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Odasaku loved the ocean. He’d say he prayed for the day his orphans were old enough to support themselves and he could afford to quit the Mafia. He wanted to live by the sea and write a novel. The day of his death, he’d confessed to Dazai it was because of a man at a café he used to frequent and those three novels he used to read to him over and over again when the brunette got bored of being restraint to bed due to injuries — the book collection which third volume didn’t even have the last three pages.
Dazai swung his feet, which were dangling from the bridge, up and down as kids do when they're bored. The day was as cold as his heart currently felt. He was waiting for something. (He wanted to die.) He had made a promise to Odasaku; after working so hard to keep it, he couldn’t give up now. That’s why almost every time, he hadn’t gone full into a suicide attempt, leaving room for failure.
He needed proof that the world wasn’t as cruel and cold as he’d been shown. He had to hold onto something, anything. He was trying — he felt like he was failing. Existing hurt and living was hard and he was tired. (He wanted to die.) The freezing breeze that burnt his cheeks and tangled his hair was nice, though. Maybe if it was a little stronger it’d make him tip over right into the gelid water. It wouldn’t be his fault and he wouldn’t be breaking his promise to be good, which required him to be alive.
Was he alive? He certainly didn’t feel like it. He sure as hell existed, however, and wanted it to stop. (He wanted to die.) He looked up after suddenly realizing how it was getting dark; the sun was setting. When did it get so late? he wondered, frowning. It was getting even colder, too. He noticed his fingers were getting a blue tinge to them. Perchance if he was lucky, he’d die from hypothermia — blame it on the weather.
Last thing he remembered was suddenly getting the urge to walk away from the Agency and to the ocean. He’d expected to find something here. Oh, right, he thought, immediately feeling stupid. It was foolish to come here in the first place. He could never — would never get the answers he so desperately needed because the only person who could give them to him was gone. (He wanted to die.)
The silence he’d received instead was deafening. He wished he could cry.
Even though everything had gone just fine and they’d been able to defeat Tatsuhiko Shibusawa and save Yokohama, he was feeling like this. Perhaps it was because he’d thought he could finally go. Stop existing. He’d even spent what he had thought could maybe be his last days on this Earth visiting Odasaku’s grave and that bar — their bar — that they used to go to together, and thinking about him.
When had his plans not worked, though? He was disappointed nonetheless. Of course the slug wouldn’t let him die so easily.
“Oi. What are you doing?” a familiar voice questioned as a coat too small for him was thrown over his shoulders.
“I should stop thinking about you,” he murmured, adjusting the coat closer to his body. It reeked of imported perfume.
“Huh?”
“Thinking of a demon summons it.”
“You’re the only demon here, beanpole,” Chuuya spat without much thought.
“True,” Dazai admitted, barely concealing the waver in his voice. As much as he wanted Odasaku to be right, the goodness his best friend saw in him wasn’t enough for him to be forgiven for the sins he’d committed and for his soul to be pure again — had it ever been?
The redhead seemed to mull over something for a moment, as well. “Wait,” he said in disbelief. “Did you say you were thinking about me? Gross.”
“Yeah, I guess you are gross,” Dazai tried to laugh.
“I’ll punch you,” Chuuya menaced without hit, weirded out by the way his partner was behaving.
The brunette closed his eyes and turned his head vulnerably towards the redhead, lips curved upwards on the edges in what was supposed to be a smile but looked more like a grimace. “Please, do.”
Feeling defeated, the older one sat beside him. “Stop being stupid,” he exhaled, giving him a side-glance.
Dazai hummed, disregarding his comment and staring straight into the water below them. “You were the stupid one the other day.”
“Huh?!” he exclaimed, taken aback.
“A really violent prince,” he thought aloud. Then he turned to the redhead, empty eyes piercing into his soul. “I kinda wish you’d let me die.”
“The fuck’s wrong with you, shitty Dazai?!” he inquired. “Is that your way of thanking me for saving your sorry ass?!” When the brunette didn’t react, he decided to go on with his lecture. “Shut up!”
“I wasn’t even speaking…” He blinked, indifferently, eyes locked in the water once again.
“Shut up!” he yelled, worked up. “That was all part of your plan. You counted on me to use corruption and risk my life, even though everyone was telling me not to because you were probably dead.” He lowered his voice, out of breath, “I know you, asshole — I know you didn’t mean that.”
The younger one hummed, “I did say ‘kinda’”
“God, I hate you,” Chuuya grumbled, annoyed, sitting down again after realizing he’d stood up somewhere along his rant. “What the heck does that mean, anyway?”
“It means,” he started. “I wanted to die, but didn’t want you to die.” Thanks to the chibi, who oh, so desperately needed him to come back from Corruption, he was stuck alive for who knows how long.
Chuuya stared at him.
Dazai turned to him, smiling softly. “It would’ve made for a beautiful double suicide, though.”
The redhead rolled his eyes so far behind his head he was afraid they’d get stuck there. “Yeah, sure.”
They stayed quiet for a while after that.
“Are you gonna tell me why you’re here? Don’t lie to me, asshole,” Chuuya muttered — because who better to break the silence and who better to know Dazai had deliberately changed the topic.
“You don’t know?” Dazai said.
“Fucking suicidal maniac,” the redhead murmured, his dejected expression betraying his words. “You gonna jump?” he asked, raising his voice. “Why? I just don’t get it — never have. Especially not now. Tell me why, even with all the good stuff you have going on for you and everything you’ve sacrificed for it,” The words, ‘After leaving me’, were left unsaid but drifted between them like a secret truth, making the air heavy with tension. “… You still wanna end it all.”
The brunet simply rested his chin on his arms, which were folded on top of the railing, gaze moving to the dusk sky in front of them. But Chuuya knew he was listening. “I’d do it again, you know?” the redhead whispered. “If you die, I’ll go for you and punch you back to life. Even if it costs me mine,” he made a pause, then. “… And I don’t wanna die.”
Dazai didn’t move from his previous position. “… I know,” he finally affirmed in a hushed voice.
“Good,” the redhead nodded his head, as if that was enough of an answer after his long speech. “Let’s go,” he said, standing up and dusting off his clothes.
The younger one took a deep, shuddering breath but otherwise stayed put.
“I said, let’s go,” he repeated himself, grabbing the other to get him to move.
“Ow, Chuuya!” the brunette cried in pain. “Let me go! It hurts, it hurts!”
Startled, the redhead promptly released the other’s wrist. Dazai hastily started rubbing it in an attempt to soothe it while making a hissing sound.
“You— You okay?” the older one asked after recovering from his shock.
“Yes.” The Agency member let both arms fall beside him.
“You’re hurt,” he asserted, frowning. “Let me see.”
“Aw, is Chibi worried?” he mocked. “I didn’t know you cared about me!”
“Of course I care, asshole,” Chuuya admitted before he could stop himself, taking the other by surprise. Using his reaction to his advantage, the redhead took the tall one’s wrist in his hands and uncovered it in one swift movement. The bandages were tinged of scarlet and tore. It seemed he had been impulsively scratching and pulling at them, reopening recent cuts that had yet to scar.
“Idiot,” he hissed. “Did you do this to yourself?” The question wasn’t one because both of them knew the answer. Cautiously, as if giving the other the chance to stop him, he reached out and uncovered his left wrist as well. It was in worse condition than the other one — it even had new wounds on it—, probably because Dazai was right-handed.
Chuuya covered and let go of Dazai’s arms. “Give me your knife,” he ordered, holding one hand up expectantly. “Don’t even try,” he interrupted when he saw the other open his mouth to deny he had such a thing with him.
The brunet reluctantly took the knife out of his coat and handed it to him.
“Thanks. Now give me mine back, too.”
Dazai put his right hand on his chest, where his heart was supposed to be. “How dare you think I—“
This time the other one didn’t even bother speaking, opting for throwing him an unamused glare, instead.
“Okay, okay. Yeesh,” he grumbled, complying anyway.
“Your friends called me,” Chuuya exhaled after hiding both knives in his vest. “They searched everywhere for you and still couldn’t find you — thought I might have a clue.” He looked up — yes, up, sadly — to read his expression and settled for following his gaze so they were both admiring the same view when he didn’t find what he’d hoped for. The sky was full of stars. “They’re all worried about you, you know?”
“That’s because they’re good people.”
“It’s because they love you,” he corrected.
“They shouldn’t,” he dared, voice flat.
“… It’s not about that,” the redhead whispered, unsaid words screaming to be pronounced. “They just do — what they should or shouldn’t do doesn’t matter.” He put his hands in the front pockets of his pants. After a hesitant pause, he added: “People can’t just decide who they love.”
Dazai finally turned to look at Chuuya, mouth agape and eyes bright with realization — but the redhead had already turned around.
“Let’s go, now.” He started walking without waiting for the other to answer.
Dazai smiled softly and followed him. “Where are we going?” he asked as he, too, got in the motorbike.
“My apartment,” he answered while he put his helmet on and gave the other one to his partner, who just settled it on his arm as if it were a handbag. “Put it on properly or I’ll leave you here to freeze,” he menaced, without actually meaning it.
“Always so aggressive,” he taunted as he put the helmet on, anyhow.
“Good dog,” Chuuya teased, smiling to himself.
“Hey—
Whatever come-back Dazai had prepared was promptly interrupted by the redhead starting the bike without warning. The brunet gasped and hurriedly threw his arms around the other’s waist.
“Scared, Dazai?” Chuuya laughed loudly.
“Of course not — you just drive like a psycho!”
“Uh-huh,” the redhead scoffed skeptically.
The brunet simply tsk-tsked, still holding close despite his words. (Chuuya smelled of cigarettes, he noted.)
“Shoes off, hang my coat” the redhead instructed once they got to his penthouse. “And lend me yours so I can wash it.”
“How bossy,” he teased, doing as he was told before entering the apartment.
“C’mon, I’ll run you a bath,” he stated as he made his way to the restroom, Dazai treading on his heels. “You stink.”
“You’re not leaving?” Dazai asked once the bubble bath — because he was a big baby — was ready and the redhead was still sitting by the bathtub, book in hand.
“Of course I’m not leaving you alone in a full bath of all places right now.” Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked already, anyway.”
“I’ve seen Chuuya’s tiny ass, too,” the brunet scoffed, fake-pouting for show.
“Shut up and hurry, bastard,” the redhead scolded, turning over his book to the next page.
“… Don’t worry, it’s nice,” he assured him as he got into the bath, clothes on the washer and bandages on the trash can. Chuuya really had seen all of him, after all.
“Stop talking about my ass!”
Dazai chuckled. “I’ll stop!”
The redhead rolled his eyes and exhaled as he began reading once again.
“The bubbles are acceptable,” the brunet complimented after a bit, as he played with a couple ones that had gotten on his hands.
“Thanks, your highest,” Chuuya mocked with a quirked eyebrow, without moving his eyes from his book. He turned over to the next page, then.
After a bit of thought, he continued: “What’s this smell?”
“It’s lavender essential oil,” he explained.
“Oh,” Dazai mouthed. “I like it.”
“Good for you, then.”
“Meany,” the Agency member complained, just to, surprisingly, get ignored. “What are you reading?”
“A book.”
Dazai sighed melodramatically. “What’s it about?”
“It’s a poetry book, ‘Le Dormeur Du Val’.”
“I write poetry, too, you know? Sometimes.”
“I know,” he said, almost failing to suppress his smile.
“… About you.”
Chuuya lowered his head even more — his bangs helping to cover his fond smile and flushed cheeks. He turned over the page again, not really processing the poems in front of him anymore.
Dazai smiled smugly at first, knowing he’d gotten a reaction; however, he became uncomfortable when silence enveloped them again and his thoughts threatened to spiral once again. “Now you’re making me embarrassed — say something,” he frowned.
The redhead stayed quiet, trying to focus on the words scattered in front of him.
“Chuuya, I know you’re not reading anymore…” he whined like a petulant child. “Stop ignoring me,” he pleaded. “Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya, Chuuya—“
“Okay — stop, shitty Dazai,” he gave in, closing his book and putting it on the bottom shelf of the small table next to him. The brunet had started splashing water increasingly more every time he named him, and he was afraid he’d get it wet. “You’re such an attention-seeker. The fuck do you want?!”
Dazai batted his ridiculously long eyelashes, holding the shampoo bottle up to his partner. “Wash my hair?”
Once more, Chuuya rolled his eyes; swearing to himself, with no true intention of going through with it, that he’d kill Dazai if he got cross-eyed because of him. “Give me that,” he grumbled through greeted teeth, taking the bottle from the other’s hand with arguably too much brusqueness. “You’re insufferable, you know that?” he asked as he started gently massaging his expensive honey-scented shampoo on the brunet’s scalp.
“You seem to put up with me just fine, though,” he risked. When the other one didn’t deny it, he continued, “Why?”
“… I don’t know,” the redhead admitted in a whisper.
“But, now — why?” he reiterated. “We’re not— After I left the Mafia— Now, you don’t have to, is all,” he stammered, distinctively out of character.
“Oh, that,” Chuuya said as he opened his eyes wide and asked in a quiet voice, ‘Lean back’, as he rinsed the shampoo off his hair. “Well… I don’t know,” he shrugged. “The other day, after using… Corruption, you stayed,” As he started massaging conditioner into the brunet’s hair, Chuuya seemed to ruminate on a thought before resolving to just spit it out. “I was upset I’d wake up alone again… But I didn’t. This is my thanks to you, I guess.”
Dazai frowned. “You don’t owe me anything, Slug,” he assured before his mind suddenly flashed back to a different time and place when he’d said the same thing to another person — Odasaku.
“Hey, you good?” the redhead asked, worriedly searching the other’s expression, his hand on Dazai’s cheek.
Dazai blinked a couple times, seemingly coming back to himself. “You don’t owe me anything,” he repeated as he hastily wrapped his hand around the other’s wrist.
“You already said that.” Chuuya furrowed his eyebrows. “Anyway — I know I don’t.”
The brunet stared at him, expectantly. He somehow looked like a lost child who’s on the verge of tears — but that couldn’t be, because Dazai Osamu never cries. Not just like that.
“Maybe I just… want to,” he admitted through gritted teeth.
The detective nodded and let go of his wrist, aloofness overtaking his features. “Okay, good.”
“’Okay, good’, that’s all you have to say to me?” he reproached. “Lean back,” he ordered sharply, raising the conditioner off his hair. “And quit being such a masochist, you tacky bastard,” he prayed after sensing the younger one rejoice in his belligerence.
“You like it,” Dazai purred, wiggling his eyebrows in a teasing manner.
“Stop it!” Chuuya lightly smacked him in the back of the head, his face burning at the element of sexual innuendo in the comment.
“’Kay,” Dazai chortled, rubbing where the other had hit him even though it hadn’t hurt. Then, the redhead threw the glycerin soap at him, which he swiftly caught.
“Finish washing,” he urged when the brunet’s giggles finally died down. (Not that he’d admit it, but they were almost as cute as they were annoying. Almost.) “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Mhm,” Dazai acknowledged as he continued to mindlessly soap himself.
“You took your time,” the brunet observed once the redhead was back, throwing him a look. “I’m freezing here, I could’ve died.”
Chuuya chuckled, bending at his stomach.
“Mean,” Dazai frowned and turned away.
“Sorry, sorry,” the redhead apologized as he tried to hold his laughter back. Admittedly, he’d been really tense since the call, so who could blame him for giving into the little pleasure that was making fun of such a goof. “You´re just so dramatic — I was cooking dinner.”
“And it took you ten minutes?”
“Five minutes, actually.”
“That’s too long!”
Chuuya resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but couldn’t help the tic on his right eyebrow. “You’re the worst.”
“Well, it never takes me so long to make something.”
“That’s because you never make anything. You just take it out of the bag and eat it!” he complained, throwing his hands up in the air.
“Can,” Dazai corrected, glad to be getting a reaction. “Canned crab, is what I have. It doesn’t come in a bag, Chibikko.”
“Whatever, I don’t give a fuck. Just get out of the bath already,” he said, handing him a big, fluffy towel. Then he went through his cabinets to look for his first aid kit.
Once Dazai had dried himself, they both went to Chuuya’s bedroom. Sitting down on the bed, the redhead started working on the other’s wrists in an agreed silence. He was as fast and effective as a professional would’ve been. “You can use this,” he told him as he put some clothes on his lap. “I’ll go take a quick shower.”
Dazai hummed as he put on the outfit that had been given to him. “Amazing,” he said to himself as he observed himself in the full-length mirror, posing like a 90’s model — as he turned around, he took notice of how nicely the pants fitted his buttocks and stared a bit, because, why not?
Apparently he took too long, because as soon as he knew it, the redhead was back. “Creep,” he muttered as he put on a pair of black boxers and his burgundy silk satin pajamas. “You like the clothes?”
“They don’t suck,” he shrugged, feigning indifference. His pajamas were a long-sleeved gray shirt and a pair of pink pants — both cotton and weirdly enough, just the right length for his long arms and legs... “Why do they fit?!” he suddenly asked, eyes wide in horror, as he was hit by realization.
Chuuya smirked, undisturbed. “I wonder,” was his simple reply.
“You took them out of your closet!” he accused, no pun intended. “These atrocious pajamas reek of your perfume, too!”
“I guess so.”
“Whose shit is this?” he inquired. “I’m taking them off.”
“Uh, you don’t have to — I don’t think she’d mind it.”
“She? That’s it, they’re coming off,” he declared as he started dramatically undressing himself. Clearly, Dazai knew nothing about clothes, because he’d been sure these were men pajamas. To top it all, he hadn’t even known the Chibi was into girls — and tall girls at that!
Chuuya bit the inside of his cheek to hold back his laughter. He couldn’t believe the other was getting so worked up over this. He could also feel himself beginning to take pity on the beggar who seemed to be wracking his brains out; but decided to indulge himself in a bit more teasing. “Don’t worry; we’re not in love or anything.”
“Huh?!” Dazai questioned, coming to a standstill, but still upset.
The redhead finally let himself laugh as he admitted, “Gin bought them for me as a jo— joke!”
Slowly, he pulled up his pants. “Gin… what?” The brunet felt a mix of relief and embarrassment at the revelation, putting his shirt back on making for the perfect excuse to cover his shameful blush.
“B—Blame yourself,” Chuuya said, snickering at the priceless expression on Dazai’s face. “She— She learnt it from— from you!”
“I see how it is… She’s my legacy. I’m proud,” Dazai accepted, pushing past the laughing man. He theatrically stopped on his tracks a few steps after and turned only his head towards him, squinting. “… That even now, in the Mafia there’s still someone to make fun of your limited height, Hatrack.”
“Asshole. I’ll kill you!” the redhead threatened, his fit coming to an end all at once as he started running Dazai around.
“The food, the food!” the brunet reminded him, hands up in mock surrender, just as Chuuya grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.
Smelling the air, the redhead sighed and let go. “Next time, I won’t let you off so easy,” he warned, pointing a finger at his chest — an empty promise if the years they’d known each other were anything to go by.
“Aren’t these men pajamas, though?” the brunet questioned from the sofa where he was ungraciously laying.
“They are,” Chuuya answered as he came back from the kitchen, two bowls in hands. “They’re just pink.” As he put the bowls on the table and moved Dazai’s feet so he could sit, he added: “You can keep them.”
“Okay, you can’t take that back,” he said as he went for the bowl that had least food in it. “I look sinfully gorgeous in these…” he vocalized dreamily, hand on his cheek just for show.
Chuuya merely sighed with exaggerated irritation and poorly concealed fondness.
“Itadakimasu!” both men said in unison.
“… Especially my ass,” Dazai remarked as he began eating, continuing his previous line of thought.
“What’s with you and asses today?” the redhead asked rhetorically, the question coming out more amused than annoyed. “And don’t talk with your mouth full, tacky bastard!”
“What’s this?”
Chuuya took a moment to process what the other was referring to. “Oh, it’s sweet potato and crab soup.”
Dazai smirked widely. “Aw, was the Chibi thinking about me?”
“Of course not! I just rewarmed last night’s dinner,” he defended himself.
“I think you were.”
“Was not.” Feeling betrayed by the way his cheeks and ears flushed, he started eating in that aggressive way only he could pull off. It really was just a coincidence that he’d suddenly felt like cooking crab the previous night, even though he wasn’t a big fan of it himself — call it a sixth sense, if you will. (Dazai would singsong they’re connected but, according to Chuuya, that’s just him.)
“It’s good,” the brunet murmured just loud enough for the other to hear and took another full spoon of soup to his mouth.
The redhead blinked a couple times as he stared at the other, but said nothing other than a quiet, “Thanks”. He wouldn’t dare break one of the rare moments when Dazai wasn’t being obnoxiously annoying and extra. He actually seemed authentic for a change. (Chuuya could swear there was a faint blush over Dazai’s nose and cheeks, but maybe he was just flattering himself.)
They finished their food in a comfortable silence. Then, Chuuya started cleaning the table while Dazai stretched on the sofa as if he were a cat. Definitely a black cat, the redhead thought to himself, too tired to complain anymore.
After quickly washing the dishes, Chuuya went back to the living-room but couldn’t find the other was nowhere to be seen. Feeling anxiety bubbling up in his chest, he began looking in the other rooms while insistently calling his name. He finally found him standing in the balcony.
“Why didn’t you answer me, asshole?” he demanded from the door, relief clear in his voice.
“I was thinking.”
Chuuya frowned at that and got closer so they were standing side to side. “Everything okay?”
Dazai hummed, face blank. Nonetheless, Chuuya could tell he was caught in deep thought. “… Your ass really does look nice in these pants,” he admitted, trying to lighten up the mood.
“I knew it,” the brunet proclaimed with a flip of his bangs, well aware of what the other had been trying to do. He then turned to him, abruptly full of renewed energy. “Wanna touch?”
“Wh— What? Ew, no. You’re disgusting!”
Dazai chuckled. “That’s not what you said last time~”
Almost shaking from embarrassment, Chuuya went to punch him in the straight in the face but his fist was deftly caught and held by a pianist hand. The gesture momentarily took the redhead’s breath away and they stared into each other’s eyes.
“Let’s dance,” the younger one suddenly said, as he began waltzing with Chuuya before he could even get a reply.
“Ugh. Let me go, asshole,” the redhead grumbled quietly, without making any attempts at freeing himself. Please, don’t let go again.
Dazai smirked when the other instinctively followed his lead, closing the distance between them until they were basically leaning on each other, swaying side to side to the rhythm of their beating hearts.
Dancing on his balcony, under the moonlight, with Dazai of all people wasn’t something Chuuya would’ve anticipated. Sure, they made out from time to time — but this was different. They looked like lovers do — it was almost romantic, except…
“You’re being weird.”
“Are I?”
“A bit, yeah,” the older once affirmed, leaning back slightly to take a glimpse at the brunet’s visage.
Dazai smiled softly at him, eyes bright. (Chuuya thought he could get used to it.) “I like this,” he confessed candidly under his breath, pulling the redhead to his chest again.
Perhaps he didn’t need answers as long as they had each other, as long as they could come back to the other. Death could wait. Maybe this was enough for now — the world could indeed be very beautiful. You’re all the proof I need, Dazai mused as he closed his eyes, completely trusting himself to the man in his arms.
Bonus:
A phone beeped. Chuuya promptly opened his eyes, breaking from the embrace as he was forced out of his reverie. “Fuck!”
Dazai snickered, quickly understanding the situation and following him into the living room. “You forgot to call?”
The redhead ignored him in favor of answering his mobile. “Hello?”
“Hello, this is Kunikida,” said the person on the phone and Chuuya swore he could see him adjusting his glasses higher up his nose.
He was about to give the good news when he heard sniffling coming from the other side of the line. “Is… Is everything okay?”
Dazai furrowed his eyebrows and made an effort to discreetly listen in to the conversation. It’s not like he cared about the older one’s privacy that much, anyway.
“It’s Atsushi,” the idealist sighed, voice heavy with a feeling the other couldn’t quiet decipher.
“Atsushi?!”
“Yeah… He’s just sad because you’re nowhere to be seen and— Wait, what?” The idealist stopped in his tracks as he recognized the voice that’d spoken up — Dazai’s voice.
The brunet took the phone right out of Chuuya’s hands. The redhead hissed, “Asshole,” but decided to let him be for the moment.
“Can you pass the phone to Atsushi, Kunikida~?”
“Ugh, I’m putting it on speaker,” the blond grumbled instead.
“Why do you never do as I say?” he whined, not really minding it.
The idealist’s retort was interrupted by a small voice. “Mr. Dazai?” Atsushi asked, hopeful.
“That’s me~” he assured the younger once, who sobbed in relief. “I’m okay, Atsushi; stop crying.”
“Sorry, sorry,” the boy apologized as he messily wiped his tears, struggling to pull himself together. “I was just so worried and—”
“I’m sorry…” He felt bad; it hadn’t been his intention to make others suffer, especially not his subordinate. If anything, he’d wanted to free them from the burden that he was. “I’m okay, now, though,” he reiterated in a murmur, forcing a smile.
The albino nodded hesitantly, even though his mentor couldn’t see him. “Where are you?”
“Oh, Atsushi~,” he started histrionically as he put the phone on speaker as well. “A cockroach has kidnapped me!”
“Uh— what?” The boy wondered if he should be worried — maybe his mentor had eaten hallucinogenic mushrooms… again.
“Don’t call me that!”
“Oh, is that Mr. Chuuya?”
“It’s the cockroach,” Dazai amended, tone serious.
“I’ll kill you!”
“The cockroach,” the brunet began, ignoring the redhead’s empty theat. “It’s been sexually harassing me.”
“What?!” Atsushi squeaked from the other side of the line, palling.
“The fuck you talkin’ about, bastard?!” Chuuya questioned, feeling chagrin boiling inside of him at being, once again, the butt of the other’s taunts. (He was secretly glad his partner was feeling better; secretly proud he’d been the one to help him.)
“He’s been making butt jokes since we got here!”
“That’s all you, asshole!”
“See what he calls me, Atsushi?”
“Uh—“
Chuuya mentally cursed his choice of words. “Ugh, cut it out already!” he yelled, going for his phone. Of course, Dazai, tall as he was, simply raised his arm until the mobile was out of the redhead’s reach and held him by the arm so he couldn’t use his ability to get it. “Is the Chibi telling me to cut my butt off?” he gasped in mock apprehension.
“Fuck you!”
Suddenly, the brunet bended over at the waist, both arms instinctively lowering to hold his stomach. “Ugh, Chuuya, that hurt,” he groaned, the grin on his face was as inappropriate for the situation as usual.
“Give me that!” he said as he snatched the cellphone out of his hands, not feeling sorry in the slightest. He put a hand on his hips sassily. Call forgotten, the redhead continued to scold the brunet. “The hell’s wrong with you, you social misfit?!”
Dazai laughed out loud; thrilled to be getting so much attention from his partner. (The fierce redhead was the only one who could ground him when his mind got the best of him — he was his anchor.) “I just love it when you’re angry, Chibi! You look so cute~”
“What— I’ll show you angry!” he yelled in response.
In the Agency’s dorms, Kunikida silently grabbed the phone from Atsushi and cut the call. “… He’s okay, then.”
Atsushi smiled fondly. “He is.”