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“I expect nothing less from my best executive.”
“Yes, Boss.”
As leather-clad shoes tapped across a polished marble floor, the desolate ringing of those words dug into a pensive skull, mind broken and heart shattered.
Monster.
A lone figure, stalking the lobby of Yokahoma’s richest apartments; despite the late hour that caused claw-like shadows to crawl along golden-papered walls.
In-human.
His jaw clenched, each tooth grinding against each other in a sorry attempt to douse the ever-growing liquid fire in his chest that could be chalked up to rage. Or was it complete disgust toward his thoughts, a deep self-hatred that had never truly gone away, but never felt so real?
He didn’t lash out. Didn’t scream or cry, didn’t attempt to hit anything in his path as he normally would. The warming range of destruction that often followed his short temper was doused by the sheer fact he didn’t want to.
If so, it would only prove those battle-sharpened and clear chosen jabs.
But maybe proving the truth was inevitable.
Chuuya wasn’t a stranger to feeling the strong urges of disgust each time he acknowledged himself. His indulgence in the matter far outweighed any (in)dignified, rash decisions he often made to source a burning self-hatred.
He knew his self-worth. And from the minuscule twitch in glove-clad fingers each time he thought of it, he already understood it was below whatever bar had been set. He understood the reason behind his existence; a highly complex and specifically manufactured line of genetic codes mashed together to create a weapon .
Chuuya wasn’t human.
Chuuya wasn’t Chuuya .
That name belonged to someone else. Someone with a living, breathing state of mind. Someone who actually deserved the title of something as basic as being alive.
Locked in a metal cage - his apartment elevator; when had his enraged footfalls ceased? - he almost struggled to understand why he had allowed himself to deliver such a perilous chain of command. Almost.
If anything ran deeper, thicker, than the chastising disgust of his own skin, it was his sickeningly-undying loyalty.
“You completed the task with no qualms?”
“Yes, Boss.”
“And I hear you held a stoic attitude throughout. Even when you learned of the children. I must say, I’m impressed.”
His stomach ached, rumbling as if he had scrunched up the flickering flames of doubting words in his mind and shoved them down his throat.
The lights above, enraged by how his copper glow near rivalled their luminescence, flickered in response to his inner peril. Another example, perhaps, of an unnatural reaction to the environment around him. A succinct detail to deliver the grave realisation that each self-destructive thought was true.
He found himself staring at his apartment door within the minute. His fingers twitched in his gloves, aching to send a heartless punch to the next thing that moved.
If he was more in tune with his surroundings - more importantly, the loving warmth that practically radiated from beyond the door - he would have taken a moment to rid himself of his intimidating aura. And the person he loved more than anything, the source of that warmth, could have almost been surprised the usually angry man would walk in with an even angrier mood.
The door opened with uncertainty but slammed back into place on closing, Chuuya stepping in with enough force to crack the marble of the entrance beneath him. He didn’t bother with unhooking his shoes from his feet, barely bashing an eyelid when the coat and hat he usually delicately hung on the stand toppled to the floor.
In the safety of his own home, finally able to scream and cry and admit he left himself wondering what falling without his ability would be like. Maybe, he could make that happen if he was willing enough.
He felt willing enough. But something was stopping him, the presence of-
“Chuuya?”
The redhead felt bile rising up his throat, bubbling in acidity and constricting his throat in a grand effort to purge itself from his body. He shoved the feeling back down, instead, letting himself be encompassed by a fit of searing anger.
Dazai peered over the wall that divided their kitchen and the front door, hair brushed back behind his ears and a small trace of oil residue cooling on one of his rolled-up sleeves. His eyes shone a burning compass into Chuuya’s chest, blazing their white-hot concern into the deepest caves of his heart.
Monster.
He ignored the initial look of shock warming along the brunette’s face when he shoved his way past him, shakily tearing away the top button of his dress shirt. “Chuuya?” He tried again, ignorant confusion seeping into the tone.
He wasn’t a stranger to hearing slammed doors or enraged yelling, unfazed at Chuuya’s eccentric rants, twisting looks of disgust and even the trail of destruction that followed in his wake. It was the silence and ignorance of his presence that scared him.
Chuuya wasn’t mad. He wasn’t even enraged. He was simply upset .
And maybe, for them, that was the scariest emotion of them all.
The shorter made his way through the kitchen, a complete disregard for whatever was laying on the counter as he shoved it away to reach a delicate wine barrel resting in the corner. He didn’t bother checking the label, grabbing the glass and tearing it away.
A hand encompassed his wrist, yanking it back towards the cabinet. He was met with honeyed eyes, a gentle wash of concern over a furrowed brow and lips pressed together in the thin line of thought. “I’m almost done cooking dinner, Chuuya. You don’t need that. Sit down.”
All he saw was white, a burning rage seeping through every throbbing vein in his body that begged him to get away . Clutching the wine bottle tighter than he had before, still subconscious in protecting the alcohol, he ripped his arm away. His nose wrinkled in annoyance, teeth bared and eyes narrowed at his partner.
“Leave me the fuck alone.”
He shoved past, shoulder barging into Dazai’s chest and sending him stumbling back to the countertop. And despite Chuuya’s eyes being set on one goal, to get way as quickly as possible, he found his heart aching at the look Dazai shot his way.
His mouth agape in surprise and shock at Chuuya’s sudden outburst, no stranger to the redhead’s mood swings but never truly prepared for the physical encounters he usually never used against the brunette. Amber eyes washed with concern and hurt, wondering why his partner had lashed out when he was only trying to help. And the furrow of his brow told the executive just how worried he was.
It drove a stake through his already painfully throbbing heart.
Whatever words the detective tried to get across were lost, falling upon deaf ears. Chuuya stormed out of the kitchen, footfalls loud and noticeably frustrated, as he made his way to their shared bedroom balcony.
Disgusting.
He rattled the glass door with the amount of force he used. The wine bottle was titled in his hand, his arm raised when he reached the balcony's edge before slamming the cork down on the metal barrier. It popped off harshly, cracking the rim without shattering any material. Chuuya could have been thankful it didn’t, thankful he wouldn’t maul his own mouth through drinking away his thoughts.
He could have if he thought he deserved such luxury.
Forearms leaning against the railing, he took two continuous gulps of wine, allowing the mixture to scorch his parched throat. His eyes wandered the city lights below, watching as pedestrians and cars bathed in the glow of street lights, contrasting the curling black of night.
His gloves remained on his hands, covering the skin from the humid air. They served to separate him from the materialistic world, catching him in any attempts he made to get into contact with literally anything around him. Not in fear of getting dirty, but rather a coping mechanism. More or less, a reminder to not taint what remained of the light surrounding him with his filthy touch.
And oh, how much he had tainted that glowing security already. He was nothing. He didn’t deserve a single inch of happiness, not a single ounce of luxury and he certainly didn’t deserve comfort. How would he appreciate comfort anyway, if he was human enough to need it?
Sure, he felt shit. All the time. Every passing day spent regretting the multitude of horrible life choices that only stacked up, he felt like smacking his head against a rock until he had no brain to think with. A dry chuckle passed his lips, head raising to take another swig.
If you did, innocent people wouldn’t die all the time.
He was starting to sound like some suicidal bastard he knew. How lucky Dazai was to make it to the light, regardless of how he perceived life with such a nonchalant, almost disgusted, attitude. He had somehow managed to find the beauty in helping people around him. The confidence in accepting a dead man’s wish and following through with it, ignoring every ounce of fear that screamed at him not to disappoint. Dazai was, in Chuuya’s mind, perfect. The perfect example of how easy it was to learn to love. Something he knew very well, but hadn’t quite grasped.
He couldn't exactly grasp emotions if everything he felt was artificial anyway. He loved Dazai, sure. His boyfriend meant the world to him. The one thing that stood between him and accepting his fate was in dying some noble, stupidly loyal way. Or, perhaps, the brave end of taking a bullet for someone else, pretending to do it in order to protect them when really, he wanted the gentle reminder that he could feel. That he was human. Even if he wasn’t, even if he knew he never would be, he could pretend. Just for a while.
He had a lot of breaking points in his life. He liked to call them distractions since all they did was crack another string tethered from his head to his chest. They never changed his perception of his job, and his responsibilities, they didn't even push him into acting out against orders. They just made him more inclined to suck it up until the next wave of grief would hit.
Today had been another breaking point. Another chip of his already carved heart.
Chuuya had a task. A simple task, given by the boss himself, to oversee a mass execution to be carried out in Port Mafia’s prison. A tight, damp cage that sucked in the souls of its victims in their passing and held them intertwined within the walls.
They had deserved it. At least, he felt like he could make that decision, considering they almost seemed filthier than him. A local terrorist gang shot up several schools across Yokahoma, hoping to send some sort of message to the Port Mafia. When Chuuya met each of their terrified eyes, hands slathered with the blood of children and chained to the ground, it was painfully clear the message had been received.
He watched the light flicker and extinguish in each of their eyes before ordering his men to clean the bodies out and report back to him on some previous mission. But when his subordinates didn’t move, ordered by another squad to move aside when more people were dragged out, the calm facade finally started to crack.
Because it was seventeen children that had been thrown against the concrete floor. Seventeen gorgeously cheerful and irreversibly afraid children that had never seen their parents again. Seventeen children left Port Mafia territory that day with dead hearts and flesh marred with scattered bullet holes.
Children that had suffered under the hand, the guiding, serving, protecting hand of Chuuya simply because their parents had made a horrible decision.
And Mori? Mori had laughed in his face when he told him how unfair it was. How those lives could have served a purpose to their organisation instead of spilling blood that didn’t deserve to be spilled. ‘An eye for an eye’ , he had said.
Chuuya had remembered himself staring into those dead eyes of his boss and thinking how terribly inhuman he must have been to stand there and watch, even display a crooked smile to his subordinates for the sake of keeping up his authoritative personality. It disgusted him. He disgusted himself.
He deserved to die.
What had been the point, anyway? Chuuya didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. He was already a tool at the organisation's disposal. What more was there for him to give? The headquarters’ walls alone sucked the life from his body every passing minute he spent pacing those halls.
Mori had been right.
‘You’re only a weapon, Chuuya-kun. You’re not good at thinking logically unless it regards conflict.’
And god, Chuuya knew.
He hated himself for it.
He wasn’t capable of loving. He wasn’t capable of being loved. Dazai didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve a boyfriend, just to waste his time by always complaining about every little thing he did. Chuuya wasn’t sure if Dazai even loved him anymore; if he did in the first place. Maybe, the brunette had simply felt sorry for him.
He laughed, clutching the wine bottle that sat in his hand tighter. The liquid swished around, barely half the drink left.
Dazai should have left him long ago.
His self-destructive thoughts burned clear in his mind, his muscles twitching in the growing anticipation to collapse and stay there for the rest of his miserable life. Content to wither away with the dying sun. He rested his head onto his outstretched forearm, the minuscule liquid remaining in the wine bottle trickling onto the concrete below.
If he stayed there long enough, maybe he’d finally wake up less and less every day, until he had convinced himself he no longer held any resemblance of Nakahara Chuuya. And it was a scary thought, to believe the only happiness you had to experience in life was by being anyone but yourself. Scary, but a hopeful truth the redhead desperately grasped onto.
He couldn’t tell how long it had been since he’d come out here. Every muscle in his body ached. His shoulders were sore and his legs had started to grow tired of having to hold the rest of his body up. He would have slumped down already if not for the concern he’d never be able to pick himself back up.
A quick glance at his watch caused a shallow gulp of wine-indulged saliva to run down his throat. 9:48 . Almost two hours of letting the wind curl through his hair, his thoughts running worms in his mind. It had felt like five minutes, but no matter how many times Chuuya thought about how much he hated himself, it never seemed to be a quick process.
Lights from inside illuminated underneath the balcony door, but dissipated into the now nearly ceased light of the sun. Inside, a brunette remained leant against the bedroom wall, out of the executive’s view. His head tilted down towards the wooden panels, arms crossed and throat bobbing nervously.
He sighed, running a heavy hand through his hair. He’d been scared at Chuuya’s sudden outburst, not towards his own safety, but to the mental status of his partner. Chuuya would never hurt him, not intentionally. The few times he did had been minor, when Chuuya lost his temper and threw or hit something that managed to rebound into Dazai, or when he’d shove the oblivious detective to the ground during joint ADA missions, effectively saving him from bullets while chewing his ear off.
For two hours he’d let his boyfriend settle under the rising moon, hoping to calm whatever dangerous outbursts resided inside him before attempting to talk it through. His eyes, determined in their direction, fell on the redhead’s figure as Dazai rounded the hallway corner to face the balcony.
Chuuya didn’t hear the almost silent footfalls across the apartment, the switching of lights to dim every room and the approach of a concerned detective to the bedroom. He didn’t bother lifting his head when the glass door rattled, or when it closed and he felt another presence hovering with a light sense of uncertainty behind him. His fingers barely twitched when he recognised the all too familiar cologne and sea spray scent wafting his direction.
Dazaii’s eyes waved over him, lips pressed into a thin line. He was itching to reach out and hold his partner close, trap him against his chest and stop the raging thoughts swirling behind those too-blue eyes. The raging storm of self-destruction was evident on his face, and the brunette wanted nothing more than to wipe it off.
Chuuya was sensitive, however. And if he wanted to keep the executive calm and steady, without overwhelming him or reading the situation incorrectly - an almost impossible yet still possible occurrence - he’d have to keep his hands to himself.
“Chuuya.”
He tested the waters idly. His voice was gentle and soft, almost forcing invisible fingers to curl around Chuuya’s heart and squeeze the organ just tight enough to stop it from beating so anxiously.
When he didn’t respond, head still hidden in his arms, the detective reached out slowly, trying to grasp the now empty wine bottle away. His movements were extremely telegraphed, making sure every single way he moved his limbs could be easily read moments before they even happened. Sure, Chuuya had his head covered and remained unmoving with Dazai’s words, likely trapped in his own mind, but Dazai wasn’t stupid. No matter how far gone Chuuya was, he was always watching what was around him in some way or another. His ears, eyes, and even his keen sense of smell allowed him to scope out any possible threats. In this state, his partner wasn’t sure what Chuuya was willing to perceive as such.
The bottle now discarded safely on the corner table, Dazai advanced once again. He moved closer, leaning on the wall beside the smaller man and tucking his hands into his pockets to protect them against the biting cold.
“Chuuya?” He tried again, noticing how the redhead’s eyelids fluttered open. He shifted slightly, letting his head loll back onto his creased elbow. It gave Dazai a better view of his face, noticing his partner staring idly at the streets below.
“What the fuck do you want.” The brunette remained still. He ignored the language and question, instead taking his time sizing up the situation. He noticed the admirable lack of flush in his cheeks, despite having swigged almost an entire bottle of wine.
Chuuya often allowed others to believe he was a lightweight, going as far as entertaining Dazai’s jabs to act offended, and even acting drunk or tipsy around other mafia-affiliated members after only a few glasses at events. He had even made an effort to not drink on any of his missions, for the sake of keeping up both the mask and reputation.
Dazai knew better. Arahabaki had a greater effect on his body. He had a metabolism like no one else, always burning through food and thrumming with energy. It was hard to get Chuuya drunk, extremely hard. Perhaps he didn’t quite rival Dazai’s level of sobriety, but he was a tough challenge to loosen up.
He had always wondered why Chuuya tried so hard to pretend for something that made him seem weak. It wasn’t until he’d seen him act drunk on a mission, efficiently and effortlessly dragging out a mole they had been chasing for weeks, that he’d understood.
So for Chuuya to down an entire bottle in the time frame he did. He wasn’t trying to enjoy the usually sweet taste. He was attempting to get himself to drunk to forget whatever it was he wanted to forget. Albeit failing, it must have been bad for him to even try.
And all he had at the moment to soothe him were his words.
Then again, words were Dazai’s greatest asset.
“Aren’t you tired?”
“Go away” was murked shakily. Dazai shook his head.
“You know I can’t do that, chibi.”
“Just leave me alone.”
“I’m not leaving you out here in the cold. At least come inside.”
“Fuck off.”
He sighed gently, taking his hands out of his pockets. Chuuya was always so difficult. “I know whatever happened today is making things difficult for you, Chuu. I understand. But you have to work with me here, I’m worried. If you stay out here you’ll get sick.”
There was a gentle silence, and Dazai was almost willing to admit this Chuuya wasn’t to be reasoned with. Just as he was about to drag him inside himself and cop whatever lash out he’d receive, there was a gentle murmur. He tilted his head, straining his ears. “I didn’t catch that.”
“I don’t-” The redhead’s voice was watery, eyes desperate to blink back tears. Dazai noticed with an aching chest how he turned his head away in order to hide how he had to recover his voice. “I don’t care.”
He almost felt like laughing, letting a small chuckle burn through instead. “You never do. So let me.” There was a head shake, and a gentle impatient tap of leather shoes. “You don’t really give a shit.”
Dazai let the comment slide, ignoring how much it hurt, and instead focused on the way Chuuya was growing skittish. “Steady breaths Chuuya.”
Chuuya didn’t answer him, yet Dazai knew he didn’t have to. He clenched his fists, doing his best to just soothe Chuuya with his words and not hug him close.
“What’s bothering you?”
“You shouldn’t love me.”
He froze, eyes widening. “I- what?”
“Just fuck off already!” Dazai swallowed, a shaky breath parting his dried lips. It took him a moment to realise Chuuya wasn’t just asking him to leave him on the balcony, he was asking Dazai to pack up and disappear from his life.
“You deserve better. I always fuck up.” “Chuuya, what are you talking about?” The redhead avoided his gaze, seeming to calm down from the sudden outburst. “I kill people for no goddamn reason. They didn’t deserve to die and I just- I’m a fucking monster.”
The detective's heart clenched, squeezing and compressing in the expanse of his chest. “Who told you that?” His voice almost dripped venom, not directed at his partner, but the invisibly clear target in mind. “Boss.”
Dazai’s eyes narrowed sharply. Dealing with Mori was a double-edged sword, if only both ends were directed at yourself. His gaze and attitude cut sharp, yet his words cut deeper. He knew exactly where to drive the steak with surgical precision, and Chuuya’s humanity was the perfect crack in the vase to shatter his mask.
“You know he’s a manipulative bastard. Why are you listening to what he has to say?”
“But this time it was true.” “Chuuya.” “You don’t know what he said.”
Dazai sighed and nodded. “No, I don’t. So tell me.” Chuuya seemed to contemplate it for a moment, wondering if sparking up the stalking rage and self-hatred he had was worth sharing the details. Considering his trust for his partner pushed against those factors to the point ignoring it made his heartache, he decided to speak.
“We executed that terrorist group.” Dazai nodded along, not wanting to interrupt. “I didn’t care. They hurt people. They deserved it. Their children didn’t.” A small breath, and the atmosphere suddenly shifted. Dazai’s fingers twitched, his chest rising and falling unsteadily. “Their children- Chuuya, you didn’t-”
“We executed their families as well.” Dazai grimaced, his face falling into a solemn look of sympathy and annoyance, perhaps directed mainly at Mori himself. Yet Chuuya couldn’t care if it was for him either way. It made sense. He deserved it .
“And I, I just stood there. I watched and did absolutely fucking nothing!” There was a gentle stream of tears pulling from Chuuya’s cerulean eyes. Dazai tried his best to ignore it, knowing the more he spent staring at his boyfriend’s tear-soaked cheeks the more his resolve would break, and he’d ruin the consentual boundaries he was attempting to create for Chuuya’s sake.
“I’m a fucking monster, Dazai. I’m only good at fighting and fucking around. I can’t think for myself. I shouldn’t even exist. I don’t belong here.” His shoulders quivered, voice shaking and cracking. “ I’m not human. ”
“Chuuya, listen to me.” He took a step forward, silently praising the way Chuuya no longer flinched away at his movements. He still remained cautious, telegraphing every step. “You are not a monster, I can promise you that. You were only doing your job, the job he asked you to do. You would have faced consequences if you didn’t. Believe me, I know. This wasn’t your fault chibi, it never will be.”
“That’s not- I don’t-” He let out a frustrated slam of his fist against the railing, unable to get out his words without his voice giving out a watery crack. “It’s true chibi. You know I don’t make idle promises, you know I hardly make any. But I’m promising you now. Everything you think about yourself that even promotes your stupid ideas are wrong. You’re smart Chuuya, really damn smart. You challenged me when I thought no one could.
You were the first person who actually forced me to try really hard to read. You were the first to keep up with me, the first to understand what I needed with a few glances no one else could have picked up. You’re better than that. You might be incredible at fighting Chuu, really you’re unrivalled, but it’s not your only asset.”
He took a deep breath, carefully eyeing him to see how the words affected him. He didn’t anticipate the sudden change in his behaviour, the once hunched over and broken executive suddenly stepping towards him and gripping his coat.
Dazai stumbled forward at the added weight but quickly wrapped his hands around the shorter. Chuuya buried his head into the detective's neck as his shoulders began shaking. The brunette’s hands rubbed up and down his partner's back, trying his best to soothe the executive.
“That’s- Wh-” He clenched Dazai’s shirt harder in frustration, not being able to push the words out without a quiet, silent sob. “Why can’t you just fucking leave me?” Dazai smiled, resting his chin on top of the executive's head. He needed to calm Chuuya down, the redhead was starting to actively push the brunette away, believing that’s what the other wanted.
“Because I love you, Chuuya. I have no reason to go.”
“Dazai please, it hurts.”
It hurts having to see you smile, knowing you could be taken from me at any moment. It hurts having to leave you, wondering if this time I’ll make it back home.
“Then I’ll make it stop myself. But it won’t get better if I’m out of the picture. It might just hurt more. I hope, at least,” he smiled at the gentle frown, rocking their bodies back and forth. “I like to think you love me too.”
There was a moment of silence before Chuuya’s fisted grip on his shirt front loosened, instead the redhead’s hands snaking around Dazai’s chest and hugging him close. “I do love you.” The detective smiled gently, kissing his head. “I know, and I know it’s hard for you to say sometimes. I love you more than anything, you slimy little slug.”
There was a gentle rumble in Chuuya’s chest. “Bastard.” Dazai laughed, a delighted, pitched thing that made Chuuya’s heart yearn as he watched the skin around his partner’s eyes crinkle in joy. “Adadada, dogs shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds. Speaking of which, are you hungry?”
The executive was close to punching his partner in the mouth but thought better of it. He was over getting violent for the night. “No. I’m sorry I let dinner go to waste.” The detective shrugged, rubbing his hand up and down Chuuya’s back. “No harm. It’s in the fridge for tomorrow. I think I burnt it anyway.” A small scoff. “Of course you did.”
A small pause and Chuuya lifted his head away from Dazai’s chest. Hand running up the taller’s neck, he tugged their faces to meet, soft lips pressing against each other. Dazai happily kissed back, hands coming up to cup the redhead’s jaw. When he pulled away, he saw nothing but love and admiration in the detective's auburn eyes.
“I'm sorry for yelling at you too.”
“Darling, it’s okay. I know you were upset, you didn’t mean to. I get it.”
“You’re not upset with me?”
Dazai pressed a soft kiss to Chuuya’s cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “I think that hat finally ate your brain.” And when he spoke in that husky, whispered tone that was full of gentle comfort, how could he have been annoyed? “Of course, I’m not upset with you. Now come on, it’s freezing out here.
Chuuya let his partner pull him back inside, shutting the door softly behind him and pushing him down onto their shared bed. And as Chuuya was tackled down, enveloped in the tightest hug from the brunette and assaulted with the most loving kisses and reassuring whispers of comfort, he decided that this life might not be so bad after all.
Disgusting
Useless
Weapon
Monster
Chuuya grinned, letting his fingers run through chocolate locks as his boyfriend kissed him gently, rocking their bodies back and forth.
If this was the love Dazai gave him for being a monster, he would gladly be one for the rest of his life.