Work Text:
In another universe, Nakahara Chuuya sauntered down those dungeon stairs with a smirk and a quip about an ‘unrivalled masterpiece’, but in this one, there was no smirk, no quip, only a pinch between his brows.
Dazai couldn’t take his eyes off him but if anyone asked, it was tactical decision.
He grimaced. “Gross. You haven’t changed at all, Chuuya.” But despite his scathing tone and the false irritation he was broadcasting, Chuuya’s expression didn’t change. He looked like he was trying to figure something out.
When Chuuya spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“You left flowers in my house this morning.”
It was true. Dazai had broken in during the night and left a bouquet of blue and orange flowers in his kitchen. It was probably quite obvious that it had been him; Chuuya wasn’t the type to write off two strange and improbable events happening on the same day as a coincidence. In the face of that unavoidable truth, Dazai didn’t bother keeping up his façade of exasperation.
“Can’t an old friend buy their ex-partner some flowers?” he replied.
Chuuya’s face remained pinched. He was near unblinking, unwavering as he looked into Dazai’s face for some kind of understanding. Dazai just smiled and let it happen.
“You did all those things for me last year, too.”
Dazai blinked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Dazai had broken into a secure mafia facility without leaving so much as a trace behind, there was no plausible way that Chuuya could have deduced what scores of mafia analysts had not. To this day, they had no clue that Dazai had made off with a hard drive full of data about Chuuya’s schedules and the past, present, and future dealings that were in the mafia’s interest. There was no understandable reason why Chuuya could have known that he had done what he did.
“I know it was you,” Chuuya refuted, sounding so tired. “You made me pancakes with fresh fruit on top, and you left out the raspberries because you know I’m allergic. You had a novel I wanted ordered into that bookstore we used to spend hours in. You sent red camellias to my house.”
They both knew that those facts weren’t sufficient enough to prove that Dazai had been the one to do it, but it didn’t matter. Chuuya knew Dazai better than anyone, he knew the truth, and he wouldn’t be easily swayed about it.
“Okay,” he acquiesced. “You caught me.”
Chuuya’s expression didn’t soften at all with the admittance. If anything, he looked more lost.
“You broke into head office that day, too.” He was almost distressed by the thought. “Was that it? Did you just do all those things to distract me while you fucked us over one more time?”
Chuuya must have known that by leading his line of questioning so heavily, he was giving Dazai an easy out. It would have cost him nothing to say “yes”, and with it spring the implication that he could never care about Chuuya without an ulterior motive.
Dazai may be a genius, but any smart person will tell you that geniuses are generally complete morons underneath. That’s why instead he said, “No.”
Chuuya’s mouth formed a hard line. “Then why did you do it?”
Dazai couldn’t really do much else, with his back against the wall and wrists still locked in shackles. His lips quirked up a little. “You could call it an apology.”
“For what?” Chuuya demanded.
“For leaving without a word? And blowing up your car?”
Chuuya scoffed. “Of course that was you.”
“Chuuya,” Dazai spoke, drawing Chuuya’s focus back to him. “I just wanted to do it.”
Finally, finally, his stormy eyes settled, and the space between his brows became a comfortable norm. He looked like he was in pain, but not the soulless devastation Dazai had seen on his face too many times. Instead, it was like there was an ache that demanded attention, low and mellow enough to forget after a while but never shallow enough to disappear completely.
He took a hesitant step forward, then wrapped his arms tight around Dazai’s neck, head buried into his shoulder. He was almost hanging off Dazai’s frame like this; it felt uneven and one-sided, so Dazai loosed the chains from his wrists and brought his arms around Chuuya in return.
Chuuya laughed into him. “You could leave any time.” Dazai tightened his arms. “Why are you even here?”
“There are two reasons,” Dazai spoke against his temple. “I need to know who’s holding a bounty over my new tiger friend’s head, but that’s just fortunate timing, because I’ve been planning to crash your schedule ever since I stole it from the mafia a year ago.”
Chuuya’s hands were trembling where they clutched the back of his coat, wrinkling it in obvious clumps. His stiff muscles felt like lead pipes; immovable, heavy more in spirit than in weight.
“I don’t have to forgive you for anything,” Chuuya said, his voice just as uneven and strained.
“I know,” Dazai replied, “but it would be stupid of me not to try.”
Chuuya laughed again. “Yeah, you fucking idiot.”
Dazai chuckled. “You know, if you tell me who made that bounty we can leave right now and have lunch like functional people.”
“I hate you so much.” Chuuya shook his head derisively.
“I don’t.”
“I’m gonna punch your lights out.”
“Can you wait until after lunch?”
“Yeah.”