Work Text:
i.
the first time dazai said it, chuuya scoffed.
not like he was concerned or anything.
“tomorrow,” the bandaged man suddenly announced in their small apartment, “i shall be dead!”
“what kind of nonsense are you sputtering about?” chuuya asks with an off-ish, mostly annoyed tone, but it was laced with... something. the redhead doesn’t decide yet on what to call it. it’s too early to make assumptions. i can never really read his mind.
“is my dearie becoming deaf? will he have to use a hearing aid?”
before chuuya could retaliate (his hand was already itching to grab the chair next to him), dazai said again, “i shall die by tomorrow!”
a bit fed up with dazai’s... unusual comments, he just stands up and exits the room. he looks back one last time and sees dazai’s innocent, smiling face.
“ever think of bringing your words to life, do know that i won’t hesitate to throw your body in the ocean and give the sharks a wonderful feast to snack on.”
(he silently curses himself, hoping dazai would catch on that... flirty phrase. attempt to flirt. attempt to compliment. whatever, he’s smart enough to figure that out.)
the day passes by rather... normally. no annoying calls or texts from his husband, no new missions or cases to take on as an executive, not too much reports to write. it’s a calm and cool day, and chuuya would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it even by one bit.
kouyou invites him over for tea. it’s delicious, as always. chuuya thinks about dazai, who still hasn’t pestered him, which should be good, but the last time the younger man did that, chuuya found him half-dead “because of a robbery case gone wrong,” insisted dazai. he didn’t believe dazai’s lie one bit.
(the scratches on his arms and chest were too familiar. there was no way chuuya wouldn’t recognize them. he’s been tending those very wounds since they were fifteen.)
when the executive arrives home, he’s surprised the kitchen wasn’t in its usual state - a mess filled with every possible ingredient available in the local convenience store except for vegetables - and that the television in their living room wasn’t left open. he’s much surprised when he sees the brown trench coat and the long loafers placed at where they usually are.
“osamu? are you there?” he calls out, and he swears he hears someone stifle... something. he can’t tell.
chuuya moves towards the bathroom. he kicks it open, revealing nothing but a tub that’s halfway full and a faucet that’s been left open. he heads next to their bedroom, where everything was dark and shadowy and just plain eerie—
the smaller man turns on the lights, and his heart stops.
he sees red. the gray carpet they’ve placed on their shared bedroom’s floor was stained red, and there were similar red stains on the walls and on the side of their white bed. he sees a mop of brown hair, and jesus christ what the hell happened—
“dazai!” he runs over to the seemingly unconscious body placed at the front of the bed, the back of dazai’s head being the only part of his husband’s body visible to him. he drags dazai’s body out beneath the bed, horror seeping through his veins as he sees torn clothes and bloodied bandages.
“dazai...” chuuya trails off, not knowing what to do. he could try to call an ambulance, but... he leans down and places his head over dazai’s chest, and-
“please stop, that actually tickles.”
“... what?”
dazai opens his eyes, a shit-eating grin on his face chuuya was too surprised to even recognize (and he always realizes it when dazai’s up to know good). “i said...”
he leans up and sneaks a kiss to the redhead’s cheek. “it sorta tickles?”
the last thing dazai sees is a black gloved-fist coming into contact with his face, this time making him actually unconscious instead of before.
(chuuya didn’t care, in fact, he’s outraged and panicked and oh fuck oh fuck thank god he’s not dead, but that doesn’t stop him from ultra cleaning the apartment and dazai’s ketchup stained clothes.)
ii.
the second time dazai did it, chuuya didn’t really know that he would try to do it. he actually almost caught him this time because he had his tricks well hidden up his sleeves.
he entered his apartment, dead tired after an infiltration mission that had almost gone wrong. almost. thankfully, he managed to knock out the corporate executive unconscious before he could even dare use corruption for himself.
he doesn’t even realize the hanging figure inside his living room, neither does he realize the impending surprise he’s yet to see the moment he looks up from the shoe rack he’s staring at.
chuuya then turns his head and freezes.
dazai... that has to be him... chuuya’s mind fizzes out before he screams.
dazai’s body was hung up with a rope around his neck, and it looked so fucking genuine because he was just mindlessly spinning around, unconscious, his lips looked so cold and his face was pale and holy fuck—
“dazai, what the hell, stay with me!” chuuya yells as he runs towards the body, immediately activating for the tainted sorrow to reach out for the rope around dazai’s neck, and his blood runs cold because oh my god why is my ability still activated when i’m touching his body, this shouldn’t have happened, it’s all my fault, but it doesn’t stop him from detaching the body from the rope and laying it down the couch.
he’s always looked like an angel when he sleeps, chuuya thinks as he stares at dazai lovingly. who he probably won’t be able to talk to again. who he’s never even started a family with when he’s always wanted to. the tears are prickling his eyes, and damn it if dazai doesn’t wake up now i don’t think i will either...
then the body becomes green, and chuuya immediately recognizes that ability, whipping his head around—
—only to see the tanizaki kid and dazai smiling goofily, even making a peace sign pose whereas the illusionist looked very much nervous and frightful.
chuuya may have been tired, but it doesn’t take a hats for brains like him to realize what just happened.
dazai seemed to have gotten that, as he only grins at the smaller man and claps his hands. “that’s right, chuu-chuu! it was all an illusion! pretty realistic for tanizaki-kun here to create, right? his ability is truly a wonder!”
tanizaki’s bolting out of the house as soon as the entire building began to shake.
iii.
chuuya couldn’t help but feel excited. not that he would ever admit that to his mackerel, who’s last text was from five minutes ago, which was still dressing up! this better be worth it :P. he’d rather die.
he’s worn casual clothing for their date tonight, which was at the yokohama cosmoworld. dazai’s always whined about wanting to go there, especially about wanting to ride the ferris wheel cosmo clock 21, and now that he’s got a clear schedule starting from today until the next day, he’s taking dazai to that very amusement park.
wearing only an oversized shirt that dazai goes crazy for, fitted jeans and high-cut platform leather sneakers, he decided to change his clothes at work and surprise dazai, who’s still at their house. he’s already told the taller man about their date the previous day before, and dazai’s already agreeing despite not even knowing where or when, and it kinda makes chuuya giddy because it shows how dazai truly trusts him—
anyway, chuuya rides on his motorcycle and makes his way to their shared house. it’s been a while since he’s became this elevated for a date. it’s probably because it’s been so long since their last proper one, but it’s also because it’s dazai, and if he was being completely and totally honest with himself, there’s always a thrill in him whenever it’s with dazai.
(it’s why he said yes to him in the first place.)
he arrives at their house’s doorstep and knocks silently, moving inside the eerily quiet house. he could see light emanating from the room, and he thought of a fun way to surprise his husband.
“hey, dazai!” he yells out, hands splayed out as to tickle. “wanna see your gift?”
no response. a rush of déja vu rushes in him.
he’s inside the room once again, and he sees dazai leaning halfway outside the window, blood oozing out of his back, hands gripping loosely on the window’s lid, and chuuya’s running before he could even blink.
this has to be real, this has to be real, this has to be...
he grabs dazai’s wrist and throws him onto the bed. rather, it.
a plushie. a little too realistic plushie. one that had red paint oozing out of its foamy back and one that actually might be mistaken for a person if placed under dim light.
he just feels disappointment in him right now. disappointment towards dazai, for never changing, and towards himself, for being too naïve.
dazai’s laughing already. “ah, i thought chuuya here would fall for it, but guess he caught on pretty quickly! i must say though, that is quite a grand entrance, i wonder what your surprise might be—“
“save it.”
chuuya’s long out of the house.
iv.
dazai hasn’t slept in days eversince chuuya left their apartment.
he can’t understand why. why was chuuya so mad at him as though the first few times he did it didn’t exist? why did chuuya seem to not catch up? why did chuuya think he still wanted to die when he has the most perfect, most precious, most beautiful man right beside him?
he groans as he bangs his head yet again on his desk. atsushi looks worriedly from his table while kunikida ignores him.
“talk to him,” ranpo says. “he’ll understand. actually, wait, don’t. he’ll only actually kill you for real. he’s just a little too disappointed in you.”
“for what?” dazai asks in half-frustration and half-amusement. “i thought he got me, the same way i got him.”
“i don’t know, for constantly making a fool out of him and his emotions? real talk here, but that’s emotional manipulation.”
that shuts dazai up. he swallows the rising bile in his throat as a cold wash of dread drains him of all the amusement he has, replacing them with the same feelings he’s held the moment he held odasaku in his arms.
guilt. regret. longing to be forgiven.
he’s about to get on his feet when someone contacts his cellphone. his private cellphone.
it’s chuuya.
he answers and doesn’t let the other man speak, “chuuya! i’m so sorry! i never thought—“
“hey, if you’re hearing this, it probably means i’m either going to be in comatose for months or be dead. they always said that i should start with the most positive of things when faced with a dilemma, so there. here’s the thing, if i sent this, it’s probably because i’m about to use corruption.
i love you, and i always have. thank you for everything, osamu.”
and then, dazai understands.
his legs take him to somewhere, anywhere, and he sees explosion and everything else. he couldn’t care less about the other people present. he couldn’t care less if even mori himself was there.
he takes chuuya’s wrist into his hand and whispers, “rest.”
dazai catches the smaller boy and holds him tight in his arms, both of them falling back into the rubble chuuya had caused once he activated corruption.
(the last time he’s ever used that voicemail was the night before dazai proposed to him.)
he finally understands.
the fear of losing who you’ve always loved. the fear of no longer being able to wake up to chuuya’s face the next day. the fear of seeing blood everywhere on chuuya, knowing that it’s partly his fault because he failed to watch over him. the fear that makes him tear up and destroy everything and just... have chuuya to wake up and smile at him and tell him that everything’s fine.
he understands now.
lovingly caressing chuuya’s cheeks, he mumbles the same two words over and over, even though dazai knows well they’d be best said once the redhead wakes up, but he couldn’t care less. not even when the port mafia’s private paramedics carry chuuya’s body away from him. not even when he’s confronted by mori. not even when he comes home to an empty bed and wakes up to no one beside him.
i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.
v.
chuuya wakes up to a white ceiling.
ah, i’m alive.
he turns to his right where he feels a familiar warmth covering his hand. a mop of brown hair sits atop the side of the bed, eyes closed yet grip tight.
“dazai,” he shakes his hand. no response. “dazai, wake up.”
“shush... sleeping...” dazai replies, and chuuya could feel the ice wrapped around his heart melt. i hate how i can never stay angry at him for so long.
“dazai, wake the fuck up.” chuuya whispers harshly and nudges dazai’s head with his knee, and it earns him an “ow!” before dazai could even stop himself.
“hey, what was that for—“
auburn eyes meet azure ones.
“you’re awake.”
chuuya shrugs, preventing himself from chuckling as he saw dazai’s dazzled expression. “seems like it.”
but instead of showering him in kisses and insults, dazai only nods and presses the call button, removing his hand from chuuya’s and wrapping them rather around himself.
the doctor arrives along with a few nurses, and he told them that chuuya could be released within a few days once his body fully recovers. “it’s good that he wasn’t out there for too long, he wouldn’t wake up this swiftly if he was.”
chuuya could see dazai tense up at the statement, and he even bowed to the doctor before the hospital crew left him and chuuya alone all over again.
“hey,” chuuya states softly. he tries to meet eyes with dazai. “talk to me.”
dazai couldn’t stop himself. “i’m so sorry.”
the redhead sighs, motioning the dazai to come closer. the younger hesitates, but as soon as he felt chuuya’s warm hand on his cheek, he soon relished himself in the ever loving pillow that is chuuya, who is thankfully not dead, who is thankfully awake and alive and is still madly in love with him even after all that’s happened—
“there’s no need to apologize, dazai.” chuuya says calmly, hands brushing dazai’s soft hair as he could hear the taller man’s silent whimpers, tears running down his cheeks in a waterfall of guilt and apology. “i know you meant no malice.”
“t-the moment i saw you... covered in blood and nearly not breathing...” dazai inhales deeply, hands trembling. “i... i...”
“there’s no need to elaborate, osamu. all is fine now,” chuuya stops his hand’s movements and dazai almost flinches. “stop crying, you wasted mackerel.”
dazai chuckles sadly — or was it out of relief? he doesn’t care anymore — and grabs chuuya’s other hand.
“never again.” he whispers, kissing the knuckles of his husband’s hands. chuuya sighs contentedly, a small finally escaping his breath, after days of having to witness dazai’s fake dead body.
the two sit in comfortable solidarity, waiting for the hours to pass as they look at each other as though there was nothing else in the world.