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The Flame Of My Heart

Summary:

Firefighter!Chuuya and estranged childhood friend!Dazai. They grew up together, even attending the same college, until their different career paths disconnected them. But when a fire breaks out at an older mansion, he vaguely recalls Dazai moving to a mansion. It can’t be…right?

Notes:

This was just a small idea I had cos I wanted to experiment writing in a little angst. I hope you enjoy!! :))

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Growing unease settling in the bottom of his stomach, he pulls on his gear and with the rest of his teammates rushes over to the mansion, hoping, praying that he’s wrong, that it’s not his friend in there, that maybe it’s just an abandoned mansion that happened to go up in flames.

The mansion is completely alight, black pillars of smoke rising to the sky. If there are any survivors, it will be a miracle. As soon as the firetruck parks he’s the first one out, ignoring the “Be careful, Chuuya!” from behind him and charges into the mansion without any regard for his safety.

Everything, everything is aflame and visibility is practically zero. He holds an arm out to protect himself, his eyes scanning for any hint of life.

“Hello? Is anyone in here?” He calls out repeatedly as he does his best to quickly assess each room, not wanting to stay too long in case the entire mansion collapses on him and he ends up buried under the debris.

He’s nearly through the first floor when he hears a faint, “I’m here, p-please help me,” from the corner of the room. Oh god, why does the voice sound like Dazai?

He immediately heads in the direction of the voice, his heart thumping in his ears, and sees a leg sticking out underneath a pile of wooden beams, bent at an unnatural angle. Shit, shit, shit. He’d know that leg anywhere.

Scrambling to remove the beams he knows he has to keep a level head, keep the tears from falling hoping against hope he’s heard wrong, his eyes are just playing tricks on him—

But when he clears enough to see a familiar mop of messy brown hair, there’s no mistaking it.

It’s him.

“Osamu, Osamu,” he cries brokenly, pulling the other man closer to him. “What happened? Wait, don’t talk, it’s dangerous—I’ll get you out, okay?”

The other man merely feebly tightens his grip around Chuuya’s neck, understandably offering no response.

Chuuya stays with him waiting overnight at the emergency room with bated breath, telling his colleagues Dazai is a “close friend” and they gently pat his shoulder, telling him to take as much time as he needs. His head bowed, clutching his hands tightly, he prays and prays despite being an atheist his entire life that the other man will recover, that he’ll suffer minimal long-term injuries, that he’ll wake up and remember who Chuuya is. This time, he’ll tell him clearly what he should have said all those years ago. This time, he’ll never yet Dazai go.

When he finally gets the clear from the doctor that Dazai is fine, outside of a few broken ribs, some scrapes and bruises, and the broken leg, he’ll be fine once he gets a few days to rest, the sense of relief Chuuya feels is overwhelming, those few words lifting an unbearable weight off his shoulders. He didn’t realize just how deeply he cared for the other man until he had nearly lost him. The doctor praises him for his bravery, saying Dazai would have sustained much more serious injuries without Chuuya’s quick thinking and actions.

He accepts the offer of a shower and some warm clothes from the kind nurses who take pity on him seeing his disheveled state and heads to Dazai’s room to take his hand, holding it between his own tightly. It’s only a matter of time before those warm chocolate eyes will settle on his face, those lips will upturn in that ever-present smirk, right? Not too much longer? Please?

Seeing Dazai in this close proximity allows him to observe between the Dazai of then and now. Not much has changed—he’s still rail thin, skin pulled over high angular cheekbones, but his hair’s gotten a little longer but still messy and unkempt. His fingers have calluses—must still be writing those novels Chuuya makes a point he needs to go read as soon as possible. There’s simply too much history to catch up on, too much to recuperate so please, wake up.

When Dazai does open his eyes slowly, Chuuya feels tears welling in his eyes but does his best to hold them back, not letting even a sniffle come through.

“Wow,” Dazai says softly. “The last thing I remember is my house being on fire, but I think the hottest thing I’ve ever seen is the person before me.” He always was a massive flirt.

The tender moment broken, Chuuya lightly punches him on his shoulder. “Y-you idiot!” He sniffles. “You almost died and you’re flirting?!”

“If you’re my nurse, I’m never getting better,” Dazai chuckles weakly. He tries to sit up and winces. Chuuya pushes him back down and readjusts his covers.

“Woah, woah, there, you were just in a major fire. Calm down—there’ll be plenty of time for that,” Chuuya lightly chides. “But you’re through the worst of it, at least.”

“Good to see you again, Chuuya,” Dazai smiles at him. “I’ve missed you.”

“I-I missed you too, asshole.” Chuuya’s cheeks feel warm and he looks away, away from those soft amber eyes filled with the same kindness he shows everyone, one that he knows he’s not special enough to receive. It’s one of the reasons he was fine saying goodbye all those years ago—if he had stayed with Dazai any longer, he may have acted on feelings that he had no business having, not with Dazai’s popularity with the girls. Besides, he’s pretty sure Dazai doesn’t swing that way.

“You know, I was thinking,” Dazai tilts his chin thoughtfully. “I have this one itch just behind my head that I’m just too tired to reach. Would you be a dear and get it for me?”

“Huh? What?” Chuuya questions.

“Pleeeassee, I would really appreciate it,” Dazai bats his eyelashes at him, fluttering.

“What a weirdo,” Chuuya mutters, and leans in, a hand extending around his neck.

In an instant Dazai leans forward and captures Chuuya’s lips with his own—his lips are a little chapped but very, very warm, as soft as Chuuya had dared to hope.

His body responds automatically, and he closes his eyes as he kisses him back—finally, finally.

They stay like that until Dazai’s the one to pull away, that trademark smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Thanks for scratching that itch. And for saving me. Marry me?”

P.S. The reason the fire started is because stupid Dazai fell asleep on his desk writing his 50th love letter to Chuuya (that he will inevitably crumple up and throw away) but his candle fell off his desk and ended up setting his room and thus his house alight. Don’t try this at home, kids!! The two move in together and Chuuya, as a proper firefighter, makes sure all the smoke detectors at home are functional.

Notes:

Even when about to D-word, Dazai wants the D. Let me know what you think in the comments below! :)

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