Archive of Our Own

buzz.

buzz.

buzz.

chuuya’s palm slammed the dresser from his cocoon of covers, willing for the buzzing of his alarm to stop causing an earthquake so he could sleep.

god, how many glasses of wine did he drink on that flight? all he can remember is a shitty plastic bottle of rosé, shitty plane food and his hat flying into a cab at two in the morning.

he could barely move. he felt like he was in a coffin.

where was his damn phone? his hand had hit the whole area of the bedside table and it was nowhere to be found.

if it buzzes one more time, his forehead veins would surely burst-

gotcha!

“good morning, chuuya!”

he threw himself up, eyes fuzzy as he looked at the screen- seeing the dreaded words of ‘ call from ‘mori’ accepted.’

shit.

“mmmhh… morning, boss.” he surprised himself with his hoarse voice.

“i’m just quickly checking in. did you get there okay?”

“yeah.”

pause.

“where am i?”

“...paris, chuuya. you’re there for a few days to investigate the french gifted organisation, remember?”

“oh.”

he could feel mori’s scowl on his skin. “something wrong?”

“no, it’s nothing.”

mori sighed through the phone, “don’t tell me you’re hungover?”

“no… no! not at all, what makes you think that?” chuuya spoke through a yawn.

“working while battling a nakahara hangover. i’d say that’s dedication at its finest,” mori chuckled.

chuuya attempted to laugh along, but his throat decided to try and cough up a lung in the process.

when his coughing fit had passed, he looked at his phone and saw mori had hung up. 

defeated, he flopped back into puffy white pillows and looked around at his surroundings.

plain, cream walls that were tinted golden with the sun shining through surrounded him, leading up to the tallest and most elegant ceiling he has ever seen. hanging on the ceiling was a crystal chandelier, also making friends with the sun as beams of light hit every possible corner of the room.

he sat up, noticing a white vanity opposite him that was surrounded by mirrors and big light streams. (if only he was a model, he might be able to pull off getting ready there…)

beside him was a horizontal sliding window, left half open, and if chuuya leaned forward he could see a beautiful bathroom- a tear-drop shaped bath big enough for the whole port mafia to fit into, next to a waterfall shower that looked heaven sent.

inside the bathroom was another window that reached the floor and touched the roof, giving a perfect view of the centre of paris. 

a princess tower to his left, and a balcony watching over the gentle bustle of the city to his right.

he should feel like prince charming.

right now, he feels more like a peasant. a dirty, hungover, fuzzy peasant.

and what does a dirty, hungover and fuzzy peasant need the most?

a fucking shower.

he hauled himself out of bed, feet making little to no noise across the polar bear carpet- falling cold as they padded on glistening tiles, but soon to warm up as warm water clouded his entire body.

it was bliss. not just the shower, but being in a place this luxurious and a city that was so magical… chuuya felt like he was floating while doing the bare minimum. his expensive wine and chokers felt like dirt compared to this.

still, he threw on his usual mafioso gear anyway- getting ready to leave and set out on his job.

he had to keep that thought at the front of his mind. this was work- not a vacation. he couldn’t prance around the city like a princess with a crepe in hand, the way he’d always dreamed of.

as he fiddled through papers, his throat began to tighten.

it wasn’t his choker’s fault- it was a different squeezing in his neck, a wave of saudade passing through his mind and into his quivering throat.

they would always talk about going to paris.

he remembered the endless nights of drinking wine on the rooftops, eyes staring into the horizons of yokohama and cheeks squished against his shoulders. promises of rainy eiffel tower visits and afternoons in art museums stuck in his brain like old bubblegum- no matter how hard he scraped, or how long he scraped for, he couldn’t get it to go away.

the bandaged bastard sat cold on the tip of his tongue.

and chuuya despised him for it.

(did he really? or was this simply sadness recycled into anger?) 

he felt uncomfortable in his own skin.

how did the city he always dreamed of become his worst enemy?

he couldn’t think about that right now. he held his chin up, gloved hands twisting the doorknob as he set off.

his heels clicked along the marble lobby as he marvelled around at beautiful paintings hung on every wall, french masquerades with princes draped in golden capes wishing him a good morning. the smell of croissants and coffee tickled his nose, the same way a gentle piano tickled his ears- filling his heart with contentment and grounding his mind.

well, chuuya was grounded. until his phone buzzed in his pocket which gave him, a mafioso, the biggest fright of the century.

he sighed with relief when he looked down, seeing it was only kouyou checking in.

curse his attachment to that idiot. curse him.

and curse that king in the painting, looking down and judging his every move. he let out a breath, beginning to type.

chuuya! how are you doing? how’s paris so far? 

it’s as beautiful as i imagined, ane-san. probably better.

i’m so glad to hear, and i’m happy you’re safe. just don’t have too much fun!

i won't. trust me.

… but that doesn’t mean no fun at all. 

i’m trying, i am. it’s just hard. it’s like an annoying bug- everywhere i go it’s in the back of my mind.

are you going to be alright all alone, chuuya? 

don’t worry about me! i’ll get through it. it’s a job, anyway. it’s not a vacation.

whatever you say. call me if you need me, understand?

gotcha. i’ll see you soon! 

he slipped his phone away, eyes gravitating back into reality as he stepped outside. 

and as a cool breeze brushed across him, time went into slow motion.

the buildings were larger than any dragon he’s defeated in the past- each one delicately dusted brown, black railings swimming around each door and window in patterns that flowed gorgeously. even the tiniest details such as the lampposts (which only a paris-crazed chuuya nakahara could spot) were crafted so beautifully to the human eye, like an artistic fate.

every old french romance movie he spent years swooning over was right in front of his nose.

he breathed in the air, strolling forward and looking up at the fairytale apartment windows. 

he spotted a girl leaning over a balcony with a mug in one hand and a book in the other, then further left a businessman on an important call, jabbering french he wish he understood. kids ran out in the street giggling, a couple settled into a café, an elegant lady hopped into a cab with a million shopping bags…

the diversity made his heart swell. it was exciting, yet so very peaceful.

the jazz of a french morning was in his spine. he swished his red hair over his shoulder, adjusted his jacket and wished strangers a bonjour. 

maybe, just maybe, he belonged.

chuuya tried to convince himself that. even with a horrifically empty space by his side that should be filled with gentle bickering, gentle shoves, maybe even pinkies laced together…

who was he, a shy school girl crushing on the popular kid?

he filled his head with croissants and baguettes instead as he headed into a windy lane, chin up to the sky.

-

idiot.

here, an idiot stands- all hot and bothered in a security line with a scuffed passport in hand and a small suitcase (filled with god knows what- he packed in under ten seconds) tucked under his arm. his boarding pass (also booked in under ten seconds!) was also neatly stored in his wallet.

dazai osamu was a complete idiot.

he knew this, of course. atsushi heard from akutagawa that chuuya had headed to paris for a mission, which shouldn’t have been a problem. it shouldn’t have even crossed his mind. but when his mind clicked that ‘chuuya’ and ’paris’ were in the same sentence…

oh boy.

that’s when the chaos began. that’s when his brain stopped working, his knees buckling, his heart thumping with an impatience to get to the other side of the globe right this second or you’ll regret this for the rest of your goddamn life, osamu.

so that’s what he decided to do. chase after his ex- partner, who was living out their dream on his own, alone in the city of love.

and who he was pretty sure still hated dazai’s entire being. 

oh well! that wasn’t the point. he didn’t expect chuuya to jump into his arms- he just wanted to see him exist in this city. that was enough to make dazai’s life complete.

even if he was yelling at him and kicking like a toddler. which, after all they went through, he imagines that’s exactly how chuuya will respond.

the stress overtook his thoughts of the redhead as he passed through security, striding quickly into a tunnel which lead him to a plane as stuffy as his nose in december. he flashed a smile at the air hostess as she checked his boarding pass, muttering a quick ‘thank you’ before squeezing into a seat sized for a toddler.

‘tiny chibi would fit in here just fine,’ dazai chuckled to himself. ‘this plane was made for mini hat racks, not big grown up men like me.’

he tried to relax as best he could through babies screaming, karen’s being karen’s, vomit-inducing turbulence and the general smell of shit. 

as well as the overwhelming excitement and nervousness to see his petite mafioso… he was not coping well.

as the plane rose further into the sky, his tension rose along with it. dazai leaned back, looking out the rounded window and letting his mind hop along the clouds.

this is going to be the longest twelve hours of his life. 

“i have never been so excited to see land in all my life, i tell you!”

dazai rejoiced to the old man standing beside him when they landed, who placed his earphones back in his ears and rolled his eyes. 

‘wow. friendly crowd.’ he thought, wobbling off the plane as quickly as he could. 

his ears hurt like hell. his legs… oh, they’re still here?! he thought he felt them fall off eight hours in.

but he was here .

…

he was here .

where does he go from here? he really didn’t think this through, did he? 

how will he get from a (airport) to b (beloved mafioso?)

he stood outside paris airport, wobbling and pacing around like the idiot he was. the gentle accordion in the background suddenly sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

he swished his floppy locks around, taking each step forward with caution as eyes frantically searched for… well, anything useful- anything that wasn’t an old man playing accordion or families arguing in french. he stumbled around for a while, nearly doing a whole circuit of the airport before his eyes lit up.

bingo!

his feet picked up before his mind could process what was happening, until his eyes clicked and he marvelled at the glorious sight in front of him- a cab bay.

“this trip is a piece of cake!” dazai beamed, “i’ll just ask to go to the high-ends of paris!”

he didn’t even question that- he knew chuuya back to front, that’s exactly where he was. his mind laughed at him as he finally got the attention of a cab driver, skipping inside.

“sir, take me where the rich are please!”

the driver took the cigar out of his mouth, rolling his eyes.

“quel homme stupide.”

dazai couldn't quite believe his eyes when he stepped out of the cab.

when he slammed the car door shut behind him, his whole perspective changed. an electric shock to his mundane system, if you will, leaving his mouth agape in disbelief.

he wasn’t wrong to dream of this place for years at all. it wasn’t stupid, or childish.

he reckons this city has the most beautiful structure he’s ever seen. he could feel the rush of excitement and sense of belonging pumping faster, urging him to twirl around this canny street.

so that’s exactly what he did. he let his instinct and heart spin him around, feeling more free after every corner turned and life bursting into him everytime he passed the nook of a bakery, warm shades of yellow circling like a halo.

in fear of chunking up his airplane food on these beautiful streets, he stopped spinning like a toddler and straighten up. once he got a sense of his surroundings, he noticed a delicate elderly woman outside a hidden café, sweeping fallen leaves off the path.

she looked so content. so peaceful. he wondered what that felt like? what he had to do to get there?

her eyes lifted at him. dazai froze, suddenly scared of her delicacy.

she noticed his tension, putting it to rest with a toothless grin.

“bonjour!” 

dazai’s heart caught in his throat.

well, everything caught in his throat- his mind, his lunch, the sake from last week- everything but his voice, which was extremely useful.

dazai swallowed. “bonjour.”

as she looked away, dazai clung to the pendant on his chest with such glee.

his first bonjour! in paris! that’s something to tick off his bucket list.

(the very short bucket list).

he skipped away, whistling like a bird in the biggest nest, wrapped up in the sunshine and his head in the clouds. the valleys of paris felt like a labyrinth the way they twisted and turned, deeper and deeper, the doll faces in shop windows becoming more and more absurd.

dazai gulped, but shook off his worry. he’ll find chuuya eventually! he knows his chibi’s movements down to a T- he’ll ‘accidentally’ bump into him somewhere. 

he refused to text him. giving away his big surprise? that’s amateur. he wanted this to be as special as it possibly could be.

plus, he’s sure if he called chuuya in advance, he would run to the airport and catch the next flight home. sneaky bastard.

that gave his step a spring. the very thought of chuuya going home before they could experience their dream together made his feet scurry.

was this panic?

the cool, calm and collected dazai osamu. was panicking?

as he felt sweat droplets cradle his hairline, he came to the conclusion that yes- he was panicking.

every part of these streets made his soul scream for chuuya even more.

the eiffel tower nick-nacks. chuuya’s heightened tone came into his head, his words fast as he rambled about the magnificent building.

the french baked goods. some mornings, they would eat breakfast with soft, french jazz in the background- pretending they were in a paris café.

the arc de triomphe plushies. chuuya claimed it was the ‘mistletoe of buildings’ and dazai would lean in as chuuya promised to prove that to him one day.

the delicate, scarily-realistic dolls. the pristine, pale skin reminded him of chuuya’s skin. 

he wished he touched it more.

the couple who walked past him with the fiery red hair and linked arms. he missed chuuya’s hair. he missed the way chuuya’s hand fit so perfectly in his. he missed the comfort of chuuya’s presence, he missed the side of chuuya only he managed to peek at behind closed doors.

chuuyachuuyachuuyachuuyachuuyachuuyachuuya-

oh.

with his eyes glued to his feet, he didn’t notice the wall until it was bashing against his forehead.

he also didn’t notice how he’d been walking around paris aimlessly for… a suspicious amount of time.

these streets suddenly didn’t feel so welcoming. the walls seemed to tighten around him, the buildings went fuzzy in his eyes. even the road suddenly looked like a game of ‘the floor is lava’ through childish eyes.

this isn’t happening.

this cannot be happening. if this is happening, dazai might as well throw himself into the nearest river.

his feet did a dance of uncertainty along the uneven cobble, tapping a rhythm of confusion between the left and right turns. it was a playful game in his head- which turn looked the most promising?

after going between stares of them both, he decided they both looked equally as terrifying.

dazai wouldn’t let his mind simmer on the word ‘lost.’ because, even if he had definitely taken a couple (hundred) wrong turns, did not recognise this street at all and didn’t see another human being for twenty miles, he was not lost.

how dare he even consider such things.

yes. how dare he.

those horrid thoughts coming into his head.

indeed, how dreadfully awful.

he pondered around, eyes squinting for any sort of life or sense of direction.

ah, yes. this was just a stumble in the road! he was going to be absolutely spit-spot.

… was he?

“this isn’t helping,” dazai slapped his skull, desperate for some sense. 

“i’m not making any progress. i have to go somewhere.”

so he did. with an advanced stride, his stomach churning with every step he took, he moved forward in whatever direction this was.

“gauche et droite? en avant et en arrière?” he slurred, smirking at his french tongue.

he continued on for a long while, forcing his shaky expression to be as stable as possible- letting locals know you’re lost often ends badly.

“lost?! as if.” dazai’s laughter erupted.

the laugh grew from a small chuckle into a sporadic chain of giggles.

he felt insane. he was most definitely insane, but he didn’t care.

that was, once again, a lie. because in an instant, his joy was crushed.

this turn had lead him to a dead end.

“no one’s laughing now, are they mackerel?” chuuya’s teasing echoed in his brain. 

he stood like a statue, clinging onto that gruff voice.

“ chuuya,” he let every letter roll off his tongue, “your lost prince will find you soon! i will use your teasing as motivation!”

he joyously skipped away from the dead end, humming chuuya’s name over and over, to ignore his crippling anxiety. 

and just like that- he was back at square one.

he looked suspicious of the other downhill path like it was a suspect in a murder case, but he crept down the hill anyway. it was better than hovering around, and who knows what may be around the corner- it could be chuuya himself!

it better be chuuya. his fifteen year old self was itching to have his dreams come true, and it wouldn’t come true without chuuya. chuuya is magic.

“don’t you dare swoon in public. you’ll look drunk, dazai.” his conscience spoke.

like he didn’t look insane enough already. he was lost in fucking paris.

this hill didn’t look promising either- like the slowest dip of the rollercoaster of disappointment, it kept on going down and down. down and down, not reaching a destination. these streets were looping.

“beautiful déjà-vu…” dazai spoke in a shaky tone as the hill continued to descend, plummeting him further down into his panic. his stomach plummeted with him- swirling contents around like a broken washing machine.

“déjà- who? ”

dazai stopped.

another elderly woman was up ahead, guarding a rusted wooden door with a baguette and her life. she did not look like the type to hand out friendly bonjours to tourists- her teeth were snarled, her hair was fiercely pinned back and her eyebrows and nose were blended together by a frown.

his gut instinct never led him wrong. he knew she didn’t mean funny business.

“who are you? why do you come to these ends?” she snarled, fixing her posture.

dazai inhaled all the calm energy he could muster (if any). “ah, sorry to bother you ma’am! i was hoping you could do me a favour. you see, i’m a little lost at the moment-“

“you crazy man!” she interrupted in broken english, “you crazy, crazy man! i know what you are, what you came to do!”

dazai gulped. perhaps she mistook him for a mafioso?

had chuuya been here? was he close-by?

“and what would that be, ma’am?” dazai asked, smiling innocently.

“a womanizer!!”

that’s not what he was expecting.

to his surprise, as dazai began to giggle and ridicule, the old woman tore a mighty chunk from the baguette and launched it his way, hitting him with a mighty ‘oof!’ right in the ribcage.

“womanizer! womanizer! all you want is my girlies, get away! scum!”

dazai didn’t look back. he ran up the great hill, sweat and tears squeezing from giggles running down to his neck, soaking up in his bandages as a dreadful memory. 

if he was honest, her aim wasn’t terrible for someone her age. perhaps he should hire her…

this is a vacation! he isn’t here to work. 

well… perhaps he had one job. which he hadn’t completed yet. find that dreamy redhead. 

he didn’t want to result to this, dazai can already see the possible outcome… but he had no choice. he couldn’t face another labyrinth street, porcelain doll face, or a crazy bread- throwing lady today.

it’s funny. dazai had spent years of his life desperate to find himself, but this was the first time he truly felt lost.

-

"merci, gentilhomme!” 

“vous êtes les bienvenus, au revoir!”

oh, the french language. chuuya wished he had a little man in his pocket that spoke french to him, all day everyday.

he strolled away from the warehouse, clicking his tongue in pride that his job was done, and done well- if he says so himself. the meetings went smoothly, his french language research had payed off and his ears were grinning at the accents around him.

now he could go back to the hotel- maybe visit the spa- and relax for the rest of his time here. spend it how he wants to. could he dream of anything more?

the sky had settled from its bright ways of the morning, becoming a reperio of different warm fires blending as one. orange and yellow met pink and purple, with white clouds laid in the background.

chuuya stood in the middle of an empty street, swallowed by the sky, hugging his fedora to his chest. the wind combed through his hair, the sun flowed into his lungs and reminded him that he was still breathing.

that he was here.

he let the sky keep him for as long as it wanted him- waiting for that strong gust of wind, pushing him forward onto the next part of his journey.

except that gust of wind was a vibration in his pocket.

except it wasn’t an exciting move forward.

because as soon as he saw the name that flashed on the screen, the beautiful scenery had been pulled away and the precious breaths had been sucked out of his lungs.

well, universe, your good timing lasted less than a minute. why him? why now?

(he knew why. and he knew why now. but alas, he gave in and thumbs began typing.)

chuuya! 

i’m embarrassed to say this but i could use your help right now, it’s a little urgent.

(read 4:26)

now is not the time to ignore me.

(read 4:27)

MORI’S DEAD

HUH?

ah, there you are! he’s not dead, by the way.

you fucking scamp 

what do you want? i’m busy 

are you sat down?

... no? jesus what have you done

an oopsie

which is...

i know where you are.

and as much as you hate me, i knew i wouldn’t miss this for the world

so, i got on a plane

chuuya watched the three circles pulse like it was a heart monitor. he was frozen, tensed up, with an emotion he so graciously named ‘what the fuck.’

and disbelief, obviously. because there’s no way what dazai was claiming is true.

YOU ARE SO SHITTY. GOOD JOKE! 

here’s where the real joke begins, slug. i don’t know where i am. i took a wrong turn and i’m... lost. 

i feel like i’m in orbit

POISON. YOU ARE POISON

GO AWAY

FLY BACK HOME

is that what you want?

chuuya felt like pounding his head against a wall a million times over.

big structures of scenarios playing out in his head kept growing, his own eiffel tower being built in his mind.

he wanted this. he wanted him. 

“why do people always want what they shouldn’t have?” chuuya sighed, rolling his eyes.

however, a hint of a smile still crept up on him. 

i don’t know

i’m on a job right now- this isn’t a vacation. we’re not 15 anymore.

that’s true, but that doesn’t mean that part of us is gone

please, chuuya. i just want to see you. just for a minute. to see you in this city. that’s all.

you are the shittiest of the shittiest.

you better not be wasting my time

have i ever? 

send me your location. i’m coming to get you

(dazai sent a location.)

is the eiffel tower ready for us?

the sun is setting perfectly against it, actually.

do you think it knows we’re here?

:) absolutely.

time was ticking.

there was no way dazai was here. surely it’ll be another army for him to fight, another bone to pick with the port mafia…

but there was a voice in his heart. the soft voice that never lied- the whispers when everything is falling apart, the raised chin when your mind is as heavy as a boulder, the believing…

hope.

dazai knew of chuuya’s soft voice, how it was his weakness. and he always tried his best to never let that soft voice down.

it made his heart thicken- knowing someone, especially him, would go so far for him.

chuuya chuckled. if he went so far for chuuya… his only option was to chase him.

without a glance, he sprinted to the nearest parked cab, a mix of contrasting emotions he could not name swirling inside as he told the driver what street to head to.

the driver looked at him funny, eyes pointy and slanted.

chuuya smiled, rolling his eyes sweetly. this idiot was really lost, huh?

he scrunched up his trousers with nervous fists the entire journey, constantly looking out for a mop of brown hair hiding a mind he was so desperate to explore.

hands he wanted to hold.

a chest he wanted to bury himself into.

cheeks he wanted to pinch.

eyes he wanted to mesmerise.

when his thoughts began treading on this unknown water, chuuya knew he found the missing piece. he understood why the hotel room felt so lonely. why he was jealous of all those apartment windows.

the roads began to get windier, pushing him from side to side which made him queasy. the car was bouncing, dancing on delicate pebbles and uneven cobblestone, throwing him around this labyrinth like a toy.

“god, please be okay… where are you, stupid ass…” chuuya murmured under his breath as they turned another corner.

“i understand english, kid.” 

he perked up like a meerkat at the cab driver, who was smirking over his shoulder.

“oh, i’m sorry sir. i didn’t mean to bother you.”

his gentle smile was held on a face he knew had so many stories to tell. his wrinkles and eyes were wise.

“is this ‘stupid ass’ someone special to you?” he asked through a thick french accent.

chuuya sighed, “i wish i could say otherwise.”

the man laughed, shaking his head. 

“i could tell. there’s a special sparkle in your eye.”

now he really perked up.

before he could process what the cab driver meant, before he could beg for more, the car slowed down.

the man winked. “go get em, kid.”

chuuya leaned towards the front window, searching around the deserted street. how did dazai even manage to get this far into these lanes? they felt underground, like the catacombs- except in these catacombs, the mummies were walking. his bandaged mummy was walking.

he slowly began to descend back into his seat, folding in on himself when the corner of his crystal, curious eyes detected something to his left.

and he knew.

he sensed his presence. he sensed a clicking feeling in his heart, the clicking of something coming into place that he wasn’t aware of. the jigsaw of this adventure was complete, and he didn’t realise how bad he needed the missing piece until now.

as fast as a falcon, he handed money to the driver with a smile and hopped out of the car, nearly falling over as the sound of the mysterious man driving off faded into the background.

then everything faded into the background.

all he could see was hands holding broken baguettes, a beige coat trudging along the ground, shaking legs, and the most exhausted expression he’s seen on a man in his life.

dazai osamu was here.

he came to paris, flew all the way here, probably did a circuit of the whole city- just for them.

for their special little dream, that had long been locked away.

was chuuya ready to open it up again? 

“you’re here,” he said, trying to drill that into his mind.

dazai melted into a smile.

“i’m here.”

-

it was safe to say the two didn’t dilly-dally. without missing a second, chuuya pulled on dazai’s coat- leading him out of whatever hell street he had ended up in. 

neither could lie, at first it was awkward. the air was thick with too many emotions to name, confusion and surprise looming around their heads which shut their mouths right up.

but it was okay. with double black, it’s always okay. the double darkness cancels itself out, and a light is brought in.

they wandered along the lit-up streets surrounded by silky gowns and sparkly (expensive) purses, marvelling at classy cocktail menus and candles that were even taller than dazai.

which brings them to where they are now- settled on a candle-lit balcony restaurant overlooking the gorgeous eiffel tower, red wine and grins sparkling on their lips as they sipped the heavenly liquid. a jazz band was gently playing on the next balcony over, filling everyone (even the classy, snooty business men) with an undistinguished serenity. 

chuuya peaked at dazai, who was mesmerised by the million dancing lights on the eiffel tower. he broke him out of his trance by holding the black bottle over his glass.

“more wine?”

“si vous plait?” dazai smiled.

chuuya breathed a soft laugh as he watched dazai’s content expression mouth a ‘thank you’ before they raised their glasses to cheers once more.

raising glasses to broken promises. raising glasses to a spark inside they thought they lost forever.

chuuya was the first to try break the confusion.

“why, osamu?” 

dazai sighed happily. “why’d i come here? for you, obviously.”

chuuya squinted, not grasping dazai’s logic. (did anyone?)

“i didn’t think you cared that much.” his voice was small.

“oh, come on. you know fifteen year old dazai would haunt me if i didn’t do this.” dazai teased, drinking in chuuya’s laughter like it was the finest sake on earth.

“that’s true. our teenage selves wouldn’t believe this, huh? they’d be kicking our ass right now.”

“growth, i’d say.” 

“disappointment, others would say.” 

they were laughing glorious rumbles from the heart when a suited waitress strutted over, entering their bubble of safety and warmth as she took their dinner orders. she wished them both a pleasant evening as they exchanged smiles, chests bubbling.

dazai’s eyes followed chuuya’s glazed over pair, admiring the skyline and faded bustle of the streets and soul-fulfilling music. he let his head lift like a balloon at the sudden light he felt looking at chuuya- eyes tracing cheekbones, glistening over a jawline, drowning in his oceans which rested happily ever after, staring at the eiffel tower.

he cursed himself. why did it take this long to realise how show-stoppingly beautiful chuuya was?

he was a diamond. no, better than that- a whole treasure, because he wasn’t only physically stunning. his warm heart and kind words shone through, personality dusting his every feature with beauty.

it was simple. chuuya was beautiful, simply because he was chuuya.

“what’re you looking at, weirdo?” chuuya laughed.

dazai shook his head, eyes like shooting stars. 

“nothing. just looking.”

dazai’s entranced gaze didn’t convince chuuya. he scoffed, trying to cover up his rosy cheeks- which now matched dazai’s flushed face. must be the wine.

yes, chuuya. it is the wine. dazai’s drunken stares are something he’s seen a million times over.

the way he sighs happily while looking at him is the wine, too.

the way his chin is resting dreamily in his palm, his other hand unusually splatted in the middle of the table.

it’s the wine. nothing more.

“stop thinking this is a game, chibi.” dazai whispered.

chuuya jumped. before he could protest, dazai’s stretched out hand slowly wrapped around chuuya’s smaller one, leading it to the table and settling them down, intertwined against the paris skyline.

‘has this idiot started using fucking hand cream?’ chuuya thought, almost letting a tear fall on the spot.

but dazai wasn’t done. he lifted chuuya’s hand up slowly, treating it like glass, as he cradled it close to his face and began pressing butterfly kisses to his knuckles.

‘tears, don’t you dare…’

he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. he closed his eyes and smiled, swimming in bliss at the feel of dazai’s lips on his skin. dazai stared lovingly at chuuya’s peace, squeezing his hand and resting his cheek in chuuya’s palm.

“ah, mon petite mafia. how did we get so lucky?” dazai spoke between kisses.

“ i’m the luckiest.” chuuya swooned.

he brought their hands back onto the table, fingers tracing unknown territory mindlessly as they enjoyed the peace of the balcony, the gentle saxophones, the french small talk.

dazai broke the silence after a while. “chuuya?” 

“yeah?”

“...there’s a slight problem you should know about.”

his natural smile dropped. “just as i was away to say you were back in my good books.”

dazai laughed, “don’t worry, it’s not a big problem. it’s just… i didn’t book a hotel.”

chuuya’s eyes were wider than a snail’s shell. “you what?”

“you see, i was hoping chibi would at least give me a corner of his five star, king-sized bed…” dazai swallowed.

chuuya looked at him blankly. that was all he needed to communicate.

he stifled a laugh at the ‘ shitshitshitshit-‘ that was spinning around dazai’s head. 

“i, uh- i mean if you’re not okay with that, i can sleep on a park bench! that sounds awesome too. i’ll make friends with all the pigeons. if that’s what you would prefer-“

the stifled laugh released itself loudly, leaving dazai muddled- which made him wheeze even more.

“you can get a little more than a corner, mackerel.”

even dazai’s bandages were sparkling. “really?!”

“mhm. just one rule- you better not use any shitty french pick-up lines, or your ass is getting whooped right back home.”

dazai looked defeated.

he cracked his knuckles, dramatically taking both of chuuya’s hands and clinging onto them like a toddler.

“chuuya, are you french? because eiffel for you.”

chuuya’s hair and face blended into one colour.

“fuck off.”

dazai’s giggles of success didn't help chuuya’s blush one bit. hell, he looked like a red grinch.

however, it was playful. they both knew how safe they were, when the calm bliss returned and hugged them close.

“i was being serious, you know.” dazai rubbed circles into chuuya’s delicate thumb, “i don’t think this is a game. this isn’t a tactical move, nor a manipulation technique. it’s just osamu.”

chuuya’s mafia heels were way over his little head.

he squeezed their hands, “i think i like just osamu.”

dazai softened, his blinks of love matching the beat of the jazz bassist.

“me too, nakahara.”

-

saying last night was a dream would be an understatement.

it was everything more than a dream. a fairytale, a magic kingdom… but more. so much more. 

it was real. in the end, reality has a funny way of overtaking a dream, in the best way.

he had a hard time believing this. 

because he refused to believe dazai osamu was real.

the night had evolved in a way he didn’t expect. and the worst part was it was fading in his mind.

he pick-pocketed memories, but he wished he remembered every single second of last night’s magic.

curse the fucking wine.

however, despite their shenanigans, they made it back to the hotel in one piece. 

he may not remember last night… but he sure as hell will remember this morning. 

the king-sized palace wasn’t so empty anymore. chuuya melted into an unfamiliar but inviting warmth from behind him, finding a still slumbered hand resting on his tummy and squeezing it tightly.

he bit his lip to stop the tackiest grin when his neck began to tickle from a warm breath, a body tightening entirely around his own.

angelic hair nuzzled into the back of his neck, whining. 

“mmm… chibi…?”

“hi.” chuuya whispered shyly, closing his eyes.

dazai muffled more groans against chuuya, tightening his hold against him even more as he exhaled slowly. 

chuuya wanted to get used to this. he really did. but was getting comfortable a good idea?

the last time that happened… dazai left.

“ stop thinking this is a game, chibi.”

of course he would remember that, of all things.

he froze. did dazai remember? 

“oh my god.” suddenly, dazai shot up.

chuuya winced at the jolt, feeling arms rip away from his tummy.

so he regrets it, huh? he shouldn’t be surprised. that’s what he gets for getting his hopes up again.

he hid his face in the thick pillows, not daring to look at dazai. embarrassment and a soulless wind of regret overtook him.

he heard dazai click his tongue, expecting sounds of the bed dipping and a door slamming to follow.

but they never came. instead, he felt fluffy locks tickle his cheeks.

“chuuya? hey.”

no response. chuuya’s ears went numb.

“hey, you okay?” a feather voice and gentle shoulder rubs took him in safely.

chuuya peeped his eyes through his hair and the pillows, still shaken by his own mind.

and dazai clocked it. he always does.

“oh, chuu. i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to frighten you. i just forgot where i was for a minute,” dazai soothed, giggling the softest giggles. “come here, mon trésor.”

once again, dazai pulled him to safety, this time held close to his chest as his hand found its way to chuuya’s hair, the other strongly holding his waist.

chuuya’s hand ran desperately to dazai’s shoulder, grounding him.

“is this okay?” dazai whispered.

“mhm. more than okay.” chuuya replied, inhaling dazai’s aromatic scent.

dazai hummed. “i’m not going anywhere.”

with the way dazai was holding him, as careful as a million dollar crystal, chuuya believed him.

they sunk into the bed and one another, an overwhelming calm flooding the room along with fine beams of sunlight.

dazai pressed fairy lips to chuuya’s ear, “how’d you sleep?”

chuuya shivered, eagerly pressing into dazai’s voice dripping into his soul. 

“really good. you?”

“perfect.” he could hear and feel dazai’s smile, butterflies flying all around him.

god, what happened last night? how did they get here?

“what didn’t happen last night?” dazai pinched his shoulder.

“...i said that out loud, huh?”

chuuya mentally hit his head against the wall, dazai laughing and immediately rubbing it better.

“it’s okay. you’ve never been good with holding alcohol, so it was expected from you, petite chérie! i’m used to it,” he chirped, nuzzling chuuya.

“i hate you.” 

“that’s not what you were saying last night.”

all of chuuya’s organs paused.

his pupils tilted to dazai, the bastard staring at him all smug.

“i know things, chu. i saw things, heard things…”

chuuya shut him up. (with his fist, obviously).

his eyes widened with raw panic as he lifted up the duvet, looking underneath at a pair of intertwined legs.

and thank every god in the sky- they were still clothed.

dazai took chuuya’s face in his hands, cradling it softly and giggling.

“i didn’t see that side of you, belladonna. i would never take advantage of you being drunk when it comes to those things, understand?” 

boom.

a heart burst.

“so what if i’m completely sober tonight?” chuuya teased, tickling dazai’s chin.

dazai leaned closer so their noses bumped, wearing the cutest expression chuuya had ever seen. 

“only if you want to. we don’t have to rush- we have forever, after all. we can take things as slow as you want.”

“...forever?”

he wasn’t sure if he'd ever heard that word before.

dazai confirmed by pecking his cheeks, letting his lips linger and chuuya felt the answer flow into him through dazai’s kisses. 

“i shouldn’t have drank that much last night, i’m sorry ‘samu. probably ruined paris for you.” chuuya murmured.

“no, chuuya. the crazy baguette lady ruined paris for me.”

the two giggled against one another, being drawn in from every breath of happiness that came from their lips. they lay together, welcoming this feeling they had craved for so long into the bed with them, wrapping it around their cuddled bodies.

dazai started playing with chuuya’s hair once more, smiling softly when chuuya would sigh from scalp scratches.

“thank you for taking such good care of me,” he whispered to dazai’s heartbeat. 

“i love taking care of you.” his heart spoke back.

chuuya hummed, pressing butterfly kisses in a ‘thank you’ to his heart.

and we have a winner, osamu. you realise chuuya owns that organ now?

he grinned, accepting his ever-so beautiful fate.

“so what should we do today, you big sap?” chuuya said after a while.

“anything but get lost. anything. i’d rather drown in the canals. or jump off the eiffel tower.”

“both of those are horrible ideas.”

“oh yeah? you got anything better, slug?”

“well…” he drew delicate patterns on dazai’s un-bandaged skin, being extra careful with the scars on his precious shoulders.

“how about we order some breakfast, then stay cuddled here for as long as we need to fully wake up. then i’ll run us both a bath, the bathtub in here is big enough for ten people- we’ll both fit in it perfectly. then we can go out into the city, maybe go to an art museum, like the cultured tourists we are…”

“is getting baguettes thrown at you cultured enough?”

“stop making me laugh, idiot! but absolutely. that’s only the beginning, though. we still have so much to do here.”

“oh my god, what’s next? getting croissants thrown at me? maybe even snails?!” dazai groaned, burying into chuuya’s head.

chuuya burst into laughter, “good idea! it’s a date, then.”

dazai looked down at him, his stare blander than bread. “the things i do for love.”

“we are in paris, after all.” chuuya grinned.

they stared at each other for a moment, becoming lost in each other’s eyes.

...maybe being found in each other’s eyes is a better way of saying it.

perhaps it was true what all the poets say- this is the city of love.

and uncertainty. loneliness. longing. getting baguettes thrown at you.

and a fuck load of giggles and tears.

but all those things make up this little love that these two people share, don’t they?

everyone has their own elements that make up their love. for some, it happens to be baguette throwing and getting lost.

but that’s okay.

in paris, everything is okay.