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“So care to explain why you disappeared this time?” Chuuya asks after getting home to the comfort of their shared apartment. He pockets his keys and hangs both of their coats.
Dazai looks at him, shrugging without uttering a single word. Chuuya won’t have that. His partner better start speaking before he decides to force it out of him, probably not through the most ethical way if you’re in a relationship (like being a petty brat by hiding his bandages or something). Because there had to be something that made Dazai suddenly cut contact with him. The bastard even went into work Chuuya is the exception here.
“I told you already. I was having a few bad days.”
“And you decided that the best solution to your depression is to not talk to me?” Chuuya inquires, eyebrows raised, unimpressed.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Dazai mutters.
The redhead groans.
“You usually cut everyone off. Which means there is a reason besides your usual melancholy, and it has something to do with me.”
The bandaged man looks taken aback, apparently forgetting that while he can read Chuuya, the other can do the same, just as well. And he didn’t exactly try being subtle. This just further proves Chuuya’s suspicion right, however obvious it is.
Dazai tries escaping to the hallway but is blocked by the redhead’s hands glued to the wall. Chuuya knows he’s not strong enough to move him out of the way. He is trapped and, quite frankly, royally fucked if he wants to try something funny. Chuuya will make him talk about his emotions whether he likes it or not.
“Leave me aloooone,” Dazai whines, backing away. “Why don’t you believe me?”
“Because you’re full of shit, and you know it. And you know that I also know it.” The redhead sighs again, seeing Dazai eyeing the inside of the apartment. “Take off your shoes, you’re not dirtying the floor.”
Dazai does as he says, toeing off his shoes sloppily, not even caring where they land. Chuuya hangs his hat while ordering the brunette to sit on the couch while he makes tea. He arranges both of their shoes, heading straight for the kettle.
Seeing the other man shift uncomfortably on the furniture, Chuuya leaves the boiling water to sit next to him. Dazai stiffens again, the worry in Chuuya rising by the second. He thought that they eased the air around them back at the agency. Working the damned mummy to talk is going to be torture, he can feel it.
He puts his hand on Dazai’s back, rubbing small circles on it and urging him to look his way. Instead, the brunette hugs his knees, burying his head in them. He leans on Chuuya, who decides to embrace him for good measure.
Dazai mumbles something unintelligible.
“Could you repeat that?” Chuuya asks.
“I don’t understand why you still act so patient with me.”
“I wasn’t the most patient at the agency, now was I?” he jokes, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips.
“I gave you tons of reasons not to be, though. I sometimes wonder if you’ll get bored of it eventually.”
So he can loosen his tongue and talk like normal people. Apparently, the redhead didn’t think hard enough about the cause of his partner’s isolation.
“Is that why you left?”
Silence.
Now he is getting irritated with Dazai’s great, overthinking mind. How dare he assume what’s good for their relationship. That fucker.
“You’re such an idiot,” he whines into his palm. The bastard looks at him, apparently offended by being called an idiot. (With a valid reason, mind you.) He’s about to open his mouth when the redhead continues. “If I had had enough, I would have already left. Stop overthinking and ask me about it next time.”
“But you’re too nice to actually admi-”
“Oh my god, shut up! You’re lucky I treat you better than the enemies!” he screams, trying to get through Dazai’s thick skull. “Y’know, I had tons of opportunities to leave your sorry ass to rot alone. I decided to commit to you and trust you. That’s on me!”
“B-” he is hushed with a finger on his lips.
“No. You’re stuck with me,” his smile seeps into his voice. “I’ll get the tea.”
Chuuya stands up. From behind, he hears the brunette take a breath to say something. Turning around, he glares at him.
“Calm down, slug, I wanted to ask what kind of tea you were making.”
That’s an acceptable question from the Dazai-ball, which is starting to melt into the cushions. At least he seems to have given up on convincing Chuuya of why he’s just a burden. He knows the other feels that way even without words. It’s his life mission to make the other realize it isn’t true.
“I was thinking of chamomile.”
Dazai hums, turning his gaze away from the redhead.
The tea is made quite quickly. With Chuuya's hurry, it’s a surprise it didn’t spill or turn out atrocious. He sets it in front of Dazai on the glass coffee table, reminding him to blow on the hot drink.
They finish it slowly, savoring the calming effect of the tea, curling up next to each other. The serenity is broken by another desperate attempt to make Dazai talk. He denies the request before it even leaves Chuuya’s mouth.
The redhead sighs heavy, full of understanding but still pressed by the unwillingness of the other.
“What do you want to do then? I stole you from your agency with a purpose.”
Dazai seemingly thinks his answer over, running through the possibilities, seeing as it’s only a little past two in the afternoon. They have plenty of time. Distress comes to his face as he fails to come up with a probably mind-numbing idea to distract him. Chuuya feels generous enough to end the brunette’s suffering by offering an idea himself.
“What if we watched rom-coms?”
“That’s stupid, though,” Dazai retorts.
“It’s easy enough to digest, don’t you think?”
“Maybe Chuuya is right…” he sags against the redhead, who suggests that they change into more comfortable clothes before starting the dumb movie marathon. Dazai’s sluggish movements send the clear message, that he won’t be standing up. Lazy bastard, that one. Thus, Chuuya is cursed with having to bring him an oversized hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. He spoils the mackerel too much for the shit he pulls.
When they’re at the end of the third movie, it’s about eight. It’s a badly made Christmas story with probably the most foolishly idiotic protagonists either of them has ever seen. Half of it was just different situations interrupting the male lead from proposing as a gift for his girlfriend.
Dazai and Chuuya have cuddled up next to each other, a warm blanket over them. The taller rests his head on Chuuya’s chest like the clingy partner he is. Honestly, why did he pull that stunt earlier with the distancing?
When the screen finally shows the successful proposal, the redhead starts thinking about it. And because he’s impulsive…
“We should get married too,” is what comes out of his mouth. He feels Dazai stiffen on top of him and immediately regrets it. “Nevermind, that was probably stup-”
He is interrupted by Dazai letting out a strangled whine into his t-shirt. Never in his life was he more confused by the other man’s reaction.
“Does that mean I have to return the ring?”
The ring. Return. The words don’t process in his brain at first. Dazai has a ring? Since when? Why? When he registers the meaning after a brief short-circuit, he laughs.
“I mean you don’t have to,” he says between giggles.
“All that lamenting for nothing, you’re truly the worst, Chuuya!”
“Was that why you disappeared?” he asks, finally at a starting point to figure out this whole situation. No answer. “Dazai?” he urges, taking a stricter tone. Still, not a sound coming from the other. “If you don’t answer, I won’t make you crab for a month.”
The threat seems to work, a dramatic gasp jolting up the brunette.
“You wouldn’t dare !”
“I would, but only if you don’t answer my question. Was that why you cut me off all of a sudden?”
The mummified man lays his head back down, mumbling his answer. After Chuuya tells him to speak clearly, he says it louder, face still buried.
“Yes. I chickened out.” That… must have been hard to admit. At least he’s trying.
“Why?” he starts stroking soft brown hair.
“I don’t know, maybe because we aren’t exactly in a romantic relationship?” he answers sarcastically.
“You forget that it’s still committed and there could be tax benefits in it.”
Dazai snorts. “Why does a mafia executive think about the tax benefits?”
“Don’t get me wrong, that’s mostly for your benefit.”
Silence falls between them. It’s broken by Chuuya.
“Ask me later, and then you don’t have to return it.”
A flustered hum of acknowledgment is all he gets as a response.