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“I’ve waited so long for this, Atsushi-kun,” Dazai murmurs in his ear, on a dimly lit evening shared between just the two of them. Or rather, the exchanges of physical affection they participate amidst darkened rooms and shuffling kotatsus. Atsushi feels dizzy, tries to recall how it happened in the first place. Something about sharing dinner, about smudged cheeks and lingering touches. Atsushi kissed him, a spur of bravery and the way the light fell on Dazai’s face. A golden glow on the left side, twinkle in his eye. Scent of saké. He kissed back.
Atsushi would say something back, but he doesn’t feel like disconnecting his lips from Dazai’s. He pushes forward a little harder and hopes Dazai will take the hint, the gesture. “You are the best thing about this all. About me,” Dazai whispers against his lips, and then resumes to the kissing. He kisses a trail from Atsushi’s mouth to his jawline and beyond.
“I’m not,” Atsushi replies, even if he’s not sure what Dazai means and he’s not sure whether he should ask for clarification. He tilts his head to grant Dazai better access to his neck. Dazai huffs, and the blow of air on his skin makes shivers run down his spine. His side bumps against the kotatsu he’d normally sit and eat with Kyouka. He can get used to it, he decides right then and there, when Dazai begins to suck on his neck. Atsushi grabs a handful of Dazai’s hair, tugging gently. Dazai knows he’s sensitive there, and his memory lane takes him to Dazai running cold fingers across his neck whenever he could.
“You are,” Dazai insists, and the noise drags on Atsushi’s skin, vibrating across the crook of his neck. The haze Atsushi finds himself in dims, just a little, and he gently shakes his head. Dazai manages to place at least one more kiss in the hollow of his shoulders. Atsushi looks at Dazai for a moment, sees if he can read more in the amber glint his eye.
“You are your own best thing,” Atsushi settles on telling him, his hands finding a hold of his shoulders. He pulls back gingerly and Dazai’s face comes back in view. The lack of skin contact is a shame, but they can go back to it soon enough. There are few places that aren’t covered by bandages, Atsushi must make good use of it. “And I’m not just saying that to stroke your ego.”
Atsushi grabs a hold of Dazai’s hand, rubbing circles with his thumb. Maybe he’s doing that for Dazai, or maybe he’s doing it for himself. But Dazai doesn’t look uncomfortable, so he supposes it’s alright. The skin of his hands is rough and calloused, long and slender, but dotted with little wounds. Atsushi has sharp nails, ones that No Longer Human don’t cancel out. One press and Dazai’s hands would bleed open.
“You can’t stroke something that doesn’t exist, Atsushi-kun,” Dazai exclaims dramatically. Atsushi snorts, but allows him to get away with it without a reprimanding gaze or a playful punch on his arm (technically that’s Kunikida, and Kunikida isn’t that playful). “I guess I’m incredibly handsome—so extremely good-looking it hurts, it’s insane really—but other than that… Meh. I mean, everyone puts their undying faith in me and I’m pretty damn great, but, that’s about it.” Dazai shrugs, as if it doesn’t really matter.
Atsushi wants to say it does, but before he can, Dazai has already closed his mouth over Atsushi’s and Atsushi is helpless but to press back. It’s one of Dazai’s many talents, steering the conversation into whatever he wants it to be.
There’s a fine line between deceit and truth with Dazai, Atsushi knows. It’s so hard to believe Dazai isn’t just some narcissist in the beginning. The references from Port Mafia members have ignited the spark of curiosity. The subtle changes in facial expression and body language, which Atsushi merely spotted because of his enhanced tiger senses, have been a great indicator of such. His voice doesn’t ring as sincere. It’s a sport, really. Atsushi is learning, even if he he’ll never be close to being expert. No one will, probably.
No one knows Dazai, Atsushi remembers Akutagawa telling him, you can only deceive yourself into thinking you have.
But, oh, Dazai had sounded so sincere when he said it and Atsushi is a weak man, with legs made of jelly and a pair of sweating hands. Affection moves him to tears and butterflies scatter in his stomach at sweet sentiments. It’s not as new as other things are. He doesn’t flinch as much anymore. He’s not as scared as a starving boy who plucks a bandaged man out of a river and follows him into a teahouse, figures out he’s a rampaging tiger, joins a Detective Agency. Finds a family.
Sometime later he’s in love. He falls, pines and pines and pines (and not in a subtle way, at all, there’s a tattoo of a heart on his sleeve) and manages to ask the man for dinner. He says yes. Atsushi is overjoyed, as expected, and with shaking hands prepares a dinner with all of Dazai’s favourites. Crab is okay, but nothing beats ochazuke. The wasted flowers were worth it, the petals fluttering across the room. He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not and he loves me.
Even if that means they need to talk, that Atsushi needs to inquire about how he stands on certain issues. It’s too easy to forget about the practicalities of a relationship and listen to the tiger brain saying, must kiss the bandage man.
Dazai slowly leans in and brushes his lips against Atsushi’s cheeks. Back and forth, back and forth. His lips are cracked and his breath smells like the dinner they just had. It’s not like Atsushi really cares, he probably tastes the same anyway. Maybe there are some mints in the cupboard… Dazai pulls back and looks at him through half-lidded eyes. Atsushi lets out a small sigh, Dazai is as beautiful as he himself says. Kunikida would warn him not to say this out loud. Atsushi isn’t sure whether he’ll be able to shut up.
Dazai runs a finger down Atsushi’s face, gently scratching him by jawline. Atsushi sends an unamused glance Dazai’s way, but nonetheless finds himself smiling. It’s endearing, if not embarrassing. Ah, if it’s only the two of them Atsushi can do with the cat references, even if he’s a tiger in truth.
Dazai is asking something, and Atsushi focuses on Dazai again. On his face, on the strands of hair falling on his forehead, the golden flecks in his eye, the amber. A white line runs under his chin, and there’s also a scar on the left of his nose. Atsushi doesn’t think he’s ever asked about those. Should he?
Memories of half-finished sentences and an unanswered question flit through Atsushi’s head. Atsushi had once asked him why Dazai wanted to die. What had the answer been again—
“Do you want to continue where we left off, Atsushi-kun?” Dazai whispers against the corner of Atsushi’s mouth. He leaves a trail of kisses around his mouth, as if he doesn’t want to take away Atsushi’s ability to speak. Atsushi bites his lip, and his hands itch. Dazai knows how to drag him to cloud nine. He could forget and let himself be pulled off earth, let the current drift him along the hard bits and the easy bits. He can ask questions later.
“Okay,” he says, “okay.”
—Dazai had never answered. There was a sunset. They were walking together. And Dazai had never answered.
Atsushi closes his eyes and Dazai kisses him.
He can ask questions later. It’s okay.