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The wooden table on which Chuuya's head rested was sticky with the wine previously poured on it. A heavy scent of alcohol was rising in the air, irritating Chuuya's nostrils, it made him feel sick, made him want to throw out all the poison that was currently floating in the veins.
He blinked his eyes open, but quickly shut them again as it turned out the ceiling lamp shined directly onto his face. The yellow light seemed to prick his skin, so he lazily turned his head to the other side, so his right cheek was in contact with the cold surface of the table. It was a nice and cooling feeling which made Chuuya softly hum in pleasure. His whole body was begging for sleep, yet Chuuya knew he had to get up, his brain was completely hazy, but his intuition was still working.
He attempted to lift his head, but it protested in pain, it pulsed and felt like it weighed ten times as much.
With a soft groan, he gave up. Lying there, completely unmoving, he tried to recall recent events, how he ended up sitting in a chair with his head aching on the table and his mind foggy. The taste of wine was still lingering on his tongue—it might not have been long since he had his last glass. But why did he drink so much? After all, he knew moderation, especially in drinking wine, which he always thought was about savoring and not getting wasted.
At one point, he moved his hand across the table with the intention of placing it under his head, but stopped when he felt some structure resembling a piece of paper under his gloved fingers. He opened his eyes immediately, it was in fact a small white sheet with something written on it. Chuuya, still lying, narrowed his eyes and concentrated with all his might on reading it.
Chuuya, I'm thankful it was you with whom I had a drink for the last time as a member of the mafia. We'll probably meet again sometime, but for now I have to say goodbye to you. I know you will understand and maybe even be happy
-Dazai.
Chuuya was sure he was hallucinating, he read the message a few more times until his eyes widened, and he was drenched in a cold sweat. Was this some kind of joke? It would be Dazai's style, joking was his hobby after all.
But jokes were supposed to be funny.
He finally lifted his head off the table, ignoring the pain and nausea he felt as soon as he sat up straight. He read the note again, yes it was definitely Dazai's handwriting, Chuuya would recognize it at the end of the world.
He stared absently ahead, noticing only then that the clock on the brick wall was showing it was almost 3a.m. He blinked, and then suddenly all memories traveled to Chuuya's head like a tsunami wave.
He was at the bar, Dazai's favorite one that he often praised. The table at which he was sitting was almost at the end of the room, next to it a narrow window showing the world drenched in darkness. There was no living soul all around, only himself with an empty bottle of wine and an equally empty glass next to it. His hat was also on the table and his coat was hung on the chair. Chuuya remembered that he had come here because Dazai had insisted that he wanted to get drunk and Chuuya for him seemed like a perfect companion. Chuuya had been reluctant to agree, but his assertiveness had to fail, and he ended up there anyway. They had been seated close to each other, Dazai had poured him way too much wine, to the point that it was almost spilling out of the glass, and Dazai had just chuckled as he saw Chuuya's face turn angry.
He remembered how they toasted, ‘to freedom’, and how Dazai had downed a drink all at once, his face unfazed. He also recalled Dazai talking some metaphysical nonsense at one point, but Chuuya hadn't been paying attention because the alcohol was beginning to stir in his brain. The next memories are more blurry, he only remembered how he placed his dizzy head on the table and how Dazai's warm hand touched his shoulder. Then he probably dozed off and Dazai vanished.
He crumpled the piece of paper in his hand and rested his elbows on the table just to hide his face in his palms. He felt strangely helpless, confused, enraged. Of course, he wouldn't go looking for Dazai, it was pointless, if he was really gone then he was probably a long way off. Plus, Dazai wouldn't want to be looked for, especially by Chuuya.
“Why didn't you just tell me?” Chuuya found himself whispering, furniture around his listeners.
Dazai didn't trust him? After so many years together? They might not like each other, they might constantly bicker, their viewpoints might have been diametrically opposed, but the trust seemed clear and obvious between them. So why couldn't Dazai tell Chuuya outright that he wanted to leave? Chuuya would understand, he wouldn't feel betrayed as he felt now.
So that's how he lost his partner. Unexpectedly and abruptly, like a downpour ruining a sunny day.
Chuuya needed an explanation, needed Dazai's reasons. True, the dark haired man was a bit weird after he returned from a mission the day before yesterday to the headquarters, and he didn't have that stupid bandage on his eye, but Chuuya didn't ask him anything. Dazai rarely confided in him, even when Chuuya attempted to talk seriously, Dazai would turn everything into a joke, as if the seriousness was poison to him. Thus, Chuuya often had the impression that Dazai wasn’t a genuine person, that these bandages wrapped around his body were a metaphor for his second skin, the skin underneath which was the real Dazai that no one has yet been able to uncover.
Dazai was an unpredictable entity, so his departure from the Port Mafia actually shouldn't have come as a surprise to Chuuya.
Chuuya tried not to be sentimental, it was a bad and unnecessary habit. He didn't get attached easily as well, knowing it would only cause troubles. However, the realization that Dazai Osamu, the one who tarnished his nerves and paradoxically the one Chuuya felt most comfortable with, made him feel a strange tightness in his chest.
He needed to smoke, badly.
He searched his coat pocket for a packet of his favorite cigarettes and a shiny black lighter, and after a few seconds the smoke was already filling his lungs to the brim, gently irritating his throat. Chuuya wasn't addicted, his willpower wouldn't let him, he only smoked when he had to, when he felt overwhelmed.
Cigarette smoke had this magical soothing power, as though along with it leaving from his mouth, all worries and sorrows were disappearing too.
Chuuya was only eighteen, but he felt old while sitting alone in that bar smoking a cigarette, he felt like a middle-aged man who had just divorced and cared for nothing anymore.
He sometimes wished he hadn’t grown up so fast, there was always some responsibility on his shoulders, heavy and exhausting. Only Dazai would sometimes show him a substitute for the real life of teenagers, and with his stupid jokes and teasing, he automatically pulled out Chuuya's childish form, which he lacked.
Train of thoughts was broken when Chuuya heard a laugh coming from nearby.
At first, he thought it was an illusion, he was still under the influence after all. But then someone laughed again, louder this time, as if they wanted Chuuya to hear them.
Chuuya knew this laugh perfectly well.
It came from the exit side, from a small vestibule with clothes hangers. Chuuya squashed the cigarette in the ashtray and then was on his feet without a second thought, his heart rate rapidly accelerating.
Is this you, shitty Dazai? Was it all a joke?
Walking drunk has never been easy, Chuuya had to prop up the tables to reach his destination, his legs like puddings.
Once in the vestibule he froze in place as he saw Dazai sitting on a matte black tile floor, his knees bent in the air and his hands placed on them loosely, back resting on the metal exit door. That place was much darker, only a pale oblong lamp shined on the ceiling, yet Chuuya could see Dazai grinning very clearly.
Dumbfounded was not enough to describe Chuuya's emotions. He opened his mouth to say something but Dazai overtook him.
“Chuuya, you finally found me!” Dazai exclaimed joyfully.
“What the fuck does it mean, Dazai?” Chuuya said through his teeth, he had to lean on the door frame to avoid falling.
“Well, as I am a regular customer here, I sometimes stayed overnight because the bartender knows me and trusts me. And tonight he locked us up here without asking me first, he just perhaps thought it was one of the times I wanted to spend the night here. This is how the two of us ended up in a closed bar,” Dazai explained calmly, way too calmly.
Chuuya furrowed his eyebrows. “What? Why the hell he didn’t ask you?”
“Usually I stayed overnight when I drank a lot, he probably saw how many bottles we had and was sure I wanted to stay.”
“Is he fucking stupid?” Chuuya spat, annoyed and still confused.
“Ah, he isn’t. He just thought he knew me a bit too well.” Dazai shrugged.
“And you didn't notice how he locks us up?”
“No, I was actually busy listening to you singing,” Dazai giggled shamelessly.
Chuuya’s eyes widened. “I sang...?”
“Yeah, very loud.”
“Shit.” Chuuya completely couldn't remember himself singing, he thought his hoarse voice and slightly sore throat were the result of drinking. “What time did he close us?” He asked.
“2 a.m.”
“So you sit on the ground for an hour?” Chuuya questioned in disbelief. Actually it was Dazai Osamu who he was asking that, that man liked to behave strangely.
“Yes, I was waiting for you to wake up and come to me,” Dazai said softly, looking at Chuuya under his thick eyelashes, the light of the lamp was reflected in his irises.
“Couldn't you just wake me up?” Chuuya asked reproachfully.
“No, you look so peaceful when you sleep, Chuuya,” Dazai admitted and Chuuya wasn’t sure if it was sarcastic or not.
Then suddenly Chuuya remembered that note from Dazai. Since the bartender locked them and Dazai sat helplessly in front of the exit, it meant that-
“So you're really leaving Port Mafia,” Chuuya said quietly, and there was a hint of disappointment in his voice that he hoped Dazai didn’t catch.
Dazai’s lips curled upwards. “Oh, I waited for you to finally ask this.”
“Just fucking answer, Dazai,” Chuuya demanded with a raised voice.
Dazai took his time before answering, eyes locked with Chuuya’s. “Yes.”
Chuuya huffed and turned his head the other way, shaking it both ways in pure disappointment. Dazai verily wanted to leave him like this, without even a quick farewell to his face or a stupid handshake. Was Dazai really such a coward? Was Chuuya really that indifferent to him?
Chuuya felt a twinge in his heart, he was just a man, he had fucking feelings too.
“You know Dazai, you are a truly shitty partner,” Chuuya muttered, even though in his head he had much more to say, to shout.
Dazai seemed quite surprised, brows arched. “Is this all you have to say to me?”
“What else should I say?”
“Ask me for my reasons,” Dazai answered.
Reasons. In fact, Chuuya had lost his interest in the reasons Dazai had made this decision, and was more interested in the reasons why his partner didn't tell him it all directly.
“Why would you tell me your reasons? When you couldn't even find the courage to say that you’re leaving to my eyes. I guess you were furious when you saw the door was closed, weren’t you? I'm surprised you didn't break the lock,” Chuuya said in a mocking tone, now focusing on Dazai's face again.
Dazai seemed unfazed, he blinked at Chuuya, then sighed deeply. “I... was actually scared to tell you.”
“I don’t believe you,” Chuuya said and meant it.
“I know you don’t.” Dazai laughed sadly, lowering his gaze to the ground. “But I’m not lying. I was scared and confronting you now... it’s really stressing me out.”
Dazai actually looked nervous, Chuuya had to admit, yet he still didn’t believe him. Dazai was a perfect liar, he could take any role he wanted and was the main reason why Chuuya had trust issues.
“Dazai, tell me honestly, do you trust me?” Chuuya asked, staring down with a grave expression at the dark haired man.
“I do,” Dazai replied right away.
“And do you know me well?” Chuuya kept asking.
“Yes.”
“Well enough to know that I would understand your departure if only you told me outright?”
“Yes...”
“Then why the fuck-“
“It wasn't that,” Dazai interrupted him in a sudden firm tone.
“What?” Chuuya frowned, he was still dizzy and for a moment he wanted to sit on the floor like Dazai.
Dazai inhaled sharply, then he lifted his chin up and rested the back of his head against the door, eyes closed. “I hate goodbyes,” he confessed in a voice barely above the whisper.
Chuuya unconsciously sucked the lower lip inwards, biting down on it and that strange tightness in his chest appeared again as he said: “It’s just me Dazai, don’t make it sound like I’m someone important to you.”
Dazai snorted quietly. “Yeah... it’s just you.”
Strained silence fell between them, the only sound breaking it was the ticking of the clock coming from the main bar.
Chuuya felt the alcohol evaporate a little from his organism, as if talking to Dazai was cleansing him. That actually could be true, Dazai, sitting huddled on the ground, seemed sincere to Chuuya for the first time, and it probably had to do with the fact that the dark haired man had nothing to lose since he’d just left the mafia. Chuuya's head still didn't absorb this information, yet he’d made up his mind a long time ago that he shouldn't be immersed in things that he had no control over. It didn't make sense to urge Dazai to stay, he was one of the most stubborn people Chuuya knew. Plus, Dazai was... free, it would be selfish if Chuuya tried to keep him, after all, the strange gloom that kept on blossoming in his chest would eventually pass.
“Chuuya, how do you feel that you can finally look down on me?” Came Dazai’s voice eventually, he was gazing at Chuuya intensively.
“Not as cool as I thought I’d be,” Chuuya conceded truthfully.
“Oh?” Dazai quirked his eyebrows slightly, then finally lazily got up from the floor with a soft groan. Now he was standing in front of Chuuya, about a meter of space between them. “That’s better then?” He asked, deliberately stretching his head as far as possible to look down at Chuuya.
Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Will you never get bored with jokes about height?”
“I'll get bored because this might be the last time we see each other,” Dazai said softly, a small note of regret in his voice. Now that he was standing, Chuuya could see that his brown eyes looked sad and resigned, and dark circles were blooming under them. There was just something different in his expression and Chuuya wondered if Dazai had been like this the whole time they were at the bar, and he was just being ignorant.
“You'll have to find a new victim,” Chuuya said sarcastically.
“I don't think I'll find a better victim than you.”
“Wow, I take that as a compliment.”
Dazai chuckled softly, Chuuya actually always liked the sound of it. “Do you know your cheeks are red? They are always like this when you're drunk,” Dazai commented, studying Chuuya’s face carefully with a small smirk.
“I’m not drunk,” Chuuya denied immediately.
“You're swaying Chuuya, do you even realize that?”
“Fuck you. It was you who poured me wine all the time,” he accused and crossed his arms over his chest as if it somehow helped him keep his balance. The arm that he was leaning against the hard door frame was starting to ache.
“Oh? So you remember more or less what happened?” Dazai asked, surprised.
“I don't remember much. And I know you wanted me to get drunk, so I wouldn't notice when you disappear.” Chuuya laughed dryly. “Dazai, what an honor for me that you wanted to spend your last moments with me as a member of the mafia,” he composed as much sarcasm as possible in his voice.
“And who else should I spend it with?” Dazai asked seriously.
“I don’t know, not the partner you hate for sure.” Chuuya gave a small shrug.
“You sound like you don't know how I treat someone I hate,” Dazai muttered under his breath.
Chuuya couldn’t help but laugh humorlessly. “So you don’t hate me?”
“Chuuya...” Dazai sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You really... Ah, fuck this.”
Dazai chose action instead of words. In one moment, he pressed his lips against Chuuya, hard and firmly, so that the red-haired man almost lost his balance.
An incomprehensible sound left Chuuya's mouth, his eyes opened in shock, and when he felt Dazai trying to move his unusually warm lips, and thus make him cooperate, he unfolded his arms and put them on Dazai's chest, pushing him backwards but somehow ineptly, as if deep down he wanted to keep him close, kiss him more.
Kiss him what?
Wait. Dazai was kissing him.
Why was he kissing him?
Before Chuuya could comprehend it more, Dazai broke the kiss with a smacking noise.
“Do you think I would do it to someone I hate?” Dazai asked in a deep voice.
Chuuya was speechless, mouth parted, but no sound would come out. He felt his cheeks grew hot as if the greatest fever in the world had overwhelmed him. He swallowed hard even though his throat was impossibly dry.
Maybe Dazai was drunk? No, he looked completely sober. But why... after all... he... didn't like Chuuya like that, no, no, it had to be some kind of dream. Yet the warmth that was beginning to pool in Chuuya's stomach was proof enough that everything around was real, Dazai too, who was now staring at Chuuya expectantly, with zero hint of embarrassment on his pale face.
Chuuya stared at him too, and for the first time without remorse he mentally admitted how attractive Dazai was. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of brown he had ever seen, Chuuya, despite his composed stature, was always losing himself in them.
He didn’t want to see those eyes for the last time. Was it a crime? No, and even if it was, he has committed far worse ones in the past.
He realized how unsteadily he was breathing and how intimidatingly dull his heart was drumming against his ribcage, as though it wanted to get out of his chest and fall into the hands of the person in front of him, his ex-partner who had just stolen his first kiss.
But it felt good. Dazai's lips were as soft as they looked, and maybe it was the leftover alcohol that gave Chuuya courage that he suddenly walked over to Dazai so that there was no inch between them and once again, without hesitation, connected their lips, this time along with closing his eyes and forgetting everything around him.
He felt as Dazai smirked into the kiss, then he delicately sunk both hands into Chuuya's tangle of red hair.
Chuuya was moving his mouth clumsily, and it was Dazai who had to guide him, he sucked gently on Chuuya's lower lip, then tilted his head more to the side and kissed him faster, more desperately.
Chuuya, not knowing what to do with his hands, placed it on Dazai's chest, not pushing him away this time, quite the contrary. Every corner of his body felt warm, and there were no rational thoughts in his head, all that mattered was how Dazai tried to slip his tongue into Chuuya's mouth, once, twice, and finally succeeded after the third time. A soft whimper escaped Chuuya’s throat as Dazai began to enthusiastically kiss him deeper, their tongues rhythmically molding together. Chuuya's inexperience was almost imperceptible.
At one point Dazai pulled away, still keeping his hands in Chuuya’s hair. “You taste like cigarettes,” he half whispered, then locked their lips again, not giving Chuuya a chance to answer.
Dazai's fingertips twisted in his hair, pulled his head back slightly, and Chuuya had to stand on his tiptoes for better access. His mind was blurry, but deep inside he knew it was a goodbye kiss, and a part of him wished for it to last as long as possible, so he could still feel Dazai on his lips tomorrow, the day after tomorrow and even in a week's time.
But nothing lasts forever. It was Dazai again who broke the kiss and then ran his thumb over Chuuya's saliva damp bottom lip. There was an innocent pink blush on Dazai's cheeks, his lips were in a shade of red, and he was panting enough Chuuya could feel his breath on his face.
“Was it your first kiss?” Dazai asked in a low tone, placing both hands on Chuuya's narrow waist.
Chuuya blinked several times. “...Yeah,” he breathed.
A smile tugged on Dazai's lips. “Did you like it?”
Chuuya took his hands off Dazai's chest, the realization of what had just happened was slowly reaching him. “Why... why did we do it?” Chuuya asked quietly, ignoring Dazai's question.
“Why do you think people are kissing?”
“We're not normal people,” Chuuya emphasized firmly. “We shouldn't- we don't even like each other.”
Dazai took a while to reply. “Don't you think it's destiny?”
Chuuya frowned. “Huh?”
“I think fate wanted us locked up here together, wanted us to say goodbye.”
Chuuya stared at him blankly. “Maybe, and what about it?”
“I just think it's interesting,” Dazai stated. “Maybe after all this, I'll actually start to like goodbyes.”
“So now you will always say goodbye to people this way?” Chuuya asked, voice tinged with jealousy.
Dazai chuckled. “No, Chuuya, just to you.”
Chuuya felt as gentle heat was filling his chest, which was quickly replaced by a tensity. He kept forgetting that that kiss meant nothing to Dazai anyway. “Dazai... why did you do this?”
Dazai tightened his grip around Chuuya's waist. “You're not stupid Chuuya, you should know why.”
Chuuya didn't know, he had one reason in the back of his head, but it was ridiculous that a Dazai who always made Chuuya understand that he despised him had some feelings for the redhead. It would be a paradox.
“I wish you would tell me things straightforward at least once in your life,” Chuuya murmured under his breath, lowering his gaze to the ground.
“I can't do this, it's not a good time. I just want you to know that I never hated you. You've always been a good partner and I knew goodbye to you would be the most painful, so I didn't want to do it. And a kiss...” his voice dwindled, “I hope you don't regret it.”
It actually sounded unfeigned and Chuuya looked closely at Dazai's face to search for a possible lie. “I don't regret it. I'm just fucking confused.”
“One day you'll know for sure,” Dazai said with certainty in his voice, then took his hands off Chuuya's waist and took a small step back. “Now, chibi, could you use your lovely ability and break the lock on this door?” Dazai gestured at the metal door.
Chuuya knew that sooner or later this question would be asked. He was still confused and had a series of questions in his head, but he was aware the answers to them were irrelevant and would only give him unnecessary hope. He already felt that for a few nights he would have trouble sleeping, the events from the bar would still be alive in his head, tormenting him.
With a long and loud sigh, he went to the door, and accumulating all his power (which wasn't easy due to his body weakened by alcohol) kicked the metal lock with all his strength, along with the handle, which in a moment laid on the ground and the door opened with a soft creak.
“Ah thank you, you are so useful,” Dazai said, already standing right next to the crack that the door made, the cool night air timidly entering the vestibule.
“Yeah,” Chuuya grunted.
Dazai looked at Chuuya silently for a long moment, lips twitched in the slightest of smiles. “Goodbye, Chuuya, we'll see each other again soon.” It sounded like a promise.
“Where are you going?” Chuuya wanted to ask but bit his tongue instead. It was better for him not to know.
“Goodbye, Dazai,” Chuuya found himself answering softly. Those words seemed so insufficient, but his throat was tied, he only tried to focus on remembering every little detail on Dazai's face. At that moment, Chuuya was gradually gaining an understanding of why Dazai disliked goodbyes.
Dazai smiled for the last time, then swiftly disappeared behind the metal door, Chuuya heard his footsteps for a while, which within passing seconds were less and less audible.
He stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do with himself. Go out like Dazai? How about spending the night here? After a minute or more, he chose option number two.
On his trembling legs, he walked over to the table he had been lying on earlier, then searched for a cigarette again and lit it in the blink of an eye, watching the smoke slowly disappear into the atmosphere. He felt a sense of emptiness, as well as a certain satisfaction. At one point he brushed his fingertips over his lips and smiled weakly.
That night was sure interesting — he lost his first kiss and his partner. If it turned out to be a dream, he wouldn't know whether to call it a good or bad one.