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Coming back to an empty home had to be one of Chuuya’s greatest fears, or better yet, returning to a place filled with the stench of death; feeling the life that was lost instead of the mischievous aura and the little sounds that screamed of a still living body in his house.
Making careful steps as if pondering his chances, he finally reached his apartment building with his only companion, the familiar feeling of dread that was slowly creeping up on him. And as any other day, his malicious companion was leaving him confused whether he should run upstairs as fast as his legs could carry him or slowly make is way up, bracing himself for the possibility that the warm body residing in his home by now ran cold. By choosing a little bit of both, he started running, increasing his speed and lowering his gravity as if his own life depended on it because in a way it did; the other half of his soul was hurting, that much he could tell and he just couldn’t wait to gather him in his arms and reassure the other man of his worth and of the love Chuuya shared for him until morning light should he allow it.
It's been days since he last stepped in his home, and frankly, he didn't want to, but he had to see whether tomorrow he would get ready for a date or a funeral. It's like his mind kept throwing a coin, but the outcome was too blurry to decipher.
He turns the knob.. or tries to. His joints are locked, his arm is heavy and the bile keeps rising up his throat, burning its way out. Okay, you can do this. He repeats it in his head a few times — or maybe he's mumbling it out loud, he can't be sure — and taking a deep breath to steady himself, Chuuya finally steps in.
The curtains are drawn and soaked in alcohol and cigarette smoke. In the cold house, the very air is choking him, leaving a burning trail as it seeps to his lungs; he doesn't remember fighting the instinct to open the window and let the cool breeze of early spring come through and wash away this heartbreaking smell of lost nights and dead expectations. He can't help but tip toe through the rooms; he shouldn't dare disrupt this somber serenity in his desperate search for bright eyes and bodily warmth.
The balcony is the final destination and his steps are heavy; his expression is solemn and the air is traped in his lungs and the soft click of the door is more offensive than it ought to be.
There he is, but the rush of anxiety and adrenaline only comes back stronger. He doesn't look like he's about to jump, but Chuuya won't make his presence known yet. Instead he takes in the sight before him.
The brunet's shoulders are slumped and his head's hung low; with eyes half lidded and staring blankly as if nothing around him changed. His hair has more tangles than usual, no doubt the man was pulling at it over and over again until his arms grew tired and he stopped seing the point.
Dazai's mind was jumbled, his thoughts scattered over a thousand miles. One thought birthed a second and then a third and nothing could calm the throbbing in his head. It felt like spiders were crawling through his skull, blurred ever so slightly by the sound of static whispers and quiet screams. A hand on his shoulder startled him, and yet his body could not react in any way. A moment passes, then two and he's pulled from the balcony and into their bedroom.
Chuuya gently guides his lover to their bed, the one that knows nights of passion and peace and heartbreak, kicking aside piles of dirty clothes. He sits Dazai down and undresses him slowly.
He slips the crumpled shirt off his shoulders and unwinds the gauze cutting into skin. Peppering kisses to his palms, the back of his hands, here rests for a moment at this wrists, just over his pulse, feeling the blood pumping life into his lover's too cold body. He goes up then, his lips ghosting over his collar bone, his shoulder, his neck and stops. A moment might be too short to thank the steady pulse for simply being present, but as he whispers reassurances and soft words of praise he can feel the tension in Dazai's frame start to ease up. He raises slowly to his feet then, only to lean to place a kiss to the crown of his head, his temple before kissing the tip of his nose and looking at him with fond eyes and a boyish grin.
Chuuya could swear there was no sweeter answer to his silent confession than the soft giggle and small, genuine smile Dazai showed him.
"Let's go to sleep, love."
Crawling close behind Dazai and hugging him from the back, Chuuya pulls the warm covers over their trembling bodies and as he burries his face in his lover's neck and leaving small kisses there, all the tension eases from Dazai's frame until he finally falls asleep.
In the cold and darkness, Chuuya's cuddles are a little touch of heaven. Warmth seeping through his bones, enveloping him slowly. How he'd wish to extend the night just so he could stay in his arms for longer, safe in his embrace, where he didn't have to think or act or plot but just be. Dazai knew that in Chuuya's embrace there was nothing to fear, that not even his traitorous mind could keep him awake.
At last, he could rest.
"If I could calm your mind by holding you close, I would do so without question. I would hold you tightly in my arms and kiss your head, your eyes, your lips and let you rest and fall asleep."
In the morning, Dazai nestles closer to his lover's chest and feels just a little bit warmer