Work Text:
Chuuya's phone chimes at random for the sixth or seventh time that day, and he knows without taking it out of his pocket to check that it's Dazai again. All the other messages Chuuya left on read, but of course that wouldn't be enough to discourage Dazai from sending more. With a long-suffering sigh, Chuuya flops down on his sinfully expensive leather couch, which squeaks in protest, and digs in his pocket for the offending device. Just like all its predecessors, this message contains a whiny request for Chuuya to come over and free Dazai from his boredom. That's what it boils down to, anyway. The city has been quiet lately, resulting in some unscheduled leisure time for both of them, and Dazai is bored out of his skull. That kind of behavior isn't new, either; when they were teenagers, Dazai would try and chase his ennui away by going on Chuuya's last nerve, and now that they've sort of reconnected, he's fallen back on old habits.
But now Chuuya's an adult, they're working for enemy organizations, and Chuuya doesn't exist solely to provide the bandage freak with some free entertainment anymore, so. Tonight, he's not going. He's not.
He puts his phone in silent mode, switches the TV on, and finds himself some cooking show for low-brainpower distraction.
The thing is, lately, Dazai has been on Chuuya's mind a little too much, even when he isn't trying to annoy Chuuya into spicing up his time off work a little. There's a dumb little voice in the back of Chuuya's mind that's thrilled at the idea of Dazai resorting to being a thorn in Chuuya's side first thing when he's got some free time on his hands. And that voice is precisely why Chuuya's parked himself on the couch, now, watching a shitty lifestyle cook piss on the very concept of a classic Coq au Vin. He's put his phone on the coffee table, display facing down, but it still vibrates on the glass to announce the arrival of another message.
Chuuya manages to ignore it for about thirty seconds, then he curses under his breath, takes the phone off the table, and reads the damn message.
He's on his feet in an instant, and out of the apartment and rushing down to his car within less than a minute.
***
”Do you remember that day at the Tsurumi Tsubasa Bridge,” he wrote, like he's recalling a fond memory. Might be that's true for him, that twisted suicidal ass, but for Chuuya that was the first time he was really met with the realization that Dazai's constant talk about killing himself wasn't for show. He'd somehow managed to wandered onto the bridge in the midst of morning traffic, and when Chuuya caught up to him, he was walking in traffic with his eyes closed, wearing an almost drunken smile while cars honked and swerved to avoid turning him into oversized roadkill. Chuuya had arrived just in time to pushed him out of the way of a particularly close call, and Dazai had glared of him with an empty expression that would go on to haunt Chuuya for months.
***
He parks his car at a parking lot a little distance away from the bridge, already half-listening for any sort of upheaval on the bridge, but from what he can make out, the traffic is flowing as normal, entirely undisturbed as people are driving home from work. Chuuya frowns and fishes around in his pocket for his phone to send Dazai a message back, but then thinks twice of it. That melodramatic bastard will make himself known one way another. He returns to his car, leaves the light on and the radio, and waits. If he drums his fingers on the dashboard the whole time, nervous, worried, no one will ever have to know.
But, sure enough, barely five minutes later, Dazai saunters right into the circle of light provided by Chuuya's overhead lights, hands in his coat pockets, grinning mischievously. He's unharmed, and apparently in a rather good mood, the latter possibly stemming from having pulled Chuuya's tail with great success yet again. Either that, or he really was going to jump in front of a random car and have Chuuya pick his remains off the pavement, only to think twice of it at the last minute. It's hard to tell with Dazai.
He knocks on the glass of the driver's side window once he's reached the car, and Chuuya, curious and concerned in equal measures, winds down the window.
“So you are reading my messages,” Dazai assesses with a calm expression and an infuriatingly polite, measured grin, like Chuuya's a mark and not the person who still, after all these years, knows him like the back of their own hand, and Chuuya sort of wants to get out of the car and hit him. Or kiss him. Or both, in any given order. That's gotten a bit muddled lately.
Instead Chuuya pushes the door open without warning, and Dazai's surprised little oompf when it hits him, at least, is rather satisfying. Well deserved too, as far as Chuuya's concerned. He steps out of the car and right up to Dazai, head tilted. “What the fuck do you want from me?”
Dazai only sort of shrugs. “I just wanted to see if you're still paying attention, really.”
Anger settles in Chuuya's veins, at Dazai from playing games with him, and at himself for falling for them time and time again. He huffs, grinds out a murmured curse on Dazai's entire lineage, and turns to get back into the car. Much to Dazai's disapproval, it appears, because the latter grabs him by the arm to hold him back.
“Where are you going?” he asks, sounding a bit offended, and Chuuya's had enough.
He yanks his arm free and gets into Dazai's face, isn't above using his ability to get them level, even though he knows the humiliation of being set back onto solid ground is just one touch away. “I'm so done with your shit. You can't just do that. I was worried, because I fucking care about you, and here you are, thinking that this is all some stupid game.”
Here Dazai blinks at him, like he's silently asking, what, it's not, and Chuuya's heart starts beating even faster for a different reason. There's a small voice in the back of his head that keeps insisting Dazai's playing an entirely different game with him, figured out Chuuya's feelings and finds them entertaining. Or returns them and doesn't know how to admit it, lost in this stupid teenage rivalry they never truly shed. Either way, he's done being led around. He's done wondering. He's got to get this out of his system, once and for all, screw the consequences. He's never been a coward, and overthinking isn't usually his style either. He should have done this months ago.
“I love you,” he says, flowing back down to solid ground, arms crossed in front of his chest. “But I'm not your fucking clown, and the next time you cry wolf for fun, I won't be there. Do you understand? I won't come running.”
He's been so entrenched in his rant that he only then notices how comically wide Dazai's eyes have gotten. His mouth has fallen open a little bit, too, and all that's missing to make him look like some sort of imbecile is a string of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. After a long moment, he shakes his head, much like a dog shaking water out of its fur.
“You love me,” he parrots, looking lost.
“Yes,” Chuuya confirms. He stands firm, telling himself it doesn't matter how Dazai reacts to that confession. He needed to say it, is all.
Dazai, for his part, breaks into a grin. “Chibi loves me!”
Chuuya sighs, annoyed and relieved in equal measures. Dazai's infuriating, and it's even more unnerving when Chuuya can tell he's being infuriating on purpose. Trying to break the moment. Make a joke out of all this so they don't have to actually talk about their feelings. It's as close to an I love you too as they'll get tonight. Chuuya can tell by the way the mischief has faded from his eyes, replaced by fear. And it's not like Chuuya doesn't understand him; they're both more acquainted with losing than having, and Dazai has always had a worse time getting over those losses than Chuuya. Not simply giving up in the face of that kind of pain must be harder when one doesn't value life too much to begin with, and with that kind of mindset, love is dangerous, a threat, the potential for hurt.
Still, Chuuya is no saint. He cocks his head, both hands braced on his hips, and grins back. “It's fine, mackerel, you don't have to say it back right now. Bravery's never been your thing, has it, eh?”
Dazai tuts at him, taking in a breath for a rejoinder, but falls silent when Chuuya takes his hand and laces their fingers together. He doesn't protest when Chuuya goes on his tiptoes to kiss his cheek, and quietly lets himself be taken along to walk near the bridge. After they've gotten some air, Chuuya will deposit him in the car and take him home.
They can talk in the morning. Or, maybe, talking will be entirely superfluous by then.