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Ever since Chuuya first met Dazai, Dazai disliked being touched.
One could argue it was because of his unique condition of an ability. At first, Chuuya thought perhaps he was avoidant in order to hide No Longer Human from the enemy – or maybe so that he wouldn’t exhaust himself while utilizing it casually and carelessly.
Outside of the daily occurrence that was them always throwing punches at each other – which was excluded from the category of physical touch on the grounds of not really being a normal everyday thing to do anyway – Dazai was only touched when he himself offered to be touched.
He never took handshakes unless he initiated them. He always evaded even the smallest shoulder brush unless it was on his own terms.
It didn’t look like Dazai resented the concept of physical contact, per se – or, if he did, he has never shown that much.
He just, sometimes gracefully, sometimes not…
…shifted away from it.
It was actually all bizarrely casual.
This Dazai particularity was never a disadvantage or a hindrance to Chuuya. He never thought much of it in their first year of partnership, in fact. After all, why would he want to touch Dazai in any shape that didn’t involve his fist on Dazai’s teeth and his toe capped boot on Dazai’s shin anyway?
Back then, Dazai’s avoidance was just that – a pretty conventional quirk. It wasn’t a clearly hard annoyance, and it never seemed like there was any strong emotion behind it. Chuuya was sure a lot of other people shared that same trait – some of the Sheep have even shown to possess the same habit – so it never really seemed too strange to him.
Back then, Dazai never seemed repulsed or scared.
When the dark haired boy first came to Chuuya with intentions other than to discuss battle plans or to simply annoy the living hell out of him, Chuuya was rightfully shocked.
The attack came on a random rainy Wednesday, a year or so into their partnership, out of nowhere, and was anything but orthodox.
Without a word, Dazai assaulted Chuuya in a way he’s never done before.
Replacing the kicks was an only half violent brush of their ankles, with the closest proximity they’ve ever had the misfortune to share.
Instead of knuckles, his weapon of choice was his mouth.
Chuuya didn’t find it all too weird that they’ve shared a messy kiss. If anything, he was sure he himself would be the one to give into that intangible thing between them that went on for months first – if not for any other reason, just to get it out of his system, regardless of whether it would be reciprocated or not.
When it happened, he was too full of adrenaline to recognize it fully, yet still, he knew even then something was ever so slightly off.
It took Chuuya a while to realize that the biggest paradox of the entire situation came in the form of the fact that Dazai’s touch-y condition seemed to suddenly… invert completely. In a way, it almost seemed like he had to overcompensate for every finger brush and elbow nudge he retreated from in the past.
Going from complete evasion, to being almost touch starved.
Yes. Chuuya should have been the one to make the first step, and it was very strange that that’s not how things unfolded.
But Chuuya’s young and hormonal self was too filled with adolescent desire, and his teenage outlook on the happenings made him dismiss subtle warning signs that should always rise whenever people choose to act in extreme and largely unexpected ways.
Concentrating solely on the physical proof that Dazai wanted him back in the same manner Chuuya wanted Dazai, he made sure to quench their thirst, never connecting Dazai’s past mannerisms with the later unfolding ones.
Even if he did rise to the occasion and connected the dots, realizing something isn’t quite clicking, he would have never wanted to verbalize it regardless. That was mostly due to the fact that he’d likely never be able to find the right words in the first place. He couldn’t just say “how come you’re suddenly so okay with our skin being pressed so close together?” could he?
The second reason was almost all the more prevailing. Even if he would, by some miracle, manage to put these Dazai-esque concerns into sentences – he’d never let himself do it for the fear of pushing Dazai away. Which was definitely to be anticipated, seeing how whenever Dazai was in that touchy mood, talking to him out of term made him almost instantly lose all of his fervency.
Thinking back on it now, Chuuya realized Dazai might have been using him as a conduit for emotions he couldn’t quite understand and even less articulate since the very start. It therefore made sense he wouldn’t ever want to really talk about what they’ve had going on.
Chuuya was Dazai’s unspoken unwinding.
It was always all so very sexual, and very scarcely, if ever, really intimate.
And that’s why it probably worked so much better than it did…
Well… now.
Chuuya more than just occasionally craved for something more, even then, but knowing Dazai’s constant dismissals of anything that would let him appear as even remotely sentimental, he quickly learned that that longing is better left silenced.
At least back then, though, Dazai never seemed self-conscious or apologetic.
Sighing, Chuuya threw his head back over the backrest of his office chair, looking at his grey painted ceiling. There’s no way he could focus on a report at a time like this. Tried as he might have, he couldn’t bring himself from being constantly distracted by how his night unfolded.
Slowly turning his torso around, he leaned against the top of the backrest with his forearms, and rested his chin there, observing the unmoving mass of blankets on his enormous bed. Only a few strands of dark brown hair on one of the pillows indicated someone was buried beneath them, the figure remaining completely unmoving otherwise.
It was ironic. Back when Dazai held so many parts of himself back, they could be going at it for hours on end. But now, seemingly willing – if not even desperate – to lose all his inhibitions, he…
Chuuya stared intently at the sleeping figure hidden away beneath the covers.
The guilt ridden look Dazai gave him earlier when he was underneath him still burned just as bad as it did an hour ago, leaving behind his eyelids a residue of a creeping in headache.
Tsking to himself, Chuuya turned back around and reached out for his cigarette case. Lighting up a tobacco stick, he faced his computer screen and held an intense staring contest with his web browser’s search bar for what seemed to be an eternity.
Finally, with his cigarette still in between his fingers, he went to type an incohesive selection of words he deemed would give him the best broad results.
Orgasm.
Inability.
Aroused.
Unable.
Climax.
Scrolling for maybe two minutes, he stared at the bolded categories and lined paragraphs, leaning back in contemplation, when a small voice brought his thought process to a screeching halt.
“Are you googling it?”
Startled, Chuuya closed down his laptop instantly, then stared directly ahead through the window behind his desk in empty half annoyance and half embarrassment, sighing deeply.
“Aren’t you sleeping?”
Chuuya took this opportunity to extinguish his cigarette in acted out composure, if only to catch a peripheral of Dazai looking at him from his spot at the bed, still all wrapped up like he was, only a messy head now peeking out of the sateen sheets.
“Am I your little science project now?”
“Do you have to make everything sound so fucking awful?”
Dazai hummed out a small laugh that made Chuuya’s chest ache with something he couldn’t quite define.
The ex-mafioso hiding behind snarky remarks wasn’t anything really enlightening, but that self-pitiful snicker made Chuuya’s insides boil with a passion that could rival his inner cataclysmic Calamity.
He wanted to stand up, walk to the bed, and punch all that indignation out of Dazai. That completely unhinged side of him was rationalized by their past behavioural patterns, where Dazai would always provoke him to the point of an altercation, with Chuuya in tow thinking that the only way Dazai would ever listen anyway was to beat some sense into him.
Yet in all honesty, Dazai never listened, regardless if there was a fist-fight. He always just looked up at Chuuya, split lipped and purple eyed, give him a bloodied stupid smirk and pry at Chuuya’s nerves further.
“I really aaaam awful, aren’t-?”
Up in a raging heartbeat, pulling at the sheets, Chuuya decided that his tactic would be similar to the one Dazai used on him on that late April evening, where they bruised and battered started a twisted love story so unconventional no one as an outsider would ever be able to fully – no, not even a tiny bit, actually – comprehend it.
Dazai responded to his kiss eagerly, and the way his fingers went up to claw at the back of Chuuya’s neck and the side of his shoulder – like this exact moment was the only thing grounding him – made Chuuya tread the fine line he was on all the more carefully.
When they pulled away, ever so slightly, Dazai looked up at him with a lost stare.
For the second time this evening, Dazai was underneath him breathless and looking unfairly displaced, and for the second time this evening, his words were carrying mockery while his voice was drenched in cries for help.
“Got a hypothesis for me yet, Mr. Boner Science?”
To feel so strongly, thought Chuuya caressing one of Dazai’s cheeks, yet be so horrified of it.
What a curse to have upon oneself.
Mentally, Chuuya went through the list of words on the tag called psychological he read online before he was interrupted.
Abuse.
Depression.
Trauma.
Anxiety.
Grief.
Dazai was, in fact, able to lose all his inhibitions back in the day, if only for the shortest periods of time. As for why it was so hard for him to do so now – Chuuya didn't know the instigating circumstance. He definitely had a few not really too vague ideas, but right then and there, he decided such quite frankly wasn’t too important.
Concerning himself with why Dazai just couldn’t seem to get out of his head was distracting from putting energy into trying to make it better.
It? The situation?
No. Dazai himself.
To stop him from emitting this intense pitiful stench. To tell him there’s nothing wrong with him, for having a block. That Chuuya understands it has nothing to do with his own performance. That Chuuya really wants to make things better for him.
Dazai wanted to prompt him into thinking about why this is happening to him, because he wanted to be humiliated. Because he thought he deserved that much. One could see it in his stare.
Tell me all the reasons why I’m broken, it seemed to say, tell me how it’s all my fault.
Tell me how inadequate I am, how useless I make you feel.
For the longest passing seconds, they just searched each other’s gazes.
Dazai’s begging for some sort of resolve.
Chuuya’s hopefully providing some sort of comfort.
“Let me guess,” Dazai started again, his chest heaving in a way it shouldn’t, his tone coldly cynical.
“Your theories are stuck somewhere between the general mental health issues tag and the grief, including that brought on by the loss of a partner tag –“
Chuuya kissed him again to shut him up and could swear he felt Dazai sob dryly against his touch.
“For the love of god, for once in your life, just shut the hell up,” whispered Chuuya with tender assertiveness – a gentle demand against Dazai’s lips, making sure to give zero pity and absolute reassurance.
“Just fucking say what you want to say,” pleaded the detective with all those heavy and ugly sentiments.
Repulsed.
Scared.
Self-conscious.
Apologetic.
In pain.
“Say what? What you want me to say? Dazai, you can be the lowest piece of garbage there is, but this… This has nothing to do with you being a shithead. For all the brainpower you brag to be possessing, you sure are a fucking idiot sometimes.”
“Why’d you let me stay? These past weeks. Even when I’m like this,” Dazai pressed then, and it would feel almost angry if he wouldn’t be breathing in Chuuya’s air in desperation.
“Again and fucking again. You let me stay. Why?”
…and why don’t you hate me for this? he wanted to add.
It was left unspoken, told only by a careful tremble of Dazai’s lashes.
Chuuya directed his entire focus towards Dazai’s eyes, boring deep into the shields behind the voids, making them grow visibly and significantly frailer with every passing moment.
“You want me to say what I want to say? Alright then. I will. If you were to ask me why I think you suddenly came knocking at my door like that two weeks ago – why now, after all this time that you could have but just didn’t – I don’t fucking know. I actually don’t know a whole lot of things. I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours. I don’t know why you insist I should be antagonistic towards you for things that are beyond your control, when there’s so fucking many character traits you possess that I’ll gladly chew up and spit back out instead. I don’t know why you’re such a masochist – why you’re pushing me away when you clearly need me. I mean fuck, you did come back, at the end of the day, and what I do know is that – for whatever unholy reason – I’ve always trusted you. So of course I trust you with coming back. And I know it’s mutual. Is that not right? Dazai. You came to me because that’s what we do. You came back because you trusted me, too. Well I want you to keep trusting me. You want my help. I want you help you. And I want you to let me help you. ”
Dark strands of hair covered Dazai’s eyelids where he retreated his gaze somewhere down between their bodies, looking into the empty space between them.
“That’s sappy as fuck,” he managed in a mumble after weighing Chuuya’s words carefully.
“Yeah… Well.”
Chuuya nudged Dazai’s nose with his own in order to bring his attention back up. When Dazai finally decided to give him the honours – his eyes constantly jumping between Chuuya’s eyes and his lips – Chuuya couldn’t help but to crack the smallest of warm smiles.
For the first time since their reunion, Dazai seemed – if not completely relaxed quite yet – genuinely content.
“Tough shit,” spoke Chuuya against Dazai’s mouth, the ghost of that same smile pressing their lips together again, leaving the ginger overwhelmed with how he managed to unravel the other with nothing but words of affection.
Apparently overrun with something akin to that emotion too, Dazai pressed onto Chuuya all the harder. Intensity increased, as lead by Dazai himself, but he was also the first one to break the contact. Speaking almost absentmindedly, he took a hold of one of Chuuya’s hands.
“That earlier… That was pathetic,” he said with a dismissive tone, laughing huskily as he started bringing Chuuya’s hand down his pants. “I can…”
Chuuya stiffened the muscles of his hand and stopped the intrusion to Dazai’s underwear from ever happening. Instead, he grasped for the bony wrist and brought it back up, pinning it to the side of their heads, interlocking their fingers.
It was blatantly obvious Dazai didn’t really want this. He only wanted to prove something to either or both of them. Or perhaps the idiot thought Chuuya should be thanked for the wakeup call and wanted to offer pleasure as a means of retribution.
Chuuya wondered what the first moment in which he realized he’d been in love with this complete idiot was.
“We can try again tomorrow,” said the mafia member lowly before even thinking what words were coming out of his throat.
Dazai glared at him for an excruciating moment of disbelief, the transition of feelings plain to read in his usually unreadable features.
After a period of shock, Dazai simply laughed out loud without a hint of pretence as both of the men came to the realization of what Chuuya’s words said beyond the surface.
His words didn’t hold only implication of sex, but one of a guaranteed conviction Dazai was not going to just disappear overnight.
Chuuya wondered which of those two made his insides clench harder, and his chest tightened up as he realized that this right here – this laugh of Dazai’s right now, so uncensored and raw – must have been the most recent moment in which he realized he’d been in love with a complete idiot.
“You should really think before you speak more,” incited Dazai, offering him a strangely knowing look.
Understanding he might have sounded insensitive rather than encouraging, Chuuya felt his cheeks heat up.
“Oi! That’s not… It’s not that I don’t want to, or think you couldn’t. Let’s… Let’s just… Oh, fuck you! You know what I fucking meant!” grunted Chuuya, dropping down to lie beside his ex-partner turned partner then.
“Let’s just…” he added more softly then. “…take it easy.”
Dazai wailed in a sort of newfound entertainment.
“Oh yeah, of course! Easy! Oh, I just love happy endings!” he said somewhat sarcastically, making Chuuya unsure if he was making fun of the hinted at domesticality in Chuuya’s words, or somehow just exposed the irony of their upcoming path and his current struggles being anything but easy.
Whatever the case was, Chuuya was more than just a bit embarrassed by it.
“Oh, shut up,” said Chuuya, throwing a smaller pillow at Dazai’s face.
The transition into silence then wasn’t uncomfortable, and for that, Chuuya was eternally grateful.
They must have stared at the ceiling for minutes, and with each passing one, Dazai shifted closer until he was all but buried inside of Chuuya’s hug.
It might have been subtle if Chuuya hadn’t lived and worked and basically breathed Dazai for years. Once you get glimpses into one’s little quirks though, there’s apparently nothing that can take that away from you, even after ages of being away from each other.
There was nothing subtle about how Dazai first let their fingertips brush.
Nothing was indirect about how he leaned his head on Chuuya’s shoulder.
It was odd of Dazai to expose his vulnerabilities in the way he did. It wasn’t something the old Dazai ever dared to do. But Chuuya never commented on any of it, and just kept his arms around him.
“At least you’re not trying to make it even more awkward. I…” said Dazai, his voice gaining a serious tone to it when he spoke as though reading Chuuya’s mind.
“….appreciate that.”
A tch of feigned annoyance left Chuuya’s mouth as he rubbed Dazai’s forearm and lowered his head to press a soft kiss to the top of his head.
In response, Dazai cocooned himself harder around Chuuya.
“Hey, Chuuya?”
“Yes?”
“Did you mean it?”
“Hm?”
“Trying again? I mean, I’ve tried so many times, and you’ve seen what- well- what if-“
“No. No what ifs. We’re gonna cross that bridge when we come to it next.”
“…okay.”
“Okay.”
Ever since Chuuya first met Dazai, Dazai disliked being touched.
“Chuuya, please don’t be that sappy ever again.”
He never took handshakes unless he initiated them. He always evaded even the smallest shoulder brush unless it was on his own terms.
“Oh my god, just sleep goddamnit.”
It didn’t look like Dazai resented the concept of physical contact, per se – or, if he did, he has never shown that much.
“It doesn’t suit you at all.”
He just, sometimes gracefully, sometimes not…
“Whatever,” mumbled Chuuya with what could only be described as a closed eye eyeroll.
Dazai’s fingers dug into Chuuya’s side as if he were a ship, anchoring itself for the first time in over a decade.
Startled, Chuuya looked down at the top of his head.
“Thank you,” mumbled the lanky man against his chest, all wrapped around his middle.
Chuuya smiled gently and pulled him in closer.
“Welcome home.”