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Oda lets out a tired sigh as soon as he enters his flat, locking the door behind him. He doesn’t really have many qualms about being at the lower tiers of the mafia hierarchy, but he isn’t immune to its frustrations. It’s a good thing his moral compass is stronger than most people’s, because days like this make him want to climb the power ladder out of sheer spite.
Taking off his coat, he has barely taken two steps inside when he stops, feeling somebody else’s presence in the room. He sighs, knowing who it is even before turning on the lights.
“Dazai?”
“Hey ~ Odasaku.” The boy trills, “What took you so long?”
He’s laying on the couch, knees loosely drawn up to his chest, and coat discarded on the ground. Oda can’t help but notice how his frail form seems to fold in on itself as he approaches, as if deliberately trying to take as little space as possible. Maybe disappear altogether.
Ah, Oda thinks, so it's one of those days.
It’s rare for Dazai to actually let himself inside when Oda isn’t here. He is well aware of Dazai’s talent for picking locks, seeing how it has come in handy for the both of them multiple times. But for some unfathomable reason, he refrains from breaking into Oda’s flat. It was after the third time of coming back home and finding Dazai slumped against his front door, waiting for him, that Oda finally decided to just give him a key.
That same key is now lying on the table, on the end furthest from Dazai. He keeps leaving it behind, and Oda has a sneaking suspicion he does it on purpose.
“One of the higher ups made a mess that no one else wanted to clean up.” Oda says, as some way of explanation. Then he gestures to the space beside Dazai, “May I?”
Dazai shrugs, “It’s your home.”
“I know.” he replies simply, as if the two things are completely unrelated. He sits down beside him, as softly as he can manage for some reason, before finally taking a proper look at him. Dazai’s clothes are more unkempt than usual, wavy brown hair matted with dirt and grime. His dirt-caked white shirt is missing the first few buttons, the tie nowhere to be seen. Even the bandages over his eye are too loose to properly stay in place. The younger boy shoots him a tired smile.
“You look a little worse for wear.” Oda comments idly as he lights a cigarette, more out of habit than any actual necessity. Not that you can distinguish between the two after a certain point. He leans back as he exhales the smoke, “Rough day?”
“Something like that.” Dazai mumbles, throwing his head back on the couch. Some of the bandages on the side of his head are lightly tinged with blood, and one of his shoulders looks a little odd, but Oda doesn’t comment. To have any semblance of compatibility with Dazai, you have to be smart enough to know when to ask more questions and when not to. Oda has got quite good at this game, and something tells him this isn’t the time.
Dazai tilts his head and smiles, looking at him with eyes that seem to see through him rather than at him, “But tell me about your day. Did you miss me?”
Oda smiles, “Very much.”
Shooting him a lazy, cat-like grin, Dazai shifts and lightly climbs on top of him, straddling his hips. Oda puts out his cigarette and leans back as Dazai locks his arms around his neck.
Even in the limited brightness of Oda’s two-room flat, he is dumbstruck by just how beautiful Dazai is. The soft angles of his face are framed by graceless, wavy brown locks, and long lashes daintily brush the top of his sharp cheekbones whenever he blinks, slow and deliberate. The one eye not obscured by bandages glances up at Oda, wide and curious, the liquid whiskey in them threatening to bleed out. He leans forward, placing a small kiss right at the corner of Oda’s lips.
“Then let me make up for it.”
The next kiss is much more forceful, abrupt and straight to the lips. He feels Dazai pushing back on his shoulders and his own hands slowly snake up the sides of Dazai’s hips to grab his waist. He suppresses a frown, trying to ignore how fragile it feels in his hands, all bones and sharp edges.
Dazai rocks his hips gently and immediately swallows the low moan that the action elicited from Oda’s throat. His fingers rake through Oda’s hair, and he lets out an almost imperceptible, needy whine when Oda straightens up a little, despite starting to run out of breath. Oda’s hands trail up the sides of his torso, resting just below his ribs. And Dazai winces.
Oda freezes immediately. Dazai had broken the kiss to breathe a little, but the change in Oda’s demeanour doesn’t escape his notice, and he tries to dive back in with twice the ferocity, actions laced with the slightest hint of desperation as he tries to undo the the buttons of Oda’s shirt..
Oda catches one of his bandaged wrists and tries to push him back as gently as he can. He is even less sure now about where he can touch him without hurting him “No, wai - Dazai - Dazai! Stop.”
The boy goes completely still, before looking down as if in shame. He lightly sits back on his haunches, still perched on Oda’s legs. Oda sighs.
“You’re hurt.”
It’s a statement that doesn’t need any confirmation. Dazai is always hurt some place or other, for some reason, so much so that even Oda has started paying attention to it less and less. But he doesn’t wince like that unless things are really bad.
Dazai looks away, and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, “Yeah, what about it?”
A knot forms inside Oda’s chest as he watches the boy in front of him. He looks so much younger than he usually does, and it’s so hard to believe that this is the Demonic Prodigy of the Port Mafia when he’s sitting here like this, bruised fingers absently fiddling with the end of Oda’s shirt, eyes refusing to look up at his.
“...Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Why would I?” he quips back immediately, “It’s not like it’s anything new. Besides, I can handle it.”
You’re not supposed to ‘handle’ it is what Oda wants to say, but he settles for fixing him with a deadpan look, “I touched you once and you’re still shaking. What is it, a broken rib?”
Dazai scoffs, “I don’t know, alright? Probably. I didn’t bother to check.”
“Oh, Dazai…”
Flawless only allows him to foresee the outcome of a present event. It doesn’t work in reverse to allow him to see the various possible reasons why a certain outcome came to fruition. Even so, figuring out why Dazai is hurt is not that hard of a task.
A mission gone awry. No backup? Or perhaps it didn’t get there in time. Perhaps it wasn’t sent there in time. There are a lot of tactical advantages to letting Dazai get hurt, even if they aren’t immediately visible to anyone but Mori.
Dazai bows his head, tipping forward slowly until his forehead rests on Oda’s collarbone, right below his chin. Almost like a reflex, Oda gently runs his fingers through his matted brown mop of hair.
“You don’t want me anymore.”
His voice is almost meek as he says the words. The statement causes Oda to go completely still for a second, before he resumes petting Dazai’s head almost immediately. If Dazai picks up on it, and how could he have not, he doesn’t comment.
He rests a hand on one of Dazai’s cheeks, tipping him slightly backwards to face him. He suddenly looks much more tired, and so vulnerable that it almost hurts Oda to look at him. The pad of his thumb gently strokes Dazai’s cheekbone.
“Of course, I want you.” he murmurs.
He jerks back slightly, “Then why won’t you - “
“Because I don’t want to hurt you.”
Dazai stares up at him in silence, lips slightly parted and eyes a mixture of confusion and disbelief. The words don’t seem to properly register with him.
‘I want you but I don’t want to hurt you’ sounds like such an oxymoron in Dazai’s head. Aren’t the two things completely contradictory?
It isn’t until Oda bends forward and kisses Dazai’s forehead that he is snapped out of his daze. He blinks and almost automatically tries to shift even closer. Oda lets him, and inhales deeply once he is settled against him comfortably, legs wrapped around Oda’s waist. He rests his chin on top of Dazai’s head, wrapping one arm around him, and goes back to petting his head. Dazai lets out a small satisfied noise, almost akin to a purr.
“You’re tired. Do you want to go to bed?”
He shakes his head, nuzzling closer into him, “Just...stay with me here.”
“Of course.”
It takes a while for Dazai’s breathing to slow down and even out against Oda’s chest, and Oda can feel his long lashes brush against his collarbone whenever he blinks. He would carry him to bed once he’s asleep, and see to his injuries in the morning, but for now, this is fine. He debates on whether to say anything else, or to at least ask Dazai what happened, but he knows for a fact that neither of them have the energy to go where that conversation would inevitably lead them.
That’s fine, he thinks. He’d save it for another day.