to others, I won’t be here to keep you in check. Plus, I don’t want to die like you do.”
“Are you sure you won’t be the one worrying about me?” Dazai whined.
Punching his shoulder and reaching up to give him another quick kiss, Chuuya smiled sadly.
“Stay safe Chuuya, and come home soon.”
Dazai watched him leave until he could no longer see his form on the horizon.
“Goodbye, Love.”
--
Atsushi knew Dazai-san loved to teach and liked to think he was good at his job- it was fun to mold young minds and see their eyes light up in understanding.
Just like how Atsushi knew that Vice principal Kunikida would disagree and say that he was a menace, always assigning the kids weird pranks to pull on the school instead of homework, but the kids in his class had the highest test scores in the school.
Dazai-san loved to teach his class of young students, but would always pause his lectures when a letter from Chuuya-san arrived. When the mailman- who Dazai-san somehow blackmailed into delivering the letters here- arrived, the class would watch as he dropped what he was doing and stepped outside.
Being a nosey bunch, his classmates would always look out the window to watch Dazai-san’s face light up as he read the letter. Atsushi looked around as people giggled to their friends about the love-struck look on their teacher’s face.
Instead, he watched as all his classmates bolted from the window and back into their seats, like they’d just seen a ghost. He took a peek outside and saw the forlorn expression Dazai-san wore. The look of utter emptiness as he met Atsushi’s eyes sent chills through his spine.
Something was off. Maybe he should’ve seen it coming when it wasn’t the usual mailman who delivered the letter.
Looking back on it, it should’ve set off alarms that the letter wasn’t in a worn envelope, but instead in a clean crisp one.
Dazai-san always shared what Chuuya-san wrote in the letters. They were usually about the weather, his travels, how he’s faring, and how much he misses his husband, but this is one letter Atsushi didn’t want to hear about. There was a pit opening up in his gut, sending him into a state of thinly veiled panic- but before he could do anything about it, Dazai-san walked back into the classroom.
His earlier look, replaced by what he assumed was a mask that feigned delight. He opened his mouth, ”Sorry that took so long! Chuuya couldn’t shut up in this letter,” and a false cheerful tone came out.
If he hadn’t seen the look on Dazai-san’s face earlier, Atsushi might’ve believed it. Maybe.
The teacher went on about what Chuuya-san had apparently seen, ”He passed through France last week! He’s always wanted to go there,” what Chuuya-san had apparently said,” He said he misses me dearly and of course he would, I’m irresistible,” and how Chuuya-san was feeling,” Chibi is feeling a little under the weather, too bad I’m not there to nurse him back to health.”
Usually Chuuya-san added more details to satisfy the class’s curiosity, but it was all so vague, enough detail to keep them from worrying. Like Dazai-san was going through the motions of a ritual he loved so much.
The whole class usually erupted with questions, going as far as to interrupt Dazai-san, but were eerily silent. Atsushi could agree that there was a good reason to be silent, Dazai-san- who was always so upbeat and mischievous- was crying quietly. Not letting his voice waver once through his curt recounting of Chuuya-san’s letter.
Atsushi raised his hand, tears clouding up his vision, ”Dazai-san? Why are you crying?”
Dazai looked shocked and put a hand to his face, as if he didn’t notice the tears making their way down his face and walked out.
Class was dismissed early, but Atsushi couldn’t shake off the lingering worry throughout the rest of his classes. He walked home alone, lost in thought.
Poor Dazai-san.
--
It is with deep regret that I officially inform you of the death of your husband, Captain Nakahara Chuuya.
He was declared missing in action on 12 March 1942. The exact causes are unknown.
We will send his most trusted subordinates to relay the known facts about his death and his personal belongings. The Mortuary branch will communicate with you concerning the lack of remains and you may reach a conclusion about what to do.
Should you desire additional information before you are contacted by the mortuary branch, you may call the duty officer at xxx-xxx-xxxx ext. xxxxx. Please accept my sincerest sympathy in this hour of grief.
Sincerely,
xxxxx xxxxxxx
Dazai took the long way home, avoiding the usual buzz of the main streets in favor of the silent winding road. His mind raced, how could it not? How did Chuuya die? Did he die thinking of how he’d never come home? Or was it too quick and unexpected for Chuuya to do much of anything?
Did he die alone?
Oh, what he’d give to have Chuuya there with him right now, commenting on the scenery or talking to him absentmindedly about everything and nothing at all.
He’d do anything to make his mind stop- he snuck a look towards the small river that runs adjacent to the town, but quickly averted his eyes, remembering the lost look in Chuuya’s eyes when he saved Dazai from his last attempt. The redhead had yelled at him to live that day and he couldn’t do that to Chuuya again. What would happen, he wondered, if he were to pop up and surprise Chuuya wherever he was. “Hello, love,” he’d say and then get punched in the face by a flustered chibi.
He kicked a stone in frustration, watching as it skittered over the small dirt path and into the lush green grass. It’s unfair, he thought, that a petty war could take away his entire life just like that. He couldn’t disagree more with the fighting going on, not going as far to actually voice his opinions. Rotting in jail doesn’t seem like a comfortable and peaceful way to die, plus now that he was on his own, he wouldn’t have Chuuya there to bicker with during visiting hours.
...He won’t have Chuuya there to come home to ever again, their bedroom to remain cold and empty. The kitchen won’t be warm with the smell of fresh dinner. A home won’t be a home anymore. Dazai stopped and looked up at the sunny day completely oblivious to his pain and anger, wishing that it was raining because maybe then the downpour could hide the tears glistening in his eyes. Maybe then it could also drown out the sound of whoever was shouting.
Who was even shouting? It took him a minute to realize that the excruciating sound of pain emanated from his own throat.
He stopped.
Wiping the tears threatening to spill, he resigned. His tears wouldn’t bring Chuuya back. Being angry at the war won’t bring Chuuya back.
“Ah you dumb dog, look at what you’ve done to me,” he forced out with a sound resembling laughter. He put his hands in his pockets and let the sun warm his back as he continued his walk back to the house.
Looking down at the beaten earth beneath him, Dazai thought, the people responsible for the war are ruthless and the people led along like cattle, believing every pretty lie, are just as vile. They had cost him more than he could’ve ever wanted, this war had cost him more than he could’ve ever wanted. Dazai sighed scornfully and spat out, “Human beings are like that, though. They’ll do the most unbelievably cruel things when you least expect it.”
As he neared the house, the feeling of being watched made him look up to see two soldiers standing at his doorstep.
He quickened his pace, almost tripping up the stairs of the porch, desperate to get to the remaining pieces of Chuuya. Met with a man with a bandage across his nose holding a small bag and an older man with a monocle, he walked past them and led them inside.
The youngest was the first to break through the heavy silence, nervously fidgeting with the bag in his hands, ”You must be Dazai right? Chuuya talked about you a lot. I’m um Tachihara and that’s Hirotsu, we were under his command and were there the day he disappeared.”
Dazai nodded, choosing not to pay any mind to their introductions, instead deciding to wait for them to give him all the information they knew about Chuuya’s death. Any scrap of information would do, he hoped they would recount everything they knew, that they were there when he died so that they could tell him anything to soothe his racing mind.
--
In the end, they could only confirm that the last time they saw him was before a plane came down between them. It only served to make Dazai become lost in thought again. If Chuuya was still out there, Dazai suspected that he’d be dead before long, his suffering having been prolonged as he clinged to his last shreds of consciousness.
They decided to give him his space and leave, but Dazai begged them to stay. To tell him the stories they have with Chuuya. They told him Chuuya was a fair leader, that he treated his subordinates well, that his eyes lit up whenever he talked about Dazai and their life here, and- the most devastating- that he always carried an old picture of their wedding day in his coat pocket.
His eyes glossed over, but he managed to stay put together until they left.
Staring back at him as he let the tears finally (finally) spill over- was the old and beaten bag that Chuuya first took with him when he was first drafted.
Shaky fingers undid the clasp and his senses were bombarded with Chuuya. His scent, the sight of his worn and beaten hat, his fingers grazing where Chuuya’s had once been. Maybe it was his imagination when he thought he could taste the salt on the other man’s skin on the tip of his tongue. He wondered if it was just his imagination running wild when he heard his soft, content laughter next to his ears.
He shook his head.
Gently lifting the hat out of the way, he was met with a familiar envelope- the one he was supposed to get today. Unsteady fingers traced his own name written in all too familiar handwriting, moving to trace their address, then the stamp. His hands trembled when he finally picked it up. It took a full half hour before Dazai could bring himself to peel back the flap, breaking the flimsy glue holding the envelope together.
A letter written, for him, lay waiting.
Dazai forced out laughter at the sight of coffee at the edges, imagining Chuuya writing this during breakfast.
Slowly, he opened the letter, savoring the sound of the paper opening.
Hello Love,
For you, I have so many words.
These last few years have been rough on us, but we’ve made it through the worst of it.
My request for an honorable dispatch was approved. Within the week I will be able to return back to you.
This time, when i see you, I’ll finally greet you with the words you always sent me off with.
So until then, wait for me.
With Love,
Your husband
Maybe, if he had let the letter collect dust, he might’ve found some peace, but it was far too late for him.
It was far too late for them.
And he was broken.