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God, it had been a long day.
Paperwork. More paperwork. Words said in meetings that he pretended to know (but asked Kouyou for the meaning of afterwards). A fairly quick fight with an illegal arms ring that Mori had sent him on solo, which left him with a set of bloody knuckles and a slightly bruised shoulder. He hadn’t meant to get distracted by a round of bullets, or for that guy to get close enough to properly land a hit. He was a little angry with himself, but it wasn’t like he’d been hospitalized. He’d heal just fine within a matter of days.
Chuuya had just finally sat at his kitchen counter, a glass of wine in a patched-up hand. He was too tired to cook dinner for himself, plus he wasn’t that hungry. He opened the book he’d started reading a few days before when there was a knock on the apartment door. He looked around his apartment quickly in confusion before getting up, unsure that he had actually heard the knock.
Maybe it had just been the rain outside.
Either way, Chuuya grabbed a knife out of the block on the counter and headed to the door. Yes, it was a chef’s knife, no, he didn’t really care. The blades he usually kept on him were sitting on the dresser in his bedroom. And, he could always sharpen this one later. Easier to clean, too. He wasn’t expecting anyone, so maybe he was just hearing things, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. Slowly, he unlocked the front door and opened it, knife and ability at the ready.
Whatever it was that his mind told him would be there at the door, whether a person or just the howling wind and rain… a thoroughly drenched Osamu Dazai was both the least likely and the most surprising option.
Chuuya sighed. He kept the door only partially open, ready to slam it in his face if need be, and looked at Dazai, pushing down that feeling of pity that always rose up in his chest. “What is it, shitty Mackerel? Don’t you usually break in? Couldn’t figure out how to unlock the window this ti-,” his voice trailed off as Dazai made eye contact with him.
He’d seen that look before, and it wasn’t the mischievous glance or sly smile Dazai usually wore. It wasn’t that damn mask. It was the tired eyes that gave it away. No light, no glint, just flat color, a dead stare. The look he always had on those particularly bad days when they were younger, and not so commonly now. He’d gotten better at hiding it, but it was still the same. The look he had after every one of his failed attempts, the look every time he sat on the bathroom counter as Chuuya cleaned up blood, treated reopened scars, fixed his bandages.
“What’s wrong,” Chuuya said, opening the door a little wider, and stepping forward, using Tainted Sorrow to toss the knife he was holding back to its place on the kitchen counter. He was trying his hardest not to seem too worried, but he was practically choking on that pity he had tried to suppress. He wasn’t asking how Dazai was, there was no questioning tone in his voice, because he needed to know. Not for Dazai to brush him off, to put that mask back on, to walk away. Dazai looked at him with a forced smile, a grin that wouldn’t reach his eyes, then opened his mouth to speak.
“I… I don’t know, Chuu. I... Can I come in? I just- I can’t-” he tried, but his sentence was cut short by an empty sob as his knees buckled underneath him. Chuuya was right there to catch him (like he always was, or at least wanted to be). He lowered them both to the ground, holding Dazai tightly. Slim fingers grasped the back of Chuuya’s t-shirt as Dazai buried his head into the crook of the redhead’s neck, reaching desperately for a lifeline, something tangible to ground himself with.
Chuuya slowly pulled them both out of the way of the door, and closed it with his foot, all the while holding Dazai. “God, bandages, you’re shaking like a leaf,” Chuuya tried to joke, just barely whispering it into messy hair. The tearless sobs didn’t stop, he could feel the shaking breaths against his neck. Chuuya shifted a bit, trying to make their position on the floor more comfortable, but to no avail. He elected to just pull Dazai closer, while the taller man fell to pieces in his arms.
It was so rare that Dazai got like this, that whenever it did happen, it scared Chuuya to his core. Osamu Dazai was a master of manipulation, of deceit and lies. He had always been so good at masking his true intentions, at faking feelings, that anything the man said was believable.
Chuuya still didn’t know everything about Dazai, but he knew him well enough to see through those barriers he put up. He assumed that the three years of living together and risking their lives and fighting side by side was the reason for it. And even after four years of separation, in which both of them completely changed but stayed entirely the same, Chuuya could still read Dazai like a book.
He knew that breakdowns like these were always just under that veneer of confidence and composure, shifting right below the skin he so carefully covered. That Dazai never allowed anything real to surface, whether or not he actually understood the feelings he concealed. Every time, he just talked through it, laughed his way around it. Nothing was ever serious.
Chuuya could count on one hand the amount of times he had seen Dazai like this. He didn’t like thinking about it, because it had always been after he’d done something deadly stupid. Like taking off out a 7th story window. Throwing himself off a bridge into ice cold water. Slitting his throat on the bathroom floor, waiting until he choked on his own blood.
Chuuya’s eyes widened at the realization, that maybe he had done something stupid, and pushed Dazai off of him, holding the other man by the shoulders. “You’re not hurt, are you? You didn’t do anything fuckin’ stupid before coming here?” He brought one hand up to cup Dazai’s cheek to turn his head, eyes and hands searching everywhere.
Dazai shook his head, tears in his eyes still unshed. Chuuya tilted his head, the look in his eyes so soft he’d scold himself for it later. He brushed his thumb over the other man’s cheek, where tears should be. “You can cry, y’know. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he whispered. Dazai shook his head again, and tried saying something, but couldn’t seem to make heads or tails of every thought speeding through his mind.
The smaller man sighed, grabbing one of Dazai’s hands and pushing himself up from the floor. Dazai looked confused for a second, before Chuuya tugged on his arm. “C’mon, get up, we gotta get this coat off you. And your shoes. They’re wet, you’ll get sick.”
He brought Dazai up with him, the other’s legs still shaking. Using the hand not holding Dazai’s, Chuuya took the brown coat off Dazai’s shoulders, switching the hand he was holding to pull it off his arms. He dumped the coat on the floor, it wasn’t time for the organization he’d usually insist upon.
Chuuya pulled Dazai to the couch, making him sit down so he could unlace his shoes without having to worry about Dazai losing his balance. He pulled the other’s shoes off and tossed them toward the door carelessly, before moving to sit on the couch himself. He sat with his back to the armrest, and as he went to ask Dazai if he wanted to stay the night, the man hugged him and hid his face in Chuuya’s shirt.
Chuuya’s back hit the side of the couch, one of his arms uncomfortably pinned under Dazai. He decided not to comment on it, seeing as the brunette’s shaking had started again, worse this time.
“It’s okay, ‘samu, you’re okay. You’re fine. It’s okay. I’m right here,” Chuuya said, free hand running through that soft, dark hair, still wet from the rain. The use of his first name made Dazai shake harder, and Chuuya was half-relieved, half-terrified, to feel tears start to soak through the front of his t-shirt. “Hey, yeah, it’s alright, I’ve got you. Don’t worry, I got you.”
They stayed like that, holding each other, for who knows how long. Chuuya continued whispering simple words of reassurance, praying that Dazai was able to hear them over the din of his mind. He kept running his hand through Dazai’s hair, drawing lines on his back with his fingers, back and forth, over and over again. It was something he used to do when they were kids, on the nights neither of them could sleep, by any imaginable cause.
When they could sit close and comfortable, in silence, without a ragged past creeping up on them. Without a frayed history smothering them until the only thing they could recognize was the fear they felt in remembering.
---
Chuuya didn’t realize he had fallen asleep until he woke up, his free hand no longer threaded through dark brown hair, but now instead laced with thin, cold fingers. He groaned quietly, a needle-like pain forming in the arm still pinned under Dazai.
“Shit,” he whispered, trying not to move too much, not wanting to bother Dazai, sound asleep on his chest. The ache in his arm and back were nearing unbearable, but he could handle it for a bit longer, since it meant Dazai had been comfortable enough to actually fall asleep. Chuuya wouldn’t be able to tell you how long he laid still, rubbing slow circles on the back of Dazai’s hand with his thumb, waiting for Dazai to wake up. He simply laid there, watching the man sleep.
It crossed his mind that maybe, just maybe, he should wake Dazai up, but the thought was fleeting. It had been a long, long time since he’d seen the man look as peaceful as he did now. He was calm, beautiful, even, under the harsh light in the apartment. Chuuya’s heart ached, a pain more overwhelming than the one in his arm. Though still, all he could do was wait.
Finally, somewhere between forever and no time at all, Dazai began to stir. He didn’t open his eyes immediately, instead taking a deep breath, and squeezing Chuuya’s hand gently, as if to make sure he was still there. Chuuya squeezed back, continuing to trace invisible lines with his thumb, a small sign of reassurance. A silent ‘yes, of course I’m still here.’
It was only then that Dazai opened his eyes, tilting his head to place his chin on Chuuya’s sternum, looking him right in the eyes. Neither of them said a word, they just looked at each other, the silence between them was not the kind that needed to be filled. Dazai’s eyes were still tired, Chuuya noticed, but that sharp pain was dulled, the light was working its way back into place.
Chuuya gave Dazai a small grin at that, the awful feeling in his chest finally fading. He expected the brunette to return the smile, but instead he broke eye contact and buried his face in the curve of Chuuya’s neck. The breaths against his skin weren’t short and shaking anymore. The redhead gave it a minute before he broke the silence.
"Hey, d'you wanna get up? My arm's gone numb. And I'm pretty sure I've got some of your clothes in one of my drawers we can get you into, I know those clothes aren’t too comfortable. They’re still kinda damp from the rain, huh?" Chuuya muttered, his face half pressed into Dazai's hair. Dazai tensed up at the first sentence, only to relax again a second later. Chuuya knew why, but he wasn't going to comment on it unless Dazai did.
"You're not gonna make me leave?" Dazai whispered, voice rough from the combination of sleep, crying, and the lack of talking he'd done. He sounded relieved, but also scared that Chuuya would change his mind after he voiced his concern.
"Of course not, dumbass. Not while you're like this. Who knows what I'd have to come drag you out of later if I let you leave right now. And hey, the only time I ever really kicked you out was when you broke in and set fire to the toaster before I even got home. That was well deserved." He had liked that toaster. He laughed a bit at the memory of Dazai's face when Chuuya had opened the apartment door in the middle of his attempt to clean up the disaster he'd caused.
Chuuya's reminiscence was welcomely interrupted as he felt a contented hum from Dazai run through his chest, his concerns subdued. This caused Chuuya to sigh lightly with genuine relief. Dazai really was doing better than earlier. Good, thank god.
He unlaced his fingers from Dazai’s hand to run it through hair a few times, before saying "Hey, for real, Osamu, we're gonna need to get up, my arm can't take much more, and the bed's more comfortable than the couch."
With a bit of sleepy reluctance, the both of them moved off the couch, Dazai pushing himself up first and holding out a hand to pull Chuuya up with him. Even when they were both up, Dazai didn’t let go, which was fine by Chuuya. He led them both across the apartment towards his room, doing his best not to glance back every few seconds to check on the taller man.
He brings Dazai into his room, not bothering to shut the door behind him (what would be the point? There was nobody but them, anyways.) Chuuya gave Dazai’s hand a quick squeeze, pointing with his free hand, directing him to sit on the edge of the bed.
Dazai hesitated for a moment, Chuuya noticed immediately. “You gonna be okay if I let go for a second?” he whispered. “Yeah, yeah, I- Sorry,” Dazai laughed nervously. “Don’t be, you’re okay,” Chuuya said, running his thumb over Dazai’s hand quickly before letting go and walking to the closet. He heard the mattress sink behind him as he rustled through drawers and shelves.
“Hey, did you eat today? I can make somethin’ real quick if you’re up for it,” he says, still searching for any item of Dazai’s clothes (ones left behind from earlier visits or playfully stolen by Chuuya) that might work as pajamas. “No, but I’m not hungry, I doubt I could stomach anything right now,” the softness of the reply made him turn around, a relatively oversized hoodie in hand. Chuuya looked at him from across the room, but the brunette just sat, staring at the hands folded in his lap.
Chuuya turned back to the closet, hastening his search, finally finding a pair of pajama pants that were clearly not his own. Folding the clothes over his arm, he headed back over to Dazai, standing in front of him. When the man doesn’t make a move, Chuuya tosses the clothes onto the bed and crouches down, balancing himself with his elbows on Dazai’s knees.
He doesn’t say anything, just looks at him, patiently. He waits until his legs start to shake, but even so, he doesn’t move. He just waits. Dazai’s eyes are closed, and after a bit, Chuuya raises a hand up to Dazai’s face, running a thumb over his cheekbone. He feels him take a deep breath as he opens his eyes, a small smile on his face. “I’m fine, chibi, I’m fine… you look so small like this, I didn’t think you could get any tinier!” Chuuya lets out a laugh, rising to his feet.
“No need to be so rude, I’m just worried about you, idiot…” he hadn’t moved the hand he’d placed on Dazai’s cheek, and Dazai’s own hand rose to cover it, to hold it there. Chuuya blushed (he knew it was stupid) but it was only made worse when Dazai pulled him in.
The kiss was sudden, though not out of the ordinary, but Chuuya melted into it nonetheless. He let Dazai take control, knowing that the man’s thoughts were consuming him, that maybe this way he could help make them stop, even if only for a minute. Dazai’s hands were on his hips, pulling him close, while Chuuya’s still rested on the brunette’s face, fingers slightly tangled in his hair.
Chuuya opened his mouth as soon as Dazai swiped at his bottom lip, letting him deepen the kiss. Tongues searching for familiarity, their movements were practiced but still messy, teeth nipping here and there. There wasn’t any of their usual aggression, this was purely soft, loving. That wasn’t entirely unusual for them, only infrequent enough to be a pleasant surprise.
Maybe they were there for only a few seconds, it could have been hours, but what mattered was that it was only them.
Chuuya was the one to pull away first. He felt Dazai try to chase his lips, and as much as he wanted to continue, they had priorities. He rested their foreheads together, and they stayed silent for a second. “Hm, Chuuya~?” Dazai asked quietly, the shakiness and uncertainty gone from his words. “Eh? What is it, ‘samu?”
“Thank you.”
Chuuya opened an eye to look at Dazai. “For what?” he knew the gist of it, but why was Dazai thanking him? “Just… For everything. For being here. For staying... For not giving up on me,” Dazai said, now looking Chuuya in the eye.
“Why would you have to thank me for that? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? I mean, c’mon, I love you, dumbass, you don’t ever have to thank me for shit like this. Loving someone means being there for them even on their worst fuckin’ days, when they can’t talk or get out of bed, or when they just need to not be alone, yeah?” Chuuya was rambling at this point, but he genuinely didn’t think he needed the thanks. He didn’t want Dazai to think he was doing all this out of pity or something, that was the last thing either of them needed.
Dazai let out a hum, “Ah, yeah, I guess you’re right. And I love you too, chibi.” “Yeah, yeah, whatever, let’s get you changed,” Chuuya laughed, trying to wriggle his way out of Dazai’s grasp to grab the change of clothes he’d tossed to the side earlier.
“What? Does Chuuya want to see me naked~?” Dazai giggled, fake shock and offense painted on his face. “Shut up!” Chuuya snorted, pushing Dazai’s shoulder, hard enough that Dazai let go of his waist. He took a step back, extending a hand, “Come on and get up, lazy bandages, I’m not letting you sleep in those clothes again, especially not in my bed, because who knows where the hell you’ve been.”
Dazai laughed again, taking Chuuya’s offered hand and pulling himself up from the bed, attempting to lean down for another kiss. All he got was empty air, as Chuuya pushed the clothes into his arms and ducked out of the way.
“No more kisses until you’re changed,” said the redhead.
“But Chuuya~,” whined the taller man.
“No!”