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devoted
i long to worship you.
[From the moment Dazai saw him,]
you breathe life into my skeletal husk,
(i owe him my life)
[he’d been taken back by Chuuya’s beauty.]
love into my forlorn soul,
(i owe him my mind)
[It might’ve been after they worked their first case, though, that he fell in love with him.]
yearning into my unused heart.
(i owe him my body.)
[Dazai had never wanted something in his life, and certainly never wanted someone. He thought he would be dead before he turned 20, and if he was lucky, before he was 16.]
my skin is your canvas,
[Dazai smirks. “Oh, Chuuya,” he coos. “I was so hoping I’d be the reason you got fucked over by Mori. You could have been branded a traitor like I was. Wouldn’t that be nice? We’d be partners again.”
Chuuya flips him off as he walks away.
The blood drips down his cheek as Chuuya turns and starts to walk away. Dazai resists the urge to lick it away.]
(please)
i bleed for you, i would lay down my life if it meant yours was preserved
do you pretend to not know? must i make my admiration clearer?
[“You should use Corruption.”
Chuuya glares at him. “Is that really our only option?”
No, but if Dazai says it is, Chuuya will believe him. “Yes,” Dazai lies. “I don’t really see another way out of this situation.”
So Chuuya sheds his gloves, allows Dazai to witness the release of the literal chaos god inside him. And Dazai- as he always does, when Chuuya isn’t looking- stares in awe.]
[i am nothing next to your divinity, the sanctity of your being.]
[Dazai watches over Chuuya by his bedside.
When Chuuya is this deep in sleep, Dazai can trace the scars on his torso and arms without risking Chuuya waking up. He’s already washed the dried blood from Chuuya’s body and mouth. He’s put him in clean clothing. It’s Dazai’s clothes, but Chuuya thinks it’s because Dazai is an asshole who just wants to make him feel tiny in oversized clothes.
It’s not entirely because of that, at least.
Chuuya shudders in his sleep, so Dazai pulls up the sheet to his chin. He reaches under the covers to grasp Chuuya’s hand, and watches with a sense of satisfaction as Chuuya visibly relaxes. Arahabaki is silenced by Dazai’s touch. Chuuya can sleep without nightmares as long as Dazai is there. That’s what led to them sharing a bed more often than not- Chuuya can’t stand waking up screaming, and Dazai can’t stand listening to Chuuya cry out in unadulterated fear.
Chuuya’s voice is always so raw when he sobs. Dazai hates it- hates Arahabaki.]
dull my thorns; bloom at my expense
[Dazai soothes Chuuya by threading his fingers through red hair. He holds out three pills to Chuuya’s lips, tips them in his mouth, and gives him a glass of water shortly after.
“Rest, Chuuya,” he murmurs. “I’ll take care of your wounds. Let me take care of you.”
Chuuya sighs and leans back against the couch, wincing. “Okay, Mackerel,” he says, breathing out. After a moment, as if an afterthought, he adds, “I trust you.”
Dazai’s heart swells with that admission. Chuuya trusts him- he can’t betray that trust again.
Dazai’s fingers are careful as he cleans the cut- sharp, from where a knife was stuck in Chuuya’s left bicep. Chuuya has already taken painkillers, so Dazai is certain he feels no pain as the needle and thread are poked through his skin.
Dazai finishes the stitches- cleaner than he’d ever do on himself. He glances at Chuuya, whose eyes are closed, then shakes his head lightly. Even if Chuuya was looking at him, it wouldn’t change what he does next.
He pulls at the bandage end on his left wrist- lets it unravel, lets it expose his ugly, ragged, scarred skin to open air, lets it make him vulnerable.
He does not look at his arm as he wraps the clean bandage around Chuuya’s arm. He does not look at the jagged scars from failed suicide attempts. He does not bury himself in the work of Chuuya’s injuries.
He does unroll his trenchcoat sleeve to cover his bare arm. He does hold the sleeping chibi’s hand. He does kiss Chuuya’s fingers.
He does love Chuuya.]
i am naked to you by illusionary choice; i could never clothe myself from you,
[“When are you going to stop trying to lie to me?” Chuuya asks quietly. “You don’t have to. I know you’re afraid of him.”
“I’m not.”
“I won’t waste time trying to convince you, but you shouldn’t try to waste it trying to convince me, either.”]
i beg, allow me to be sacrilegious
[“Please don’t.”]
(for you, it’s always for you)
reward my devotion with the privilege of dying;
[“Will you kill me?”
“I can’t.”
“I don’t want it to be anyone else. Please, Chuuya.”]
adorn my sepulcher with your favor;
[Chuuya places flowers on his grave. He looks to the sky- smiles.]
the day you kill me, i find salvation in my suffering.
[“Ready?” Chuuya asks, holding out his hand.
The man standing next to him takes it. “This isn’t what I meant when I asked you to kill me.”
“Dazai is dead,” Chuuya reminds him. “And technically, I was the one who killed him.”
“Were you really so desperate for me to stay alive?” The other murmurs, rubbing his thumb over Chuuya’s wedding ring.
“Of course,” Chuuya whispers softly. “Besides, I don’t think Dazai Chuuya sounds quite as good as Nakahara Osamu.”
“Me neither,” Nakahara Osamu replies. He leans down to kiss Chuuya. “Thank you for coming here with me. It would’ve been harder alone.”
“You don’t have to be alone ever again,” Chuuya tells him, squeezing their hands. “I’m not leaving you.”
“I’m not leaving you, either,” Nakahara Osamu says. “I love you.”
Chuuya sighs and leans against the other. “Yeah,” he says, smiling. “I love you, too.”]