Work Text:
Goodbye.
It burned Chuuya's mouth, made his tongue go numb whenever he considered saying it out loud.
The basement they were both staying in had an invisible chain around his neck, and he couldn't move. Even when Dazai wasn't home, Chuuya could picture him sprawled around their bed, morphine pills spilled and scattered around his lean frame. He would always beckon him to come closer whenever he was high and would whisper words of adoration in his ear. Morphine would make his amber eyes look bright, and his smile would be even brighter.
The reason why they ended up together was a bar fight, as ridiculous as it sounded. Chuuya, even though he had a low alcohol tolerance, still enjoyed drinking. He stumbled upon a promising, genius novelist who went by the pen name Dazai Osamu, newly moved in this city, then proceeded to insult him as a welcoming gift after their unfruitful conversation.
"Tch, you annoying brat. There is no way a novelist can comprehend the soul of a poet!"
Dazai was left teary-eyed while Chuuya went on to ramble about random things, metaphors, or other poetic shit.
"Tch. What's your favorite flower?"
"P-peach blossoms... Because they're small..."
Chuuya doesn't remember that part, but apparently, Dazai had nowhere to stay, and despite Chuuya's continuous bullying he refused to let him go all while Chuuya was blackout drunk. Begged him to let him stay.
Chuuya appeared mean, but he was not that mean. He wouldn't throw someone out while they looked like a kicked puppy, so he let him stay.
The flat below the surface level belonged to Chuuya, who inherited the worst part after his father died. Sometimes he suspected if his siblings and mother did that on purpose. But having somewhere to stay for free wasn't that bad, so he couldn't complain.
So he was living a bohemian style of life, just writing poetry whenever he liked, reading French poets most of the time. The one window that lets some air and light in would be almost always occupied by Chuuya reading books.
Dazai was a novelist, so he needed the window too. While he was staying, he often butted in just so he could read Rimbaud with him, he claimed that he liked his poetry too. Chuuya would just click his tongue.
'My first adventure, in a path already gleaming
With a clear pale light,
Was a flower who told me its name.'
Between the poem readings together and all the nagging from Chuuya who tried to pressure Dazai to pay rent, Dazai initiated something between them. They weren't even friends, Dazai forced himself into his house and his life, then his bed. It looked like the broke novelist had nothing to offer in exchange for rent, but his own body.
The poet would have been more self-conscious of his dignity, but he was just so starved for an intimate touch, he melted under the other man's touches. They ended up passionately making out, and as embarrassed as he was, Chuuya loved every second of it. Dazai whispered in his ear with swollen lips after they parted, informing him that he would let Chuuya use him however he wants.
Chuuya answered this by wordlessly straddling his lap and throwing his pride away.
"I'm home," Dazai said and Chuuya scowled in reply. He was late, tipsy, and disheveled. The worst thing is, he smelled like women's perfume.
Chuuya knew that he had no right to be mad about it. They weren't boyfriends or lovers, there wasn't any agreement between them. It was just stupid, stupid Chuuya who chose to be loyal to his beloved leech.
But, even though he seemed to be satisfied by the previous "activities" he participated in, Dazai came closer to press kisses against Chuuya's neck and that made Chuuya's ego boost. He quickly forgot about his questions about their relationship and leaned back to enjoy the attention.
Dazai was a lost cause. The stories he wrote, the things he described weren't healthy, they were inhuman. That much amount of darkness scared Chuuya, yet he kept coming back for more. He read his works, criticized them, and that encouraged Dazai to write more of them.
Dazai praised his poetry too, but Chuuya suspected that he only praised them to get on his good side.
It felt good either way.
----
Dazai idolized the idea of suicide and wanted it to be a painless death. That would cause Chuuya to be uneasy and anxious since he didn't know when and where he would find Dazai's lifeless body inside his apartment. A small part inside him was also worried about losing him forever.
When he was bored of this, Chuuya decided to pursue other people, to avoid being attached to Dazai even more. He asked his relatives to find a girl suitable for him, to settle down and start a family. He had always wanted children.
Dazai had heard about it. He probably knew that he would have to move out as soon as possible when Chuuya met Takako, and he wasn't happy.
"Are you sure that you will be happy with that woman you barely know?" Dazai asked. It sounded ridiculous, and they both knew.
"Look who's talking," Chuuya grimaced. "I know her more than you by the time you decided on your own to live under my roof."
Dazai didn't answer, he knew that nothing would stop Chuuya after this.
----
"I love you."
"You're lying through your teeth, bastard. Let me go."
----
Dazai moved out without a fuss after Chuuya and Takako got engaged. He is most likely going to stay with one of his decadent friends, Chuuya thought. Not my problem anymore.
----
"I've made a mess of it — I've fallen for you."
Chuuya hissed, coughing and shivering between Dazai's arms. He had left his house to find him, as he was sick and wanted to see him one last time. Dazai was right, he wasn't happy. He didn't know if the other man pitied him, but was relieved when he kissed him all the same. Their eyes locked.
"I know you've suffered. Well, so have I." Dazai said, looking into Chuuya's eyes.
"Do you still love me?" Chuuya asked, with a hopeful tinge in his voice. Dazai did not answer, but when Chuuya still reached for his face to kiss him again, he responded and they both felt the taste of pills and salty tears.