Work Text:
glistening
adjective
shining with sparkling light.
a·byss
noun
A deep or seemingly bottomless chasm.
November 17th, 2018
Dazai had been gone from mafia for thirty-nine days. That's five and a half weeks, or, an entire month, and more.
He had heard about the death of Oda Sakunosuke and his children, but truthfully, he didn't see the big deal.
Grunts and worthless men who had done more for this company died for less than some shitty assassin who wouldn't kill a man.
But anyway, Chuuya’s relationship with Dazai is rocky; it always has been, and, if the asshole decides to show up again, it probably always will.
But it still feels empty, his big ass, obnoxious penthouse, which he has filled with every last thing he can possibly think of, feels empty.
Who knew that the lack of Dazai, and his shitty duct-taped Converse at Chuuya's door, could make it feel like a black hole had opened in his kitchen, eating up every last feeling Chuuya has ever felt?
Existential thoughts while eating shitty ramen at the dinner table are never a good idea.
Contrary to that, though, Chuuya feels good today. He feels the highlight of the early morning sparkling down, through his window and white curtains. It illuminates the floor below, shining on the wood floors.
Chuuya's heart clenches.
Brown curly hair and honey-brown eyes, arched back over the wood floors, skin glittering in the morning sun, an obnoxious laugh, a snorting staccato in Chuuya's mind.
Chuuya shakes his head, pressing the balls of his hands over his eyes till they ache, and colors dance in the darkness,
He should just get a cat.
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
January 28th, 2017
The bathroom floor is cold, the tile shivers and aches against Chuuya's freckled skin. He used corruption a week ago. Usually, Dazai would take care of him, but he was called for a meeting.
It hurts, it hurts everywhere. Fire and hot pokers stab into his wrists, back, neck, and legs.
Distantly, he can hear the door open, the familiar laugh, and the thumping sounds of Dazai kicking his sneakers across the room.
"...uuya!"
Chuuya is a mess. He is clutching his stomach, curled into a ball.
His eyes are gunky, his mouth reeks of vomit, and his nose drips snot down his mouth and cheeks.
This is shame, the clutching, dark-edged ring of disappointment that lives in the bottom of his throat, the one that shakes his ribs with each whimper and shake.
He can hear Dazai stomp around, typical, looking in each room for Chuuya, before he stops in front of the bathroom.
"Chuuya, you will never believe what happened-" Dazai opens the door, his smile stopping on his face.
The interlude Dazai takes is suffocating.
Chuuya lifts his aching wrist to wipe some of the snot off his face, forcing a smile.
"Hey, hot stuff," Is all he can moan out before Dazai falls to his knees and pulls Chuuya into his arms. The embrace is short, though, before Dazai tugs them both to their feet.
"You’re a mess, fuckin’ idiot." Dazai mumbles.
He holds Chuuya up with thin arms, arms with bones that are already straining under the weight of its skin and blood. And with that thought alone, Chuuya can almost hear his heart clenching.
Dazai takes his sleeves and tenderly, oh so fucking tenderly , wipes the snot from his face.
He takes his thumbs and wipes the gunk and wetness from Chuuya's eyes.
The act makes Chuuya's eyes squint, and the ball of shame in his throat bursts into a squeezing, loving, paralytic drug. Sparkling glitter spreads from his throat to the tip of his nose.
Oh
Oh, shit
This is it. Dazai is it.
Dazai, who wipes Chuuya's snot and tears; Dazai, who puts toothpaste on his toothbrush; and Dazai, who holds him and treats him like nothing less than a human.
It’s like both their eyes are nothing more than trees. Red and blue, swirling and passionate trees, roots forever connected.
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
November 24th, 2018
Snow was so dreadful sometimes.
It got stuck in his hair, making his curls frizzy once it dried.
He always hated Thanksgiving, with everyone scrambling to make shitty food for shitty families who knew absolutely nothing about each other.
And Chuuya? Did he buy the last turkey just so one of those said families would be without turkeys?
Abso-fucking-lutely he did.
Though it is a little embarrassing walking home with a turkey and a bottle of wine in tow all by himself.
But, he's almost home anyway, with light snow crunching under his feet on the sidewalk.
Chuuya has a habit of looking at the people around him, not to be creepy or even in a mafia-protect-yourself kinda way. But in a comforting, self-soothing typa' of way.
Seeing every different person, all on their way to different destinations to be with other different people.
Each person is a warm, soothing, stab in the gut. How the blissfully crippling realization that every person, behind skin and ribs, even farther than the tiniest capillaries, lies a soul. A soul that makes a person something remarkable, something that scintillates like deep blue water.
And he has long forgotten the embarrassment of people-watching.
The first person that passes him is a younger woman, she has long black hair. Hair long enough to make millions of little knots and braids.
Then a man with an older woman, a group of teenage girls, and a father with his daughter.
They all look happy. Effortlessly, obliviously, carelessly, and idiotically happy.
Chuuya looks at his shoes, his feet still crunching into the snow. That's before he sees a pair of familiar shitty sneakers, and it makes his heart stop. Fuck, it makes every last nerve and last ounce of blood stop its course.
He shoots his head up at a boy, probably a little younger than himself, with a brilliant smile on his face.
It's not him.
His teeth are crooked, and he is laughing, laughing with a boy next to him.
He passes Chuuya as if he doesn't exist.
It's not him, but it feels so wrong, so wrong, that all Chuuya can do is stop, with his head turned away from the sun, snow falling into his hair.
Snow dances in his vision, from the tips of Chuuya’s eyelashes, until that boy is nothing but a blur amongst the crowd.
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
July 7th, 2017
Dazai dances past Chuuya with a song blasting on his headphones.
He is mumbling the words while spinning in circles, shaking his head, and tossing the curls of his hair in all different directions.
Dazai giggles, his baggy shorts hiking up gapped, and bandaged thighs with every step he takes.
Chuuya was reading a book—some fancy, French poetry book Kouyou got for him. It's kind of shit; he doesn't understand all the metaphors, and frankly, his boyfriend's shitty dancing is far more entertaining.
Suddenly, said boyfriend, flops on Chuuya, throwing his headphones somewhere behind him as he lays between Chuuya's legs with his arms tight around Chuuya's waist.
"I’d so suck Phoebe Bridger's dick, man... Like what the fuck…" He moans, his raspy voice cracking with laughter. Chuuya can't help but laugh with him.
"Punisher getting to you again?" Chuuya says, fond, as he slides his fingers into Dazai's hair, thumbing behind his ears as he likes.
Dazai looks up at him, and, oh, god. His eyes are darker than black, his lips are pink and cracked, and his beauty marks, dusted and feathered across his face.
He is an ethereal, magical, asshole of a being.
"The day I stop listening to Phoebe Bridgers, I genuinely want you to kill me, and make it hurt, dude."
"For real?"
"For realsies," Dazai responds with a grave look on his face.
᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃
December 24th, 2018
"Hello, Chuuya."
Brown curly hair and honey-brown eyes, standing on his doorstep, in the same coat as before but with a lack of bandages on his eye.
Chuuya can feel his brow furrowing.
"Can I come in?" Dazai mumbles, his voice is soft and raspy, like it always is.
He’s unbearably beautiful, like he always is.
Chuuya is stunned—really stunned—but despite that, he opens his door, and watches as that god-forsaken coat drifts inside, past him.
He toes his duct-taped sneakers off and paces between the bar stools at Chuuya’s island table and his couch before finally deciding to sit on his couch.
"I... uh, I need your help with something; it’s-"
His voice fades to ringing, and...
All Chuuya can do is stare in confusion, which fades into a blinding, blistering rage.
He stomps over to the couch and does what he has been trained to do his whole life: bite.
The force with which he hits Dazai feels like it breaks his own fist; it's not graceful like his martial arts, it's brutal, animalistic like his love for Dazai has always been.
…
There is a moment of silence. There was nothing more than Dazai leaning on his left side, his face turned from the force, his breath slightly hitching, probably from the pain in his face.
Chuuya huffs; it feels like all the wind has been taken out of him.
"What do you want." He mutters.
"Burn it," Dazai immediately mumbles.
Chuuya tilts his head.
"Need you to help me burn it," he says softly.
Dazai brings his arms up, the arms of his coat, into the air. His head tilted downward. The thought of burning his coat brought him too much shame.
"Okay,"
…
…
They created a small bonfire outside a rundown warehouse on the port.
It crackles and burns, with the wood and waste fueling the fire popping into the flames.
Chuuya and Dazai are sitting next to it, one boy on his ass and the other cross-legged.
Dazai is holding, no, clutching, his coat to his chest. His hands shake as he grips furrowed stitches and missing buttons.
He's holding it like he can’t part with it. Like a child, not willing to share their toy.
Chuuya kicks at the dirt next to his hands. "So...are you gonna-"
"Can you turn around?" Dazai says, turning his two-eyed gaze to Chuuya.
"Dude, it's like three o'clock in the morning. Can't you just-"
"Please."
Chuuya glares, shifting his jaw to the side before turning around.
He can hear rustling, presumably, the dirt sliding under Dazai's legs and shoes. He can hear Dazai’s hitching breaths before it's obvious that he calms.
Dazai shifts to his knees and tosses it in.
"Can I-" That's all Chuuya can get out before Dazai is grabbing him by the shoulders and falling into his lap, his face in Chuuya's neck.
There is a beat of silence before Chuuya can feel his rage rising up in saddeningly familiar ways.
"Dazai."
"I know you're angry, but please, just one minute," he whispers.
So he puts his hand in his unwashed, brown hair, and he settles. Because god, whenever it comes to Dazai, he always fucking settles.
…
It's a long process to get Dazai back to his house, but they manage.
He gets Dazai to the couch, where he strips him of his heavy clothes and shoes.
Because it's a habit, taking care of Dazai is habit.
"I know we have to talk about, like, what’s happened," Dazai says suddenly, carefully.
"But can we do it tomorrow? Please?" He looks up to Chuuya, his dark, almost black eyes glimmering in the moonlight.
Chuuya bites his lip; it's nasty; this is all disgusting.
"Sure."
That's all Chuuya can say before turning to his own room.
December 25th, present time
Chuuya wakes to the smell of coffee and the moisture of his shower airing out into his room.
It feels so normal, like it did, so he lets himself breathe it in for a moment.
He walks to his doorway, past the long hallway with picture frames of himself with family and other art pieces his past self deemed worthy enough to hang in his dark corridor.
He sees Dazai standing at the coffee pot. Using his usual mug. He fills Chuuyas up with coffee. He’s freshly showered, and he is in his navy plaid pajama pants and one of Chuuya's baggy black T-shirts.
He feels twisted and disgusted looking at Dazai and how he dares to act normal.
Dazai turns around, staring at Chuuya for a moment before he smiles, brushing his long bangs out of his face.
"Good morning, Chuuya; I was just finishing up." He grabs their cups and brings them to the dinner table before pulling out a chair and sitting down.
"I was hoping we could talk."
Chuuya rubs his eyes, rubbing the gunk out, before sitting down across from Dazai.
Dazai smiles awkwardly before speaking.
They sit in an awkward silence for a moment, and that stings. They have never been awkward, no matter what context or scenery, they have always clicked perfectly.
"Merry Christma-" Dazai starts, timid and with a small smile.
"Why did you leave?" Chuuay watches Dazais smile fall while he chews his words.
"Chuuya-."
"Seventy-seven days, Dazai."
"Chuuya, stop."
"Seventy-seven days, zero messages, zero contact. Nothing." Even Chuuya can’t recognize the venom in his voice.
"Please just sit down." Dazai rushes out.
Chuuya throws his ass down on the chair with bubbling laughter while crossing his arms.
Dazai stares at him, opening his mouth for a moment before he closes it and looks at his fingers, picking at the thin cuticles there.
"I had to leave. It had absolutely nothing to do with you or us." Dazai breathes, his raspy voice cracking on the high notes.
"Right, totally, man!" Chuyas laughs, pulling his hair back from his face.
"Chuuya, I love you." He pauses. "But I had to go; I had to... Fuck; I had to grow up and maybe not be a fucking piece of shit forever."
Chuuya glares, disbelief on his face. "Without me." It's not a question; Chuuya feels it's more like stating the obvious.
Dazai’s eyes go wide. He opens his mouth to say something, but Chuuya beats him to it.
"You know what? You're right." Chuuya stands up, slamming his palms on the wooden table with an exasperated smile. "You should grow up, and us? We will grow apart." Chuuya breathes, his smile slowly dropping.
"We will live our lives with other people. And I've finally come to terms with that being okay. Fuck, with that even being a possibility."
Dazais's expression twists; he has the gall to be fucking upset.
"I don’t want to live my life with anyone else." He mumbles, eyes wide. He has dark circles, like he hasn't slept, as well as more bandages around his wrists and bandaids around his fingers.
With that, all the fire leaves Chuuya, just leaving him cold. "Fuck... You don’t even want me, man."
Dazai tilts his head back in an act of disbelief and says, "I’m literally begging you to stay, Chuuya."
For what feels like the thousandth time these past few days, all Chuuya can do is stare until his face forms into smooth confusion. "How do you do that?"
"What?" he says softly, still picking at his now bloody fingers.
"How can… how can you say that and just leave me? That’s fucked up." Chuuya stands up fully now, pushing his chair in with a loud crash, it makes Dazai blink.
And that pushes clarity into Chuuya. He can see the dusting of bruising on Dazais's face from where he hit him last night. Despite his anger for Dazai, he wishes he kept to himself better, and it almost makes him wanna stop. It makes him wanna hold Dazai until the bruises fade.
Almost.
"But you left, you chose," he lets out a short burst of nearly hysterical laughter, "you chose whatever the fuck is out there that you deem important. But if you really loved me, there wouldn’t be a choice. There wouldn’t be second thoughts-"
"God, because it’s not about you!" Dazai interrupts, slamming his hand down, raising his voice.
Chuuya has never heard Dazai raise his voice. He's seen Dazai angry, beaten, and bruised. He has seen him so stuck in his own head that he can only think of killing himself. But despite all those brutal emotions, he's never heard him yell.
"I was trapped, Chuuya. I was trapped in a hole that I couldn’t crawl out of by myself. And all you can think about is yourself!" He throws his hands in the air, exasperated.
He points at Chuuya, his voice dripping a poisonous venom that Chuuya has never heard before. " That’s what’s fucked up . Because a real friend, someone who loves me like they say they do, wouldn’t do anything like what you’re doing right now."
"Don’t act like I did anything wrong," Chuuya says, his brow and lip twitching under the weight of melancholy and anger.
Dazai breaks out in nearly insidious laughter: "You’re.. you’re doing it now, and you don’t even notice! Oh my fucking god!"
Dazai shrugs, walking to the side of the table and pacing while he shouts. "You know what? You’re right; you are always right, so fuck it. Let’s grow apart, or whatever fucking stupid, profound bullshit you were saying. But you fucking remember," He walks over to Chuuya, pointing at him. Tears are in his eyes, and his voice cracks under the weight of unreleased emotions. "That despite this selfishness, I still want you.
Right here, right now, I came back to you, and I want you."
"…Osamu-"
"I care about you so much. I trust you with more than just my life."
Dazais face falls, crunching in on itself with what seems like a decade's worth of emotion. His slightly wet hair falls over his face as folds over a bit.
"But I... I lost him, Chuuya. I lost him; he slipped through my fingers, and there was nothing—" he sniffs,"—nothing I could’ve done about it."
"Osa-"
Dazai sniffs again, walking backward while scrubbing his eyes." And I tried . I tried to find the strength to come to you. And for that, I am sorry; for that weakness, I am so sorry."
He moves his hands away from his eyes and looks at Chuuya with wide eyes.
"But I will never be sorry for leaving."
Chuuya understands.
He’s trying to, at least.
"I will never be sorry for wanting something even slightly better for myself," Dazai says firmly, even though his breaths are nearing hyperventilation.
Chuuya can feel his heart beating outrageously and incessantly. He can see someone he loves so fucking much break.
"And if you can’t accept that, Chuuya—" He swallows, clearly about to say something, before Chuuya pulls him into his arms without another question.
Dazai sighs with a hiccuping sob before he tightly wraps his arms around Chuuya.
"Okay, Dazai. Okay, I understand." He says. Sliding his fingers into Dazai's hair, thumbing behind his ears just as he likes.
Dazai hunches over to lay his head into Chuuya's neck, his shoulders stretching.
Shoulders full of thin bones, straining under the weight of holding up the skin and ribs and a soul. Their soul.
A soul that grows flowers in its deepest, saddest abyss, verklempt and glistening with an emotion that can never be explained.