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Chuuya Nakahara loves his job as the head supervisor of Yokohama’s underground gem trade. He excels at it. Even at the young age of sixteen, he has earned the respect of the entire Port Mafia on account of his hard work and dedication in the position. Notwithstanding his great success, the job occasionally requires a partner. Naturally, the partner would have to be the former head of the Mafia’s gem trade. Unfortunately, that man happened to be none other than Osamu Dazai.
That’s how Chuuya (rather dejectedly) finds himself browsing a local jewelry shop with Dazai one late summer’s evening. The owner was rumored to be out of the country on “business,” and Mori had suggested they move now to covertly examine the shop’s inventory. With the owner gone, and the shop watched over by only a bored-looking teenager, the two were free to sift through the gems looking for simulants or anything else that might have slipped through the Port Mafia’s grasp.
At least, that’s what he had hoped.
The man is able to sneak up on the pair in the middle of a heated argument over the authenticity of a particularly suspicious looking emerald.
“Can I help you boys?” a booming voice calls out from far above Chuuya’s head.
Shit. So much for the owner being overseas.
“We’re doing fine, thanks,” he mutters, attempting to appear as if he is continuing to browse, staring at the floor to avoid any unwanted eye contact.
“You sure?” the man jeers, again. “You two look awfully young to be shopping in a place like this.”
His tone drips with suspicion, and Chuuya is sure he’s caught onto their Mafia affiliations. If things continue to escalate, the police will have to get involved, which, though not the end of the world, would certainly be a detriment to his record. His eyes narrow as he finally allows himself to look up at the man’s face. He’s almost certainly a foot-and-a-half taller than him, heavily tattooed, and wearing an expression that just screams “condescending.” Chuuya feels the urge to punch him for that alone. He feels heat well up in the palms of his hands as he clenches his fists, backing up and preparing for a physical altercation, preparing to allow the red glow of For the Tainted Sorrow sweep over his body, adrenaline spiking, he’s ready-
-aaaand he’s been stopped. Dazai’s fingers barely brush against his arm, but it’s enough for his partner’s cancellation ability to do its job. Annoyed at this unceremonious interruption to his plans, Chuuya angrily turns to look at his partner for an explanation, only to catch an imperceptible shake of his head.
Okay. They aren’t going to fight. Now what?
This train of thought is once again interrupted by the owner leering over the pair, hissing out,
“I’ll ask you once more, what are the two of you doing in my shop?”
Panicked, and caught off guard by Dazai throwing a wrench into his plans, Chuuya desperately looks to the other boy for interference or a convenient lie or something, anything. Of course, Dazai chooses now of all times to keep his mouth shut. Perfect.
Faced with the piercing glare of the expectant shop owner and the inability to physically intervene in the situation, Chuuya does his best.
“Well… we’re uh… we’re getting married?”
Oh god. Oh no. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Shit.
Now he’s done it. His face burns a shade nearly as bright as his hair and he can feel the heat emanating off his cheekbones. That was all he could come up with? A singular glance to his left reveals that even Dazai, typically the picture of composure, is biting his lip to keep from laughing. Chuuya has the urge to bury his face in his hands and attempt to use his ability to tunnel miles underground. Or maybe just blow up the shop. Either way, he’s going to have to explain to Mori how he managed to ruin an incredibly simple, low-stakes surveillance mission, and that is NOT a conversation he is looking forward to. The shop will simply have to go.
He’s brought back to reality by the sound of Dazai’s irritating voice (which had been suspiciously absent up to this point,) arguing rather animatedly. He hadn’t managed to catch the words, but the shop owner had replied to Chuuya’s disastrous lie in a somewhat incredulous tone. He hears Dazai exclaim,
“Legality aside, plenty of couples in this country hold beautiful ceremonies to mark their life-long partnerships! And anyways, what a sensitive question to ask! I would never have expected such blatant homophobia from such a respectable establishment!”
His lilting tone is so obviously mocking and insincere that Chuuya would’ve rolled his eyes if he weren’t still attempting to process the consequences of his actions and figure out how the hell they were getting out of this one.
Surprisingly, Dazai’s words seem to have struck a chord with the shop’s owner. He drops his harsh and aggressive demeanor almost immediately, wildly gesticulating with his hands and stumbling over his words as he blurts out,
“You have the wrong idea! I’m not-I’m supportive! I support-er-I’m an ally to-all sorts of couples here! If you want to buy rings, I’ll gladly sell them to you! It’s just-you seem so young!”
Dazai flashes a trademark fake grin,
“I assure you we’re both of age, although my partner’s height does him a bit of a disservice there.”
“HEY-” Chuuya finally manages to cut in, just as his phone starts to ring.
Fishing it out of his pocket to see that Mori is the one calling, he flashes the screen to Dazai and mutters something about having to take this, leaving the incredibly apologetic and over-enthusiastic ally of a shop owner for the other boy to deal with.
“Catch up with you later, darling!” Dazai calls after him as he exits the shop doors.
Chuuya rolls his eyes.
The phone call is tense and a bit awkward as he attempts to give a brief report on the current state of the mission with as little detail as humanly possible. In the end, they had gotten a pretty thorough inventory of the shop, and as long as Dazai manages to smooth things over with the owner, they should be in the clear. (He conveniently leaves out the specifics of why the owner had become such a liability.)
Immediately after hanging up the phone, he sighs in relief and leans his full weight against the outer brick wall of the shop. Reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket, he pulls out a nearly crushed pack of cigarettes and lights one with a sense of desperation. The sun was just starting to set and the summer air was finally beginning to cool off to the point where it didn’t feel ridiculous to be sporting a leather jacket outdoors. There is absolutely nothing that could convince the boy to re-enter the shop, so he takes his time savoring the cigarette, trying not to think about how badly he had nearly fucked up a very simple mission. It wasn’t that he was a bad liar! He just… panicked.
He’s almost finished with his cigarette as he gently closes his eyes, slowly exhaling smoke as he feels the pleasant, calming sensation of nicotine course through his body. When he opens them again, he is immediately assaulted by the image of Dazai standing deathly silent, directly in front of his face.
“Shit!” He exclaims, heart racing a bit too fast for his liking.
“How long have you been standing there?”
The other boy merely shrugs, “Just a minute or so.”
It’s at this moment when Chuuya notices his partner holding a fairly conspicuous velvet box in his hands.
“The hell is that? Did you actually buy something?”
“Of course I did!” Dazai scoffs, “I had to buy something in order to avoid any real suspicion. After all, I didn’t expect you to be such a disastrous liar.”
Chuuya wants nothing more than to punch the stupid grin off his partner’s face. Instead, he replies, “Yeah, well you weren’t much help either, just standing there silently for no damn good reason.”
Dazai looks at him with an expression that seems a bit incredulous. He’s looking at Chuuya like he’s missed something monumental, and he can’t for the life of him imagine why. It’s a look he gets often. After all, Chuuya Nakahara is no genius. He knows he’s a quick thinker, intelligent, a fast learner. Regardless, no one is ever going to reach the level of Osamu Dazai, Demon Prodigy. It’s something everyone knows. For what it’s worth, Chuuya doesn’t really understand why it matters all that much. He’ll never understand everything that Dazai understands, but he thinks he’s beginning to understand Dazai. And, in a way, that’s still reaching him. That’s how he knows what the feared Demon Prodigy is about to do next: explain.
Explain he does. With a hardly repressed sigh, Dazai states rather simply, “Well, it was your mission. Who am I to step on your toes here? Well, besides the man who formerly held your position,” he adds with a bit of a smirk.
Chuuya is too wrapped up in his thoughts to respond in the typical fashion. He’s right. The mission fell within Chuuya’s jurisdiction. Although up to this point he had been doing exceptionally well, he really fucked that one up. Everything would’ve gone to hell if Dazai hadn’t smoothed things over and bought– wait— what did Dazai buy?
At this point Chuuya snaps out of his train of thought at the perfect time to observe Dazai fiddling with his purchase: a silver ring. No, two silver rings? Upon closer inspection, he notices the breathtaking centerpiece of the pair.
“Black diamonds?”
“Mmhmm. Know anything about ‘em?” Dazai responds, absentmindedly twirling one of the rings in the palm of his hand.
The other boy scrunches his face in concentration and looks up towards the sky as he attempts to recall the various facts concerning rare gems that he had so effortfully worked to engrain in his head. Say what you want about Chuuya’s impulsivity, but he does his research.
“They’re not just one stone. They’re made up of millions of smaller crystals, technically. They’re harder than the typical diamond. Generally not as expensive as the real thing, though. Even though they can take up to a year to cut. Sounds like a hell of a process.”
Dazai nods, “The owner called them ‘a testament to an endeavor of patience and love!’ Isn’t that just perfect for us, love?”
Chuuya’s face twists in disgust. “Quit it with the marriage act! I was backed into a corner, okay? And you were being no damn help!”
“But Chuuuuya, we have the matching rings and everything!”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Chuuya, it’s quite literally yours.”
That puts an end to this particular argument.
Dazai breaks the silence by loudly snapping the ring box closed with an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, if you insist, I suppose they can be promise rings instead.”
Chuuya raises an eyebrow, equal parts confusion and indignation. “And what would that promise be?” he asks. He isn’t quite sure why the air suddenly feels tight, tense, heavy with anticipation. Come to think of it, so does his chest.
The other boy takes a minute to think before responding. The silence causes Chuuya’s breath to catch in his throat. He attributes it to the now extinguished cigarette. The boy standing across from him seems to gather his thoughts and dramatically proclaims,
“Unquestioned loyalty, trust, and devotion! And-”
Chuuya abruptly cuts him off. “Let me guess… like a dog?”
“Precisely!”
“You really need to cut it out with that shit,” Chuuya laments with a resounding sigh, “besides, promise rings go both ways you know. Or at least, yours do, since there’s two of the same. So, you promising the same thing to me?” he smirks, halfway teasing his partner and halfway… well, he wasn’t really sure.
Dazai’s response is strange, frustratingly unreadable. He doesn’t take long to respond with, “I suppose,” but his expression is uncharacteristically blank, his tone too neutral, too steady. Chuuya doesn’t quite know what to make of it yet. All he knows is that it’s a shift in dynamic from the way he had been teasing him mere seconds ago.
Wordlessly, Dazai hesitantly opens the lid of the delicate box once again. He takes one of the rings in his hand as he reaches for Chuuya’s right one. Chuuya allows him to slowly remove the leather glove and slide the silver jewelry on his fourth finger. The metal is cool, which probably explains why Chuuya’s skin tingles as Dazai’s hand lingers on his own ever so briefly. He’s not sure whether he should laugh or tease or remain silent. That’s been happening frequently lately. Nowadays, he’s never quite sure where he stands with Dazai. The lines are all blurred. Sometimes he finds himself unsure of whether their conversations are simply part of an extravagant inside joke, a habitual argument, or something far more serious. The closer look he gets at his partner, the blurrier the line between performance and reality becomes.
So, he stays quiet. Allows his reaction to be ambiguous. Dazai’s finished placing the ring on Chuuya’s finger and is now looking at him expectantly. Unsure, Chuuya reluctantly reaches for the other ring and roughly places it on Dazai’s right hand. He can’t help but notice how graceful and thin the fingers are compared to his own. The ring fits perfectly, so his partner must have purposely gotten them in different sizes. He doesn’t dwell on that too much.
When he looks up, he inadvertently meets Dazai’s eyes, and the two just. Stare at each other. Dazai again looks like he’s waiting for Chuuya to realize some obvious truth, and Chuuya again has “what now?” written all over his face. They stay like that for an awkward stretch of time, until the latter finally clears his throat and hastily shoves the glove back on his hand.
“Tell Mori–or anyone– about this, and you’re dead.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it!” his partner responds, the typical annoyingly upbeat lilt returned to his voice. “Oh! You will, however, have to buy my silence.”
Chuuya stops in his tracks to cross his arms and stare him down. “I’ll buy drinks tonight,” he finally relents.
“Perfect!” Dazai responds, voice brimming with artificial glee, “My fiance is quite the gentleman!”
One last death glare from his partner shuts the boy up. Chuuya buys drinks, as promised. Dazai doesn’t bring the subject up again.
Neither of them mentions the rings again either.
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
Two years later, Chuuya is furiously sorting through the various possessions left behind by his ex-partner. He doesn’t think to look for the match to the ring he still keeps tucked in a drawer in his nightstand. Even if
he had, he wouldn’t have found it left behind.
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
6 YEARS LATER
Once again, inevitably, Chuuya finds himself ordered to pair up with Osamu Dazai. After witnessing their success in bringing down the Guild, neither the Port Mafia nor Armed Detective Agency could deny the power (and the usefulness) that the infamous Double Black held. So, “against their wills,” the two were paired up more and more frequently on missions in which the two organizations were forced to collaborate.
At first, it was awkward as hell. Chuuya wasn’t sure how long he needed to pretend to hate his former partner, if he should simply fall into their old routines, or if he should do something entirely different. That’s what it was, after all— pretend. He didn’t hate Dazai. He couldn’t. He might have been angry, confused. But he didn’t hate him.
Navigating that fact was uncharted territory.
Over time, the two settled into a sort of truce. They fought as much as ever, but there was a softer undertone to the whole affair. Their words didn’t hold true bitterness. Dazai’s taunting didn’t seek to truly maim, and Chuuya’s bursts of anger weren’t meant to truly harm. It was… strange.
Their combined work was better now than ever. Capable of destruction horrifying in both its beauty and efficiency.
At this point in time, they had just taken out the entire Swiss gifted organization (a surprising enemy of Yokohama, they’re aware) in under 3 minutes. Chuuya hadn’t even needed to activate Corruption. He floats back down to the ground triumphantly, smirking and turning to look to his left and brag— to no one. No one’s there.
His pulse spikes immediately. Something’s not right. He whips his head around searching for the whereabouts of the other half of Double Black. With a sharp intake of breath, he notices the figure standing several yards back, stock still and holding his side. Chuuya takes off running to meet him.
“Hey, hey,” he murmurs, hands on Dazai’s shoulders, guiding him gently to the ground, “What the hell happened to you?”
Dazai’s voice is small and pained. “I got stabbed,” he explains matter-of-factly.
“Shit.” Chuuya breathes out. “Let me see?”
Dazai relents and the other gently but frantically pulls off his coat and lifts his shirt to reveal a moderately sized wound on his side. Upon inspection of the injury, Chuuya visibly relaxes.
“You’ll survive. They missed vital organs, and it’s not too deep. You’ll just need some stitches.”
Dazai nods as if he had expected this outcome.
“Pity,” he manages to get out, voice still strained and face turning increasingly pale.
Chuuya, high on adrenaline and pure fear, can’t help but laugh out loud at that. “You and your stubborn refusal to ever die,” he chides, voice palpable with relief. “You still keep bandages in your coat?”
His partner manages to nod, and Chuuya goes looking for the aforementioned object. Upon retrieval, he sets to work, moving to sit behind Dazai and letting the other man lean his head back onto his chest. He wraps Dazai’s torso carefully, silently, as if it were a ritual of sorts. When he’s finished, he lays Dazai back down, resting his head on his lap and attempting not to jostle him too much. The irony of the role reversal is not lost on him, and he smiles a bit before noticing the eerie silence.
“Hey, you still with me?”
Dazai winces to show that he is in fact still alive and conscious, then manages to breathe out a barely discernible “yeah.”
Chuuya’s seen him like this on a number of occasions. He’s always like this when he gets hurt, or at least he is around Chuuya. The silence is strange coming from Dazai. It almost makes a person miss the usual constant chatter of insults and complaints. It’s a bit disarming.
“I’ll call a car,” Chuuya begins, “and then take you to Yosano, alright? Just hang on for a minute.”
With one hand remaining protectively across Dazai’s chest, Chuuya quickly calls his personal driver, gratefully learning he’s only five minutes away. He has to borrow Dazai’s cell to dial Yosano, who picks up on the second ring, sounding appropriately alarmed.
“Dazai?”
“It’s Chuuya, actually,” he replies, surprised at how small his own voice sounds.
“Oh, Chuuya, is something wrong?” she replies, incredulously.
“Dazai needs stitches. He went and got himself stabbed. On his left side. It’s nothing fatal, I don’t think, I’m pretty sure they missed any internal organs, but he’ll need it to stop the bleeding. I’m bringing him over to you in about fifteen minutes or whatever. The car should be here any minute,” he catches himself rambling.
“Fuck, okay,” she mumbles, “Okay, I’ll get everything set up, call me if anything changes.”
“Alright. Thanks,” he responds, setting down the phone.
Dazai has been oddly unresponsive and Chuuya can’t help reflexively checking to ensure he’s still breathing. His chest is still moving up and down, his eyes are open and roving, but his lips are drawn in a tight line. He was never lying about hating pain. It’s agony even to witness. Something about Dazai’s suffering is just unbearable. Seeing his face like this, Chuuya feels a discernible pang in his chest.
Not quite sure what to do, with no reassuring words to offer, he gently caresses Dazai’s shoulders and arms, trying to ease some of the horrid tension that had crept into his entire body. It seems to help, if only a little. He can’t help but think that, for as much as Dazai despises pain, he seems to resort to some sort of self-sacrifice in critical situations. In the last year alone, he’d allowed himself to be shot by a sniper and stabbed with a poison dagger, all for the sake of the success of one of his plans. It’s a sobering thought. It makes something inside Chuuya hurt.
Just then, his attention is pulled away to the sound of his phone alerting him of their driver’s arrival.
“Alright, Dazai, can you walk at all?” There’s no response.
Wrapping one arm around Dazai’s unhurt side, and draping one of Dazai’s over his own shoulders, he slowly hauls the other man to his feet. Dazai manages to stand for about three seconds, make eye contact with him, and attempt to take a single step forward before abruptly passing the fuck out in his arms.
“Dumbass,” Chuuya mutters shakily, as he manages to catch him before he hits the ground, “You’re not even bleeding enough to warrant fucking fainting like that.”
He can only imagine what his driver thinks as he approaches the car, covered in blood, carrying the unconscious former Demon Prodigy of the Port Mafia, bridal style. The car door is opened for him, and he sets Dazai down first, carefully, before climbing in the backseat. He cautiously adjusts Dazai so he can lay flat across his lap. The driver’s eyes are wide as he shuts the door and then wordlessly adjusts the rearview mirror.
“Is that-”
“No,” Chuuya cuts in. No further words are exchanged. The destination and sense of urgency are already clear. Chuuya chooses his subordinates wisely.
Although the drive is short, about ten minutes or so, it seems to stretch on forever. Chuuya’s restless, leg bouncing up and down and fingers absentmindedly fiddling with Dazai’s hair, tucking it behind his ears and away from his face without even realizing he’s doing so. He can’t help but think that this is partially his fault. After all, Dazai had gotten hurt because they had gotten too confident, a little sloppy. Chuuya had let someone slip through the cracks. It was unnerving.
All of a sudden, they’re at the Agency and Chuuya is frantically rushing Dazai up the steps of the building, cursing the fact that he couldn’t just use his ability now of all times. And the fact that they don’t have a fucking elevator. Yosano meets them at the top of the fourth floor, anxiously waiting to assess the damage. He’s quickly ushered into her operating room and lays Dazai down on the table as gently as his exhausted arms can muster.
“He’s unconscious,” Yosano states, frowning, “He concussed?”
Chuuya shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so, he didn’t hit his head at all, it’s just blood loss-or exhaustion-or pain-or whatever, I don’t know.” He hates how unsteady he sounds.
Yosano nods, seemingly satisfied, and tosses him a pair of latex gloves.
“Put these on, then help me with his clothes. I’m going to get the antiseptic ready.”
He dutifully does as he’s told, replacing his customary leather gloves with the latex ones, and goes to work unbuttoning Dazai’s vest and collared undershirt. When he reaches the top few buttons, a delicate chain slips into view. Chuuya’s breath hitches in his throat. He freezes.
“What’s the matter, Nakahara?” Yosano asks, already set to work on cleaning the wound, “This doesn’t look too bad, you did a good job with wrapping it.”
Chuuya remains unhelpfully unresponsive.
“What, you checking him out? Didn’t know you played for that team,” she tries again, smirking despite herself while preparing the surgical thread.
This is what brings Chuuya back to reality, and he manages to glare at her in mock disgust.
“Really?” he snaps, which makes Yosano grin.
“Relax, Chuuya, I’m just trying to lighten the mood. Whatever happened to gay/lesbian solidarity?”
He appears to barely register the words, too entranced even to notice that she’s already started to stitch the wound closed. He’s holding something between his fingers, staring at it like he’s scared that if he takes his gaze off the object for a second it’ll disappear into thin air.
“Oh yeah,” Yosano remarks, without taking her eyes off her work, “He’s worn that ring since he first got here. I asked him about it a couple of times. He’s never told me anything. It’s been left up to my imagination, wild guesses and all. A past lover, estranged parent, a former mafia keepsake? Hell if I know.”
Chuuya merely hums in agreement.
“Don’t suppose you have any insight, do you?” she continues, “I mean, you know him better than any of us.”
Chuuya bristles at this, finally dropping the ring hanging from Dazai’s neck and looking over at her to argue, “That’s not true! I didn’t so much as speak to the bastard for four fucking years. And he’s…different, you know, and I’m-”
“I know all that, Chuuya,” she interrupts, “But I’m not lying to you for the hell of it. You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t,” he retorts.
Yosano just sighs, “Jesus Christ, I can’t solve all your problems for you.”
Before he can ask her what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, their conversation is interrupted by Dazai stirring on the table, wincing in pain and blindly grasping onto the nearest solid object, which happened to be Chuuya’s arm.
“Dazai?” Yosano asks softly, pausing her work on his stitches momentarily, “You awake?”
“Yeah,” he responds at length, blearily opening his eyes, “Where…?
“My office. At the Agency. You lost a lot of blood, passed out. You’re getting stitched up, but you’ll be fine. Oh, and Chuuya’s here.”
Looking oddly surprised at this information, he turns his head to confirm it, and abruptly realizes he’s gripping his former partner’s arm hard enough to leave nail imprints in the skin. Chuuya seems not to notice.
“Hi, Chuuya,” he mumbles, releasing his grip on the other man’s arm and staring up at him with wide, unfocused eyes. Thankfully, this movement is enough to hide the ring from sight.
“Hi,” Chuuya deadpans in response, unsure of what exactly to say, which earns him a choice look from Yosano.
She resumes work on the stitches and Dazai winces accordingly. This time, when his hand flails around in pain, Chuuya catches it in his own. Dazai clings onto it for dear life, and yet still thrashes around enough that Yosano is forced to stop what she’s doing. A little-known fact about the Demon Prodigy: despite having seen (and inflicted) more gore than nearly anyone else, he’s surprisingly squeamish when it comes to his own medical procedures.
“Dazai, I need you to stay still for this, okay? I’m almost done, but I need to keep the stitches even,” she chides, gently.
He nods, nearly imperceptibly, face drawn into an expression of pure misery. Yosano continues. Wordlessly, Chuuya brings his other hand to Dazai’s head, carding his fingers soothingly through the damp curls.
He immediately relaxes into the touch.
Yosano shoots Chuuya another knowing look, which is returned with yet another glare.
The stitches are finished momentarily. Yosano applies some antibiotic, checks his vitals, then leaves the two of them alone in the room in order to inform the rest of the Agency of Dazai’s condition. He looks a bit better, with the color at least beginning to return to his face.
Suddenly, Chuuya feels quite awkward. This situation is unscripted for them. He glances around the room aimlessly, admiring Yosano’s vast inventory of medical equipment. Honestly, he’s a bit scared by what he sees.
Shortly, he turns his head to look at Dazai again. His eyes are closed, but Chuuya knows his partner well enough to know that he’s only feigning sleep.
“Look,” Chuuya starts, “I’m sorry I didn’t catch that guy before he got to you. I got too confident. I should’ve been more aware of what was going on.”
“Don’t be stupid, Chuuya,” Dazai whispers, eyes still closed, “that wasn’t your fault.”
“Like hell it wasn’t!”
“Is that the only reason you’re still here?” Dazai asks, brow furrowed in frustration, almost annoyance. “Because you feel guilty?”
Chuuya can’t quite fathom why Dazai seems to be upset with him, and honestly his mind is still preoccupied with the earlier revelation of the ring the latter apparently still wears around his neck.
“No, that’s not why.”
Now Dazai does seem to be drifting off to sleep, unable to respond verbally, and Chuuya takes this as his cue to leave. Stopping in the doorway, he turns back around to whisper quietly,
“I’m glad you’re okay.”
He has no way of knowing whether or not Dazai hears him.
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
It’s been four days since Chuuya had discovered that Dazai was still in possession of the ring. Not only did he still have it, but he wears it–has worn it–for years. Not simply as an ornament or decoration, but as something hidden, protected, almost sacred. He’s not quite sure exactly what it means, but he knows it means something. It makes his heart race. He hasn’t been able to focus on anything else.
Chuuya still has his ring too, of course. As hard as he tried, he never could bring himself to get rid of it. So he wears it. Not every day. After all, it’s pretty impractical on missions. But, he wears it often enough. Wearing leather gloves at almost all times is quite convenient for concealment purposes. Sometimes he’ll fiddle with it when he gets nervous. Even when he does find himself wearing the thing in battle, it seems to be virtually indestructible. Just another thing he can’t manage to let go of.
But this changes things.
Because maybe Dazai hadn’t let go of him either.
That’s something.
It’s a lovely summer evening. He finds himself restless, pacing his apartment with no clear motive. No task seems engaging enough to hold his attention for more than a few minutes at a time. His work has been a bit sloppy. His stupid fucking brain can’t shut up about Dazai, Dazai, Dazai. God. It’s like he’s 16 again.
“Fuck it,” he mutters out loud, grabbing his coat and hat and storming out of the apartment. His mind simply won’t leave him alone until he lays eyes upon the object of its musings. With absolutely no plan in mind, he drives his bike off in the direction of the Agency Dorms.
Upon reaching his destination (and deciding that entering through the window was probably a bit dramatic,) he resolves to follow in Dazai’s footsteps and simply break into his apartment. Unfortunately, the result is somewhat anticlimactic as the door is unlocked and Dazai is staring at him bewilderingly from the floor.
“And what might you be doing here, Chuuya?”
“Making sure you’re not dead,” Chuuya shrugs, shutting the door behind him.
“It’s touching to see how much you care about me,” Dazai drawls, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” the other man concedes, strolling over toward where Dazai is lounging on the futon and crouching down next to him.
“Which… you obviously need,” he continues, lightly prodding the skin under one of Dazai’s eyes, which are currently sporting darker circles than usual. The action makes Dazai recoil and scrunch up his face in confusion (which, if Chuuya is being perfectly honest, is pretty fucking adorable.)
“Really, why are you here?” he inquires again, tone bordering on annoyance.
Chuuya sees right through it. It’s clear that Dazai’s been here a while, and he looks sad. Not that “sad” is any sort of simple emotion when it comes to his former partner. Most people would say it’s impossible to tell what the man is really feeling, if the Demon Prodigy is capable of feeling anything at all. But Chuuya knows you just have to pay attention. Dazai has good days and bad days, just like anyone else. The signs are subtle, but perceptible to the trained eye. Right now, Dazai looks small, withdrawn. He looks like he needs a change of scenery.
“Wanna get out of here?” he finally asks, avoiding Dazai’s question altogether.
“Yosano ordered a week of bedrest,” comes the petulant response.
“What Yosano doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”
“Famous last words,” Dazai mumbles into his pillow.
Touché, Chuuya thinks, but he’s not going to relent that easily.
“I’ll be extra careful driving the motorcycle.”
This makes Dazai turn his head up to look and ask rather despondently, “We’re taking the motorcycle?”
“Well, you blew up my fucking car, so. Yes.”
“You got a new one.”
A death glare is the only response Dazai receives for this particular remark, and it’s enough to get him to sigh rather loudly and push himself up into a sitting position, wincing slightly. “Fine,” he relents, “but if any of the stitches come undone, I’m telling Yosano on you.”
“If your stitches come undone, I’ll fix them myself,” Chuuya replies, as he offers Dazai a hand and pulls him to his feet.
Chuuya grabs the tan trench coat that is the sole occupier of the coat rack in the corner of the sparsely furnished room, helping the other man into it while managing to avoid his injury. With no clue as to their destination, he leads him down the stairs and over to where his bike is parked.
Noticing Dazai still seems a bit out of it, Chuuya hesitates.
“Hey, just… tell me if you’re gonna pass out again. I don’t think Yosano would be very happy with me if she heard you fell off the back of a motorcycle in the middle of Yokohama.”
“If you just drive well enough it won’t be a problem!”
“Whatever you say, princess,” Chuuya mocks, rolling his eyes and turning the key in the ignition.
Despite the sarcasm, he does take it slow. Every turn is gentle, there’s no drifting, no sudden stops. It’s a complete 180 from how Chuuya typically drives the thing. Dazai would surely be teasing him relentlessly for it if he wasn’t busy clinging on to Chuuya’s waist for dear life. He never really was a big fan of the motorcycle. Chuuya would be lying if he said he didn’t like the way Dazai wrapped his arms around him or buried his head into the back of his shoulders, though.
They end up at a park. One they used to frequent as teenagers when they were avoiding assignments, or meetings, or just needed some time to themselves. (It’s also the location where the both of them got high for the first time, but that’s a different story altogether.) The best spot is on the top of a slight hill, beneath a copse of willows, and Dazai is forced to accept Chuuya’s help ascending it. Once they reach the summit, the former breathing heavily, a comfortable silence ensues.
Chuuya is sitting down, absentmindedly pulling up handfuls of grass, when he feels his companion’s stare burning a hole through him. “Hey,” he calls out, “What’s going on in that brain of yours?”
Dazai smiles coyly. “You’ve been acting strange lately, Chuuya.”
“Oh yeah? The hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It meanssss,” he drawls, “that you’ve been too nice. I didn’t think that was something a slug like you was even capable of! I mean… when was the last time you called me an ‘enemy of all women’ or ‘bandaged maniac’? You haven’t so much as threatened to kill me in weeks!”
Chuuya flushes pink, not even out of anger, but because he knows it’s true. The love he has for Dazai is not something that can be contained any longer, and it’s spilling out of him uncontrollably. Mostly in the form of concern. He can’t even manage to put up the familiar façade of hatred. There’s nothing he can do about it now.
“Okay, and what about you?” he deflects.
Dazai raises an eyebrow. “Me? What about me?”
“Yeah, you’ve been fucking docile lately, at least compared to your usual behavior.”
“Chuuuuuya, you’re deflecting!”
“Shut the fuck up. Don’t be an asshole, you know it’s true.”
Dazai looks a bit amused. “Now that’s more like it,” he laughs softly. There’s a certain shyness to him that Chuuya can’t make sense of right now.
Frustrated, humiliated, and a little bit scared, Chuuya reaches into his coat for a cigarette. It’s not an addiction at this point as much as an anxious habit. Thankfully, he had purchased a new box in anticipation of this week. Unfortunately, it’s proving rather difficult for the man to retrieve the first cigarette from the crammed box.
After several attempts, he finally yanks off one of his gloves in frustration and manages to retrieve and light the damn cigarette. Lovely.
He turns to see Dazai staring down at him with wide eyes, mouth slightly agape.
Fuck.
Guess they’re going to have to have that conversation now.
“You still have that thing?” he asks, in a hushed tone, looking down at the godforsaken black diamond ring Chuuya had conveniently forgotten to remove.
He can do this. He was expecting this. He can be nonchalant.
“Well. Clearly,” he smirks, holding up his hand to give a better view. “And you?”
Dazai’s composure changes in an instant, as he drops the look of genuine surprise to adopt the familiar mask of artificial cheerfulness.
“Aww, Chuuya, I lost that thing years ago, you know how it-”
He’s abruptly cut off as Chuuya’s fingers are on his neck. His breath hitches in his throat. Slowly, (praying he’s right,) Chuuya’s fingers find a delicate chain and reveal the perfect match to the ring currently residing on his own hand.
“Oh,” Dazai breathes out, “You saw that.”
“I mean-” he sighs in resignation, backing away from Chuuya and placing his head in his hands. “Obviously, it’s a reminder of my commitment to kill you! Which I’ve happened to think about every day, for seven years. Just so you know.” The tone is sarcastic, but it’s unable to convey any real humor or levity. The both of them are aware that they can no longer hide whatever this thing is between them with teasing or threats or anything else.
It’s the moment of truth.
(Which neither of them are particularly fond of.)
“Whatever you say,” Chuuya responds, and he can’t help but smirk a bit over how distraught Dazai looks. There’s a certain satisfaction in doing something that even he can’t predict. He continues to stare him down, looking at his counterpart expectantly.
The other man finally relents, groaning in frustration. “Fine, now don’t laugh at me, Chuuya, but… I used to worry… about you… all the time,” he mumbles. “Not because you can’t handle yourself--obviously,” he adds, in response to the other’s choked noise of protest. “It was just that. We had been, you know, a team for so long, that being apart felt viscerally wrong to me, and I wondered if it felt the same for you. It was agonizing not being able to watch over you, ensure the Mafia kept you within healthy limits, or even know whether you were dead or alive during my time in hiding. So… wearing this…” he admits, unclasping the necklace and taking the ring in his hand, “...was grounding. It’s completely illogical, but I still felt tied to you, in some form or another. Then I could get on with my life and stop worrying. Mostly.”
He meets Chuuya’s gaze. “I wanted to keep you close,” he whispers.
Now they’re both staring at the ground. The air is silent.
Chuuya hadn’t expected that. He thinks it might be the most honest (and probably the nicest) thing the other has ever said to him. He’s not quite sure what to do with that information.
Slowly, as if to avoid startling him, Dazai takes his hand in his own, his thumb lightly grazing over the ring on Chuuya’s finger.
“Why do you still wear yours?” he asks, voice soft.
“You know why.”
“I don’t.”
Chuuya looks down, chewing on his lip and refusing to make eye contact with the man sitting across from him. He doesn’t like feeling this vulnerable. He never has.
“I can’t be the one to say it.”
Dazai nods, seeming to understand, but still looks at him with a sense of newfound curiosity. He releases the other’s hand and settles back down into the position he was previously laying in. Chuuya follows suit.
(They’re both spiraling, fiddling with their rings, and refusing to look at the other.)
They stay like that for a long time.
“Chuuya?”
“Hmm?” comes the quiet reply as Chuuya whips around his head to face Dazai, whose voice is wavering and whose face looks positively fragile.
“Can we try again?” is all he musters, so softly, with the saddest smile.
And who could deny that look? It conveys a sweetness and desperation that a man with his criminal record should be unable to emote.
Chuuya melts.
“Yeah,” he breathes out, “yeah, I think we can.”
Dazai’s eyes go wider than Chuuya’s ever seen them, staring at him with a look of sheer disbelief. Was he really that sure of a rejection?
“However-” Chuuya continues, raising himself to a sitting position, “-there are conditions.”
“Yeah, yes, of course,” Dazai replies, rushing to sit at attention, inevitably wincing in pain that Chuuya has to restrain himself from reaching out to soothe. “Whatever you need.”
“If we’re going to try again, it’s all or nothing. No lukewarm. Not our speed. Got that?”
“That won’t be a problem,” comes the speedy reply, “After all, I’m madly in love with you.”
Chuuya blinks in surprise, unable to detect even a trace of irony in the previous statement.
“Umm…” he continues, a bit sheepishly, “This time… I need a better answer than ‘I suppose.’”
Dazai nods in understanding. “I remember,” he states, face all too serious, “and I swear this time, Chuuya, I swear- what was it- ‘unquestioned loyalty, trust, and devotion?’”
The other man laughs, nodding. Yeah. Those were their exact words.
Dazai moves to cup his (ex?) partner’s face in his hands. “I promise,” he whispers. “I’ll buy you a thousand promise rings if that’s what it takes.”
Chuuya wrinkles his nose at that. “That’s not what I need,” he protests.
“What do you need, Chuuya?”
“I don’t know!” he responds, anger cutting through every word.
Because he does know. And what he needs doesn’t exist. What he needs is definitive proof and an absolute guarantee that someone will love him and stay with him for X amount of time. In writing, if possible. Unfortunately, that’s outside the current realm of possibility.
Embarrassed, he attempts to pull away from Dazai’s grasp, but Dazai doesn’t let him go, instead pulling him into his arms in an awkward, desperate embrace.
He’s holding him so tightly that Chuuya can feel his body shaking.
“I’ve waited for you for years,” Dazai begins, a slight tremble accompanying the words, “I’m not sure how I got so lucky to get another chance with you, we both know I don’t deserve it. I’m not going to ruin it again,” he whispers. “I don’t want to lose you.”
A slight pause.
“I love you.”
What Chuuya needs doesn’t exist. No one in this world is guaranteed love. The closest you can get is trust. Trust. A word that has always been synonymous with Osamu Dazai, for better or for worse.
It’s enough.
As he pulls away from the embrace, he’s mortified to discover that there are actual physical tears in Dazai’s eyes, which is perhaps the most alarming sight Chuuya’s seen in years.
“Okay, okay,” he reassures, gently wiping the other man’s face with his thumbs, “I believe you. Don’t fucking cry, you’re being weird.”
His mind is reeling. He thinks about how Yosano teased him, thinks about all Dazai has done for him recently, thinks about how there have been less insults and more gentle words, thinks about their inevitable drift back towards each other and thinks about how their connection is inevitable but love is a choice.
He makes his choice.
Wordlessly, he takes the promise ring from Dazai’s hand, and removes his own, laying them side by side on the ground in lieu of a box. Ever so gently, he takes the smaller one and slides it onto the other’s ring finger, holding his wrist like it’s glass. Feeling spontaneous (and dizzy with emotion,) he kisses his partner’s hand for good measure.
Dazai giggles like a schoolgirl and mutters something along the lines of “such a gentleman,” before he realizes it’s his turn now.
Instantly serious, he picks up Chuuya’s ring with an intense focus, placing it on his hand with an unparalleled reverence, as if in an act of worship to Chuuya’s divinity.
“I swear,” he repeats.
“I know.”
“I trust you,” he adds, with a genuine smile.
Dazai’s face is the most expressive he’s ever seen it, bright and lovely and perfect, and Chuuya wants nothing more than to get closer, to touch.
Placing one hand under the other’s chin, he slowly pulls their faces together until he can feel Dazai’s exhales on his skin. He closes his eyes and lingers for just a second. And then he kisses him.
Dazai’s lips are impossibly soft, and he kisses him back with a desperate intensity that stands as a testament to how long they’ve been waiting for this. His hands find Chuuya’s waist and he pulls the redhead closer, provoking a soft gasp from the other. Chuuya finds his own hands tangled in Dazai’s hair, which has long been the object of his adoration. He feels exquisite.
Dazai quietly whines into his mouth, and Chuuya can barely bring himself to pull away, breathless. He has more to say.
“So you think about me every single day, huh?” he teases, smiling impossibly wide.
Dazai bursts into a fit of real, genuine laughter and buries his head in the other’s chest. “How could I not?” he sighs, wistfully. “You’re beautiful.”
Chuuya’s face blushes red with the compliment. “Why have you never said anything before?”
“I didn’t know if you would return the feelings. Or if you were ready.”
“Oh, come off it, asshole, you’re supposedly a genius and I’ve been told I’m pretty fucking transparent,” he admits, a bit shamefully.
“You’re harder to read than you think, love,” Dazai replies, reaching to tuck a loose strand of Chuuya’s hair back into place. Chuuya is surprised by the pet name, but he doesn’t protest it. He just scowls until his lover gives in and elaborates.
“Okay, fine,” Dazai finally relents, breaking out in another fit of laughter that causes him to fall back to the ground, “Obviously, I knew you didn’t truly hate me, but there’s a fine line between tolerating someone and loving them. And between loving someone and… wanting to.”
He’s right. But Chuuya isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of telling him so.
“You’re dumb,” he pronounces instead, adjusting his position so he’s leaning over Dazai, arms on either side of his body. “It’s a good thing you’re so pretty,” he adds, leaning down to kiss him once again.
He feels his partner’s smile against his lips, and he thinks that this is what he wants to do for the rest of his life. He just wants to make Dazai feel good, if only for a moment at a time, forever.
After a while, Chuuya eases himself to lay back on the ground and allows Dazai to curl up against him, tucking his head into Chuuya’s chest and allowing himself to be fully and completely held. Chuuya plays with the hair at the nape of the other’s neck and leans down to gently kiss the top of his head.
“I guess I’ll just have to clearly spell it out for you then,” he hums. “I love you,” he whispers, directly above Dazai’s ear.
“I love you with everything in me.” The admission is easier than he thought it would be, and it’s beyond worth it to receive the look Dazai gives him in response.
“I love you, Chuuya,” comes the swift but shaky reply, as Dazai moves to kiss his cheek. “You make things good,” he adds, hiding his face back in the other man’s chest. They remain there for a while.
Chuuya breaks the silence.
“Guess we owe that jewelry shop owner a lot, huh?”
He feels rather than hears Dazai’s laughter against him.
“He really was right about the ‘endeavor of patience and love’ wasn’t he?” he responds, without lifting his head.
“I’ll put in a good word for him.”
The sun had long been set, and the emotional exhilaration of the night had exhausted them both, so Chuuya finds himself drifting off to sleep on top of the hill, holding Dazai in his arms and feeling lighter than he had in years.
He’s rudely awakened by the sound of a loud ringtone. Disoriented, he blindly reaches for the sound, only conscious enough to grab the phone and groggily mutter a rough “Hey.”
The other line is silent until he hears a stifled laugh, and a delayed, “....Chuuya?”
Oh.
“Yosano,” he responds, realization dawning on him. “This isn’t my phone.”
“Nope!”
“Fuck.”
Yosano giggles again before replying, “So… I figure Dazai’s alright, then?”
“Just peachy.”
“Great! Mind if I speak to him? Actually, just put it on speaker, will you.”
Looking over to see that Dazai actually is now awake, he does as she says.
“See Dazai,” she exclaims, “I told you he was in love with you too!”
Dazai looks absolutely mortified, and still a bit disoriented from sleep, but Chuuya just laughs.
“Anyways, please meet me back here by 5:00. I need to remove your stitches.” Dazai groans at that, and Chuuya rolls his eyes but grabs his hand reassuringly. “But really. I’m happy you guys figured things out! Bye Chuuya!” She hangs up.
Finally conscious of his surroundings, Chuuya leans over to tenderly kiss his lover’s cheek. Dazai closes his eyes reverently at the touch.
“Sleep well?” Chuuya asks.
“Never better.”
It seems to be the truth. Dazai has grass imprints on his cheek and his hair is tousled every which way, his eyes are still bleary with sleep, his lips a bit swollen, and his smile lopsided and unrehearsed. Chuuya thinks that he’s never seen a sight so lovely.