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Nakahara Chuuya wakes up alone.
It's taken him quite some time to get there, but he's made his peace with it. Waking up alone isn't something he was used to - he can't remember much of his childhood, not since he'd merged with Arahabaki anyway, but he's pretty sure he didn't spend much of his time alone.
Then came Chuuya's time with the Sheep. He was used to having to share the bed with the Sheep members; after all, it wasn't entirely within the realm of possibility for a gang of teenagers - children, really - to be financially stable enough to provide for everyone. Sure, they managed to protect the land they claimed for themselves and made the group a force to be reckoned with (Chuuya would like to claim credit for this) but that didn't necessarily mean that they earned money while doing so. And without money, they couldn't really do much about their living styles and habits.
The thing is, the Sheep acted like a family - they shared everything. Stolen food and money would always be distributed fairly, and their act of sharing naturally extended to sleeping arrangements, too. Chuuya was used to waking up in the middle of the night, sweaty and overheated, and squished between two unrelenting bodies. He was used to being kicked awake in the early mornings when one of his bed mates rolled a little too far near the edge of the bed in their sleep and flailed about to stay on the lumpy furniture. If Chuuya was being honest, he didn't mind waking up like that at all.
And then he'd been backstabbed by the Sheep. (Or, well, front-stabbed by them.) Chuuya had understood why they did it, of course, but that didn't mean it hadn't hurt - both physically and metaphorically.
And then he'd joined the Port Mafia. Mind you, he'd joined the mafia, out of his own free will, and wasn't manipulated into joining like what that shitty Dazai always boasted about. (Deep down, maybe Chuuya is able to acknowledge how he'd been manipulated and played by Dazai. Maybe.) Even then, while he technically always had his own room as a member of the Port Mafia, Kouyou had taken him under her wing and let him stay with her, at least until he'd earned enough money to get his own apartment.
Chuuya was alone, sure, but he was never alone alone. When he'd been living with Kouyou, she was always just a door away, always in the next room, unseen but present. By the time he'd secured himself his own apartment in the better part of Yokohama, his relationship with Dazai had... strengthened, for lack of better words, and he'd tossed the bastard a pair of spare keys for the hell of it.
In the beginning, the diabolical waste of bandages frequented him at least once every two weeks. Then he started visiting once a week, which became once every two days, which somehow translated to him sneaking in and out through the window - despite the fact that Chuuya, himself, had been the one to personally lob the apartment key into Dazai's face - without fail every single day. And because Dazai's... well, Dazai, he'd complained that sneaking out was too much trouble and proceeded to needle Chuuya into letting him stay the night.
Of course, staying for one night somehow translated into an open invitation for Dazai to continue his habit of crashing on Chuuya's bed every night, and Chuuya didn't exactly voice out his reservations. Their little arrangement was strictly for their mutual benefit - they were teenagers, almost young adults, okay? Hormones were raging, blood was continuously flowing south, and they'd happened to stumble upon a system that worked beautifully well for the two of them.
It'd be moronic of them to turn away from such a disposition.
Anyway, no feelings were to be involved - Chuuya had made Dazai swear on it. Besides, Chuuya was ninety percent sure the manipulative bastard has the emotional capacity of a teaspoon; emotions had to be foreign to Dazai, considering how many masks he wore on a daily basis.
Sometimes, Chuuya indulged Dazai. On those nights, he'd be completely pliant and spent, and he'd let his shitty partner pull him close and tuck his head under his chin. A little bit of post-coital cuddling never hurt anyone, Chuuya had reasoned to himself. But ultimately, it didn't matter if the two of them had canoodled (ew) the night before - Chuuya always, always, woke up with Dazai sprawled all over him, drool and all.
(It shouldn't be as endearing to him as it was.)
And then Dazai left the Port Mafia.
He'd taken Chuuya's peaceful nights of sleep with him, too. And the sex, of course.
Chuuya tried reasoning to himself that he'd only felt so much emotion, so much of everything, because Dazai's sudden departure meant that he no longer had night activities to look forward to. Because Dazai's sudden departure not only meant no more sex and blissful rest, but also more work for Chuuya, to prove that he wasn't a liability just because his full potential can never be utilised unless Dazai was there with him. (It was a tough climb up the ladder to prove to everyone around him that Chuuya didn't need Dazai to be useful to the Mafia.)
On some nights, when all is quiet and Chuuya's had way too many glasses of wine to count, he'd sit by the full length window and look out the greater Yokohama area and just... miss Dazai. He'd miss his annoyingly bratty voice and his bratty face to go with it; miss his firm grip around his wrist to pull him back from pushing his abilities too far; miss even the worst parts of him, like his downright awful morning breath and disgusting drool, and croaky, "Good morning, chibi"s.
Learning to wake up alone probably shouldn't be as hard as it was for someone like Chuuya.
But it was.
And it sucks.
And just as he gets the hang of it, shitty Dazai ruins it because of course he will.
Chuuya's drunk on wine, worn down from a long, exhausting day at work and lounging on his couch when one of the bedroom window creaks open and none other than one pretentious bastard by the name of Dazai Osamu waltzes in, acting as if he owns the place.
"Chibi."
Chuuya doesn't bother turning around to face him. He keeps his eyes locked onto the city below, crawling with nightlife.
He smells like cigarette smoke.
"You stink, shitty bastard." Chuuya mumbles in lieu of greeting. "I thought stress smoking was my thing, not yours."
Dazai makes an odd noise, stepping around the furniture to appear right in the redhead's line of sight as he slides down the full length window, sitting on the carpet. Chuuya's eyes focus on the building popping up from Dazai's left shoulder.
"I heard smoking kills people."
Stupid suicidal maniac. How did someone like him even make it so far up the ranks of the Port Mafia?
A tense moment of silence passes and Dazai opens his shitty mouth again. "I thought you would've moved after I left. Since your location was known to me."
Chuuya's eye twitches. "Tch. You overestimate your significance to me."
Dazai makes another odd noise, a weird combination that sounds like a huff of laughter crossed with a grunt of pain. Chuuya hates it.
"I'm joining the ADA."
Something lodges itself in Chuuya's airways. He clears his throat, makes a disinterested sound to mask it. "So? I don't care what you do. We no longer have anything to do with each other."
He can feel Dazai's eyes on his face, searching for something unknown to him. Chuuya refuses to meet his gaze. Fuck Dazai.
"I just wanted to let you know, Chuuya. A heads-up of sorts if we ever meet each other again."
"Tch, a heads-up. Like the one you gave me when you abandoned the Mafia? When you turned your back on everything?"
Dazai remain quiet.
"Thought so," he scoffs in petty triumph, because he's mentally a child and unable to hold back from making childish remarks.
Chuuya masters the courage to turn his head ever so slightly, so that his eyes can zero in on the man's face. And, oh... he isn't covering his right eye. Well, isn't that a sight to behold?
Dazai's eyes - two of them; not one, but two - remain fixed on Chuuya. "For what it's worth, I am sorry about leaving you like that. I wanted to tell you earlier but..."
The redhead sets his wineglass down, harshly. "But what? What, were you scared I was going to force you to stay? Or snitch on you? Please, Dazai, you really haven't gotten the slightest clue about me if you really thought that I'd-"
"No! It's not that." Then quieter, Dazai repeats, "It's not that. I... I was scared that if I told you about my plans to leave, I'd ask you to leave with me."
His words set in and the warm fuzzy feeling the alcohol created in Chuuya's chest promptly turns ice cold. He crosses his arms in indignance, "Bullshit. The sex couldn't have been that good that you were willing to risk everything to drag me with you in your escapade."
"Chuuya, it isn't about the se-"
"DON'T LIE TO ME!"
It had to be about the sex - that was the only reason why Dazai would ever consider taking Chuuya away with him. It had to be, because if it wasn't then that would imply that Dazai had gotten attached, and that went against their deal. They made a deal. No feelings.
Dazai's face bears no visible changes, but Chuuya can see how he deflates ever so slightly, how his eyes dim. "Chibi, is it really that hard to believe that I care for you?"
Uh, yes? This is the Dazai Osamu - Port Mafia Executive and master manipulator. Of course Chuuya isn't going to believe everything that comes out of his big fat mouth of his. And his face must say it all, because a second later and Dazai's scowling back in response.
"I'm being sincere and honest right now, you twat. As much of a bitch you can be, I care about you, okay?"
Chuuya's highly unamused. "Wow. I'm sold." He rubs a hand over his face, ignoring the pleasant buzz of alcohol and his unnaturally warm cheeks. "Just shut up, shitty Dazai."
"No, I'm being serious. I care about you."
"I told you to shut up."
"After all that we've been through together, do you really think I don't care?"
"Shut. Up."
Dazai's voice takes on a more pleading tone, desperation seeping in. "Why won't you believe me?"
"Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
"Why can't you trust me?!"
"BECAUSE YOU LEFT US!" Chuuya's suddenly on his feet, hands clenched into tight fists by his side. "Because you left me."
Dazai's expression flickers and Chuuya... Chuuya breaks.
"I trusted you. I trusted you to keep me safe whenever I used Corruption, to keep our positions in the Mafia secured. It's stupid, because we had an agreement not to involve feelings, but I got attached and I knew that it was an idiotic thing to do but I just kept falling and falling and falling, and then you left! You just completely disappeared without a trace. By the time I'd returned from my mission, you were gone, and I had no idea where to look for you or how to locate you, and Mori requested to see me and asked me questions I didn't even have the answers to!"
Something wet falls onto Chuuya's cheeks.
He blames it on the wine and his poor tolerance for it. (That's a lie; anyone who knows Chuuya knows that he's not a lightweight drinker.)
"Shit hit the fan at home and you were nowhere to be found, but y'know what? I had to act happy because we were always seen fighting, and everyone would find it weird if I wasn't okay. I had to open the wine I was saving up to drink with you, and call it a celebration, just so Ane-san would leave me alone! People thought I'd killed you. People wanted me demoted, because without you, Corruption was useless, and they didn't see any worth in me if I couldn't unlock my fullest potential!
"And you have the audacity, to come into my house and sit on my carpet and preach to me about how much you care for me?"
Chuuya sniffles, blinks through tears, and the next thing he knows, there's fabric pressing up to his face as Dazai's hands work up and down his back. It's an uncomfortable hug, and Chuuya definitely wants to be nowhere near the bastard's personal space right now, but he's tired. And exhausted. And he feels like absolute shit.
But he feels marginally lighter. Less burdened.
"Everyone leaves me," the redhead mumbles, voice quiet. His words get eaten up by the fabric of Dazai's shirt. "I didn't think you'd abandon me, too."
He feels more than hears Dazai's next words. "I know. I'm sorry."
Chuuya blinks out more tears, turns his head so he's no longer smooshed against Dazai's chest and scrubs at his face. "You're a shitty bastard."
A short laugh, then once again, "I know. I'm sorry."
"I hate you." Chuuya barely suppresses a yawn. His eyelids are getting heavier by the minute. "The wine and yelling’s making me sleepy," he murmurs out, very much acting the part of a toddler who's just thrown a tantrum. (Except, Chuuya would like to think his "toddler tantrum" is completely reasonable, unlike most tantrums.)
Dazai does another one of his laughter-huffs and easily lifts the redhead up to whisk him to bed. Chuuya pretends to be annoyed by it, but honestly, he didn't think his legs would've cooperated with him enough to safely bring him to his bedroom, anyway. He lets the bandaged bastard tuck him in and fluff up his pillow, watching with half-closed, dazed eyes as Dazai works around quietly.
The night light flicks on, casting looming shadows on the ceiling of Chuuya's room.
His heart settles, just slightly. And it kicks right back up again when Dazai turns his body towards the opened window.
Almost immediately, one of Chuuya's hands reach out and clamps around a bandaged wrist. He's almost half falling out of bed with how far, how fast, he'd lunged out. "Please," Chuuya swallows past the lump in his throat, "don't leave again."
Chuuya can't quite hide the quiver of his voice.
He scoots in, waits, and- thank the heavens, because Dazai is right there, sliding underneath the blankets. "I'm here, chibi." Dazai's voice is exceptionally soft. It's weird; Chuuya hates it.
(It’s nice; he likes it.)
Arms encircle Chuuya and he does nothing to stop them. If anything, he moves closer to the warmth beside him, tucking his head under Dazai's chin and burying his nose into the collar of the man's shirt. "We'll talk in the morning," the redhead orders, if only for some semblance of normalcy in their odd dynamic.
It's been a weird night of way too many emotions to unpack. A gentle kiss is dropped onto his head in lieu of response and Chuuya actively fights against the corners of his lips that threaten to tug upwards.
The next day, for the first time in over two years, Nakahara Chuuya doesn't wake up alone.