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It had been a very, very long day. Yet another mission, yet another victory, and yet another night spent on Chuuya’s couch watching some French show Dazai couldn’t understand. He laid with his head in Chuuya’s lap, eyes half-closed as gentle hands carded through his hair—newly washed and dried, because Chuuya insisted that no stinky mackerels would sit on his couch until they weren’t covered in blood and dust and god knows what else.
“Chibi?”
A lazy hum was all Dazai got in response—attesting to the exhaustion weighing down heavy on their bones.
“When I die, will you write my eulogy?”
Dazai didn’t have to look up at Chuuya to guess his expression. The hand in his hair stopped.
The question itself was innocent enough at first glance. A simple, hopeful inquiry between two friends is what it might look like to an outsider. To Dazai and Chuuya, however, who were anything but friends, it was something very different. Not a single trace of hope could be found in a question like that.
“No,” was the answer he received, and the determined tone of finality in that single word would have been impressive if Dazai wasn’t distracting himself by gasping and pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense.
“That’s cruel! If the situation called for it, I would write the most beautiful eulogy for Chuuya,” he huffed, sticking his lower lip out in a childish pout. Chuuya snorted, but it was half-hearted and lacked the usual irritation. Dazai cut the dramatics and turned to look up at Chuuya with a completely neutral expression, betraying nothing about his true intentions with such a question or how he felt about the answer. “Why wouldn’t you?”
The following beats of silence, regardless of the yammering on the TV, were some of the most uncomfortable moments Dazai had ever experienced with Chuuya. They weren’t used to silence. They yelled at each other, fought like children, and stitched each other up after a long day, but they never sat in silence. It felt like an undressing, to sit in such a thing without any barbs at Chuuya to guard his heart. It felt like he was being forced to tear open the skin on his chest and bear his ribcage to the silence and to Chuuya, behind which was a sticky, blackened heart. Dazai hated it.
Unfortunately, Chuuya didn’t seem to share the sentiment. He let the quiet drag on for what felt like half an hour before taking in a deep breath and making an apparent effort to keep from looking down at Dazai. He shrugged. “Because you’re not dying on my watch.”
Dazai blinked. Something in his mind stuttered and the buzzing of his thoughts went mute. “What do you mean?”
Chuuya huffed a breath. “Don’t go getting the wrong idea. I’ll kill you someday.” Something about the way he said that made it hard to believe, Dazai thought. “But that means I have to keep you alive until then. Whatever it takes.” That last part was hushed, so quiet that Dazai barely caught it.
He did.
Turning back to look at the TV screen, Dazai let out a hum and pretended his chest wasn’t bubbling with a multitude of things he didn’t want to name. “That so? Whatever it takes?”
Chuuya didn’t respond.
Dazai decided to sit up, propping himself next to Chuuya and looking over with a deceptively open expression. Chuuya frowned, watching him with narrowed eyes.
“I want you to make me a promise,” Dazai stated plainly, as if he were ordering lunch at a restaurant and not asking for an impossible favor. They both knew that promises didn’t exist in the lives they led.
Chuuya’s eyes only narrowed further. “What.”
“Promise me you’ll never use Corruption to save me. Ever.”
Dazai worked hard to keep his expression blank, but Chuuya didn’t bother hiding the emotions that passed over his face in quick succession. Confusion, anger, more confusion, and finally a strange apprehension. His jaw locked up and turned taut as he searched Dazai’s face for any clues as to what he was thinking. Dazai made sure he wouldn’t find any.
Chuuya didn’t answer. Dazai leaned closer, the smallest furrow of his brows involuntary as he studied Chuuya. “Promise me,” he murmured, and even in his own ears, it sounded eerily similar to a plea.
Dazai wasn’t sure why he let that slip out from behind his teeth. He wasn’t sure why he kept talking, insisting Chuuya give him this. He wasn’t sure what he was aiming to gain from it, but he couldn’t clamp his mouth shut.
Chuuya turned back to look at the TV. Thick, suffocating silence settled over them again as Chuuya turned responses over in his head. Dazai could see it in the way he chewed on the inside of his cheek and stared at the same spot on the TV despite the fact that the show was still playing.
“You know I can’t,” he whispered, and that was all Dazai was offered.
He felt something flare up in his chest—the rare spark of anger that only two people in the world had managed to draw out, and drew back slightly. “Why not?” He wasn’t sure when they descended into such quiet voices.
Chuuya’s strange expression vanished and the familiar spark of irritation lit up in his eyes—eyes Dazai always found slightly unsettling, as if they pierced through all the walls he’d built around himself and saw straight to his soul. Or, perhaps more accurately, lack thereof. Chuuya turned to look at him with a small scowl. “What do you mean, ‘why not’?” His words were sharper than before and his volume had raised significantly.
Dazai felt his chest grow hot with irritation. A foreign feeling, but he didn’t pay mind to it when his thoughts beat against his skull so loudly. “Exactly that. It’s an easy promise.”
“It’s not and you know it,” Chuuya snapped.
“Oh? Why’s that?” Dazai’s mouth wouldn’t shut, his voice wouldn’t stop. He kept poking the bear and it was getting more irate by the second. Why was he still talking? What was he trying to gain from this?
“You shitty bastard,” Chuuya hissed.
“It’s a simple promise, chibi. I’m not asking you for a double suicide,” Dazai simpered, but he knew the cheery facade was poor. Chuuya saw right through it as he always did.
“You don’t get to ask me shit like that.”
“Why not?” He was digging, Dazai knew it. He was digging for something his bones knew was there, but his mind didn’t let such a notion reach anywhere else. Dazai’s lips kept moving and the words kept rolling off his tongue before he could swallow them back down.
“Because it’s fucking unfair!” Chuuya exclaimed, shooting up from the couch with a glare that would’ve had Dazai limp and lifeless if looks could kill. “You know damn well why I’m not gonna promise something like that and I’m not going to sit here and let you screw with me!”
Dazai was standing now, too, towering over Chuuya and still feeling smaller. He knew he was being unfair, but Dazai had never claimed to be righteous. “Why won’t you? Why won’t you promise that?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“You fucking know why!” Chuuya shouted, shoving Dazai with enough force that he stumbled backward into the table behind him. “Don’t act like an idiot, you know exactly what you’re doing.”
“And what’s that?” Dazai asked with an innocent tone that didn’t match the expression on his face. Something dark and reminiscent of a mask the Demon Prodigy would wear, but there was a flash of emotion in his eyes that wasn’t usually there.
“Trying to get something out of me,” was Chuuya’s answer and he crossed his arms over his chest, looking every bit the mafia’s fiercest dog.
“Really? What might that be?” Dazai asked, but they both knew what it was. They’d known from the second this conversation began.
“You fucking bastard.” Chuuya stalked toward him with a vicious scowl and stood close enough that they could share breath if Dazai leaned down a bit. “Why don’t you admit it?”
“Admit what?” The words were sharp and breathless.
Chuuya snorted without any amusement. “Fine. But I’m not promising you shit and you won’t make me. Get out of my apartment.”
Dazai leaned down until their noses were centimeters apart and whispered into the shared space: “Is it because Chuuya’s scared?”
Something snapped. Chuuya reached up and smacked Dazai across the cheek. The crack echoed throughout the hollow room. “You’re a manipulative shithead and you can go fuck yourself,” Chuuya snarled.
Dazai was slow to turn his head back to Chuuya and when he did, he was sure the feral gleam in Chuuya’s gaze was reflected in his own. “Promise me,” he repeated quietly.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why the fuck are you so set on this?” Chuuya fired back.
“You first.”
“Like hell.” Chuuya stared him down with all the intensity of a god, and Dazai might have felt shivers lick his spine had he been less distracted. “You’re a fucking coward, Osamu. You know that?”
Something stalled in Dazai’s head. Osamu. The way it rolled off of Chuuya’s tongue was addicting.
“Finally speechless? Get the hell out of my apartment.”
Dazai blinked back to reality. “You never answered my question,” was all he said.
Chuuya’s scoff lacked any amusement. “Neither did you, so I guess we’re even.”
Dazai couldn’t make sense of all the things spinning around in his head, or all the hot feelings bubbling up in his chest. He stared down at Chuuya with an unreadable expression. “I don’t want you to die.” He spoke quietly, but Chuuya heard him just fine.
“The hell? At least try a little harder to make it convincing if you’re gonna say shit like that,” he scowled.
“It’s true.” Dazai’s voice almost sounded hollow as he spoke. “You can’t die because of me.”
Chuuya blinked. “Bullshit.”
“I answered your question,” Dazai began, shifting the subject. “It’s only fair you answer mine.”
Chuuya searched his eyes for any sign of a ploy or trick, but when he found none he crossed his arms over his chest—a defensive position, Dazai had learned. Something he didn’t think Chuuya even realized he did when he felt backed into a corner or was trying to decipher something. “Do you really need me to spell it out for you?” he asked.
Dazai didn’t say anything.
Chuuya paused. “Get out of my apartment.”
“That wasn’t the deal, chibi.”
“There was no deal,” he hissed. “Get the fuck out.”
Dazai hummed and a devilish smirk tickled his lips as he leaned over. He knew he shouldn’t be taunting Chuuya like this, that he should just say it himself, but something about that made him feel so sick he could barely consider it. “Promise me,” he murmured, looking Chuuya dead in the eyes with so many things written on his face that his expression was indecipherable. “Promise me, Chuuya.”
“Get. Out.”
“No.”
Chuuya's eyes flared. “Get out before I throw you out the window myself,” he snarled, so close he could kiss Dazai if he wanted to.
“But you won’t, will you? You’ll say it a hundred times and you’ll never do it.” Dazai’s grin widened as he stared down at Chuuya, completely unfazed.
“Try me, asshole.”
“Fine then. Throw me out the window.” Dazai held his hands up in mock surrender, still smiling that crazed grin and looking just like the person that murdered an entire corporation without even flinching just a few hours ago.
They stared at each other for many long, long moments in that terrible silence before Chuuya stepped away, crossing his arms over his chest again.
“I knew Chuuya wouldn’t do it,” Dazai hummed.
Chuuya didn’t respond.
“Why not? Why can’t you make good on all those promises, Chuuya? Why are you—”
“Because I fucking love you!” Chuuya shouted, shoving Dazai backward until his back hit the wall as Chuuya stared him down. Suddenly, the apartment once again descended into that awful, suffocating silence.
Dazai wouldn’t call the feeling in his chest surprise. He wasn’t surprised. Something deep, deep in his soul knew that already. That didn’t mean he wasn’t stunned into stillness.
Chuuya ran a hand through his hair, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he shook his head. Dazai didn’t say anything as he continued to stare at Chuuya, unable to move and unable to say anything. Chuuya’s gaze flicked up to meet his for a brief moment. “But you knew that already.”
Dazai blinked. “Yeah,” was the quiet reply. “I did.”
Chuuya threw himself onto the couch, running another hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he whispered.
Dazai took a few steps toward him, but Chuuya didn’t look up. “I love you, too.” That made him look up. Chuuya narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. “And I would never be able to live with myself if I knew that you died because of me.” Dazai sat down next to him, looking off to some obscure point in front of him as their shoulders touched.
“That’s just too damn bad,” Chuuya muttered. “You don’t get to ask me to make shitty promises like that.”
“Chuuya—”
“Dazai, shut up for two fucking seconds.”
He blinked.
“I’ll use Corruption however I want. You know you gave me an unfair promise because you’re a manipulative little shit and I’m not agreeing to it. Ever.”
Dazai stared at Chuuya, who still wasn’t looking at him. He still felt the small spark of anger in his chest, but Chuuya was just as stubborn as he was sharp. Dazai was smart enough to know when to back out of a fight he couldn’t win.
“You said Dazai.”
Chuuya looked at him then with confusion written in the creases of his furrowed brows. “Huh?”
“You called me Dazai,” he repeated. “You used my first name earlier.”
Chuuya still looked confused.
“I liked it.” Dazai spoke the quiet admission so softly that Chuuya almost missed it.
Almost, because Chuuya didn’t miss it and grinned instead, leaning forward until his nose was almost touching Dazai’s. “Well,” he murmured, and his breath fanned over Dazai’s face. He smelled like gunpowder and cinnamon. “You're a stupid mackerel. Osamu."
Dazai hadn’t noticed that the bandages around his eye were coming loose. He didn’t bother to tie them back up when they fell down and around his shoulders. Chuuya followed that and tugged them off of him—slowly, to give Dazai the opportunity to stop him, which Dazai didn’t take—tossing them onto the coffee table by the couch. Dazai inhaled a sharp breath when Chuuya reached up and brushed calloused fingertips over his now-exposed eye, along his cheekbone, down to his lips, where they stayed.
“You’re an idiot,” Chuuya murmured. “Kiss me.”
All the thoughts eddied out of Dazai’s head and when he made no move to fulfill Chuuya’s request, Chuuya sighed and moved to cup Dazai’s nape, pressing their lips together in a soft kiss.
Dazai regained some of his senses and moved a clumsy hand to Chuuya’s waist, running a thumb over his hipbone while the other moved to Chuuya’s cheek. He sighed when Chuuya nibbled gently at his bottom lip and leaned further into the kiss, but when Chuuya whispered a quiet “I love you, Osamu,” against his lips was when Dazai melted.
Neither one of them was sure how long they stayed there, intertwined so carefully as if they were made of glass, and one wrong touch would shatter them. Their hands were hesitant, unsure, clumsy, and something about it vaguely amused Dazai. He felt like a teenager and not a murderer.
Chuuya pulled away all too soon and the small whine that escaped Dazai’s lips upon the loss of contact had him chuckling faintly. His hands stayed where they were and he studied Dazai's face for a moment, taking in the pink flush in his cheeks and his kiss-swollen lips, similar to Chuuya’s own. Dazai felt himself smile faintly and began tracing Chuuya’s face, all of the sharp angles and planes there. His pronounced brow, stark cheekbones, the line of his jaw. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.
Dazai wasn’t quite sure if he said that out loud, but from the slight parting of Chuuya's lips, Dazai could conclude that he had. “Huh?”
“You are.”
While it was too dark to see Chuuya’s flush, Dazai knew it was there. “Bastard,” was Chuuya’s muttered response as he leaned his forehead on Dazai’s chest. Dazai’s hands were quick to find Chuuya’s hair, carding through the fiery curls with impossible gentleness. They stayed that way for many long, quiet moments, soaking up the company of each other and recovering from the emotional wear of their conversation.
“Chuuya?” The word was quiet, whispered into the silence almost shyly, as if Dazai was scared to shatter it and risk everything turning out to be some kind of cruel dream.
“Hm?”
“Will you make me a promise?”
Chuuya grunted in response but said nothing.
“Promise me you won’t get killed.”
Dazai assumed Chuuya’s following silence was because he expected Dazai to elaborate, and Dazai decided to indulge him just this once. “I don’t want to have to write your eulogy. Paperwork and I don't get along very well.”
Chuuya huffed a deep chuckle, one that rumbled through Dazai’s bones. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Okay. I promise.”
Dazai hummed, pressing a gentle kiss into Chuuya’s hair along with his silent thank you. After a few more moments, Chuuya sat up fully and smiled a tired half-smile. “We should go to bed.”
Dazai had the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows with a suggestive grin. “Oh? I didn’t realize the slug would be—“
“Shut up,” Chuuya grumbled, standing up and beginning the trek to his bedroom with a lazy wave. “Sleep on the couch if you finish that thought.”
Dazai promptly shut his mouth and followed Chuuya into the bedroom, watching as Chuuya crawled under the covers with a self-satisfied smile and closed his eyes.
This wouldn’t be the first time they shared a bed. There had been countless missions where they'd needed to stay in too-small hotel rooms, share body heat so they didn't freeze to death, were too tired and too dizzy from blood loss to even consider sleeping on the floor.
This would be the first time it was explicitly voluntary.
Apparently, Dazai had spent too long mulling it over, because Chuuya cracked open an eye and studied him with a frown. “Are you just gonna stand there like a fucking creep?”
Dazai stumbled toward the bed and slipped in next to Chuuya with a dazed look, rolling onto his side and finding himself face-to-face with his partner.
Chuuya eyed him for a few more short moments before pressing a chaste kiss to Dazai’s lips. “Love you,” he mumbled.
Dazai blinked.
But then Chuuya rolled over, his back to Dazai, and grumbled, “go the fuck to sleep.”