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His name was Dazai Osamu, and he was going to touch the stars.
He would stretch his arms out wide, fingers reaching for the sky, as his eyes trailed over the thousands of dots littered across the it.
The stars would whisper back to him, because they had heard him. They had heard his voice withering through that cracked and altered throat as he attempted to force his very core out of his veins. As he watched the blood pool down into the cerulean waters of his confined, porcelain bath, those stars would reach down from the heavens and trickle down onto his skin, swirling into the forgotten blood, murmuring words that would never make it through Dazai’s mind.
Because Dazai’s eyes had closed long ago and his heart had dangerously slowed, his skin had lost the shiver’s that snaked through his bones as the freezing cold curled up around his spine, nestling its way into his neck.
Then, when hands wrapped around his arms, applying a light pressure that would make Dazai squirm in the now cool water, his bandages would stick uncomfortably to his skin as those unnaturally warm hands put in an aching effort to unwrap him. They would peel off the final layer of Dazai’s body, getting a chance to look at his butchered soul.
Though Dazai did not feel a thing because those stars had lured him away, letting him curl up into himself as they incarcerated his mind into a measly, miniature cage. His brain was clogged with blissful, teary-eyed angels as they plucked out every thought attempting to make it through the thin film patching his skull, as they expertly weaved it into something beautiful with their golden needle-sized hands.
The smell of patchouli wafted through his sinuses, the sweetness tickling his nose and hazing his brain, while the hints of spice made his fingers twitch. He could imagine himself surrounded by arching trees as he lay stiff in saturated soil, the light leaves above him drooping from the previous night's rain.
Those warm hands were clutching his face now, and that lulling patchouli was accompanied by a faint tickle from what Dazai could only imagine was hair. It brushed against his cheeks and over his eyelids, and the overwhelming urge to tear off his face was apparent at the front of his mind.
There was a voice attempting to burst through the film covering his ears, becoming louder after each agonizing minute.
Dazai couldn’t help but feel as if he was sitting in the depths of hell, lying pliant with his hands resting on his chest, eyes staring blankly at the void above him as he was poked and prodded with fiery hot pokers and mocked with words that stung deeper than any metal could. His legs were securely tied together, while his head was tightly secured with leather. He couldn’t escape the neverending torment, the heat licking up the souls of his feet and his hair sticking to his face, caked in dirt and sweat.
The only difference to that agonizing image that had been placed in his mind (which had now been deftly plucked out by those delicate, golden hands of those blessed angels crouched on the edge of his skull) was that he was shivering from a cool breeze that had suddenly washed over his exposed skin.
He had been distantly aware of the bandages that had always been expertly wound around his limbs every morning being removed by those warm hands, and he had been fully aware of the ghosting touches that trailed along his limbs, the unknown presence having not a single clue that he was merely retreated in his mind, and not dead.
But having been finally dragged out of the tub where he had planned to end his suffering and being bombarded with yet more violent shivering as his bare body was exposed to the freezing chill of the sterile bathroom was a peculiar event that had not entirely made itself known in his mind.
What was worse about this incident was that this odd presence that seemed rather adamant about attempting to draw him back to the land of the living (back to this dull and lifeless bathroom that he had managed to stumble across quite late into the evening) had decided it to be an excellent idea to carelessly toss his shivering frame onto the iced tiles below, subjecting him to yet another round of physical discomfort in the depths of the chilling waters tumbling beneath the surface of his mind.
He could feel the carved octagon-shaped tiles glued to the bathroom floor digging into his scars, mocking his pathetic body. The warm hands that had gently fished him out of that bath were now pulling away, which meant that the one source of warmth he had would leave him to rot.
Dazai’s mind was understandably not in the right space, and the angels weaving their pretty lies in his mind, accompanied by the devils that had been effortlessly shooed away would likely agree. This would easily explain why Dazai’s nimble fingers blindly stretched out—as if he were reaching for the stars—and clasped themselves around a limb loosely wrapped in fabric. The mysterious presence had frozen, their body locking up and their breathing halting.
Dazai knew their breathing had faltered because he had been listening to the once harshly drawn-in breaths when this supposed apparition had stumbled across his body curled up in that bath. He had heard as the whispered nothings that threaded through his ears and bounced off the sides of his head fizzled out into a haze. That breathing had slowed down throughout the achingly long few minutes that Dazai and this ghost had been subjected to, which eventually evened out and became steady.
This was how he noticed the harsh exhale as warm air rushed against his cheek, like miniature needles puncturing his pours.
What he supposed was an arm (which was quite odd for him to know, given his state of mind) had attempted to pull away, and he tried to push down the agonizing feeling that stabbed through his heart.
Though this arm did not get away because as his grip threatened to slip, his fingers clasped around a hand at the very last second and intertwined with it. He recognized this hand as something familiar—something that he had faint memories of before, when it placed itself against his neck and sent shivers down his spine, or when at times, it would curl up into a fist and would be followed by an aching pain in his bicep.
If he could truly understand what had happened at this moment, this millisecond in the infinite expanse of time, he would have likely attempted to scurry his way back into that cool bath and ignore the way his skin would continue to shrivel up from being soaked for too long and drag his head under the water to expertly finish the job.
Surprisingly, this did not happen when his eyes squinted open. Because for some odd, unexplainable reason, Dazai had somehow fought off this bone-deep exhaustion as he lay, slowly bleeding out on the tiled bathroom floor, in favor of getting a look at the achingly unfamiliar apparition that had the touch of a long lost lover.
His eyes would make contact with cerulean blue—although compared to that dull, transparent blue of the still water in that bath that he had described as such, this piercing gaze was infinitely more wonderful than any color he had ever seen. At that moment, Dazai would feel a flustered shame seep through his muddled mind because he should have never described that lifeless water as something that was so much more.
Those eyes stared at him with such intense regard that an overwhelming urge nestled into his gut, practically begging him to shut his eyes and permanently block himself from something so angelic. But Dazai could not close his eyes as his wonder trailed up to the angel's hair, the uneven wisps curling around his neck and winding up to his ear. The color was that of something Dazai could never truly describe other than a blinding flame that perfectly framed this being’s disappointedly blurred features.
It was a delightful indication that this figure was blessed because even the angels with delicate hands had gone silent to admire the beauty before him.
The warm hands he had pathetically grasped onto had tightened in his hold, and the angel was now lowering itself down so their heads were held at the same eye level.
Dazai felt uncharacteristically small as he weakly propped himself up on one elbow, his forearm digging into the tiles. His shredded arms stung painfully at the pressure, but Dazai had long lost any mortal feeling the minute he was blessed with this creature in front of him. His other hand, weakly intertwined with the other’s fingers, was feebly grasping for dear life as his strength threatened to give out.
The angel seemed to have taken pity on him because it crouched down and brought its other hand to the back of his head, slowly lowering him to the floor. What surprised Dazai was the feeling of something soft and padded below him, and his eyes fluttered as he relaxed into the floor.
But the second he did so, the hand attempted to pull away. His eyes immediately shot open once more, and he couldn’t help but feel that something deep inside his chest was slowly rotting away at his heart every second this angel attempted to retreat.
Dazai couldn’t help but whine as he tugged the hand closer to him, watching as the figure in front of him struggled not to stumble.
“Dazai—”
Dazai let go.
Because he had not expected to hear.
Dazai had expected to continue his groggy moments teetering between life and death, blissfully unaware of the dozens of sounds around him.
Hearing that familiar voice bury itself into his mind, sparking his thoughts like a stick of dynamite, made a restlessness churn inside himself that he could never find himself explaining.
“Dazai, stop,” Chuuya murmured, his voice cutting through the previously heavenly silence of the bathroom like a swift bullet through his heart. “I need to get you new bandages.”
Yet another pitiful whine wormed its way out of Dazai’s throat, and he couldn’t help but curl in on himself as the shivers running through his skin once again made themselves apparent. His fingers dug into his forearms as he attempted to clear the remaining haze in his mind, but this was rewarded with a strangely harsh tug from Chuuya as he pried Dazai’s hands away from himself.
Even though Chuuya was trying to do something good—trying to stop Dazai from continuing this aching cycle of self-destruction—the only thing in the front of Dazai’s mind was that harming himself brought Chuuya’s touch back. Those warm hands had briefly been reunited with Dazai’s rotting skin, and it filled that hole in his heart for that fleeting moment.
So Dazai tugged his hands away, only to bring them back to his arms and tear. It was an agonizing feeling that sent a euphoric shock up through his biceps and curled between his shoulders, and then it was followed by Chuuya’s warm hands grabbing at his own.
“Dazai, please,” Chuuya murmured, his eyes darting between the door and Dazai’s face. This was when Dazai realized something crucial; his vision had cleared, and he could thoroughly scan the angel before him.
This angel was something magnificent, even if Dazai got to look at him every day.
Chuuya’s gloves were gone, which shocked Dazai. It left his bare hands smeared with blood, no doubt from attempting to pull Dazai out of his wine-drowned bath. His feet were covered in soft, gray socks that somehow had been saved from the contents of Dazai’s breakdown.
As Dazai’s eyes trailed up Chuuya’s frame, he noted the countless wrinkles across his work clothes. The white button-up that usually sat neatly underneath his tight gray vest was practically slipping down his chest.
“You’re not critical, but I don’t want to just leave you here without any coverage,” Chuuya spoke again, his eyes never abandoning that irrational glimmer of care dipped deep inside his pupil.
Dazai let his head fall back into the cushion below him as his eyes traced the ceiling.
His heart sped up a fraction of a degree before he expertly lowered it once more. “Fine,” he muttered, his breath nearly hitching as he saw Chuuya immediately rise.
Dazai’s eyes trailed after Chuuya’s frame as he set a swift pace out of the bathroom. He quickly disappeared behind a door, and Dazai promptly wondered where he exactly was.
His mind tried to slip back into the moments before—when he had decided to attempt to kill himself.
He could truly only remember days ago when he had stumbled home from the agency, attempting to find some form of joy out of getting the weekend off. If he had gotten drunk or done drugs, that memory had expertly vanished from his mind in a flutter of wings.
A door creaked open, and Dazai’s eyes snapped up to Chuuya, whose left hand wrapped around the frame while his right clutched a roll of bandages. He silently tossed them to the floor, and they landed perfectly in the middle of Dazai’s chest.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” Chuuya murmured, slipping out the door with a light click before Dazai could utter a word. Dazai felt a frown stretch across his face, and he let his eyes trail down to his body.
He was still naked.
A sudden burst of embarrassment bloomed in his chest, and he quickly sat up, ignoring the wave of dizziness that crashed over him. As he steadied himself with his shaking palms, he slowly lifted himself up to his feet, stretching his legs despite their trembling. His ears rang with a high-pitched sound that threatened to deafen the golden-touched angels weaving peacefully in his head.
He stumbled over to the cabinets—which he distantly recognized as the ones in Chuuya’s apartment, although it didn’t quite register in his mind—and pulled out a spare change of clothes he always kept there for that occasion.
Though it was strange that he hadn’t a clue where he might be, he somehow had mapped this “unfamiliar” place deep inside of his mind. He could smell the familiar scent of his own shampoo that Chuuya had given him months ago. It was a light lavender vanilla, although always overrun by the sharp aroma of that achingly intimate patchouli drifting around his head, bombarding him with the smell of Chuuya.
He splayed his clothes messily beside him as he once again found himself on the floor. He crooked his legs to give him the perfect angle to wrap himself and began grueling work.
Surprisingly, encasing himself in his wraps let a light film settle over his mind. It felt like the soft brushes against his scalp, trailing along his hairline from the gentle touches of Chuuya’s gloved fingers. It made his eyelids droop and his heartbeat steady independently, while the tremors in his hands slightly ceased.
He continued his way up until he was eventually expertly weaving the bandages around his arms, spinning around and around as they folded perfectly into the crook of his elbow until they settled nicely at his shoulder blade. He then maneuvered his now steady fingers down to his torso before alternating between each hand as he deftly twirled the thin cloth around his chest.
He added the last touch with a gentle swirl of his wrist as he spun a small piece of cloth around his throat, covering the markings of long-gone bruises and dull, white slashes littered over his Adam's apple.
He leaned against the counter's drawers behind him as he tugged on a pair of black trousers that fit his legs perfectly. He shuddered at the feeling of the rough fabric brushing against his exposed hip bones but ignored it in favor of buttoning his pants.
He threw on the white dress shirt fairly quickly, slipping his arms through without it snagging his tightly wound bandages. He folded the cuffs and straightened out his collar despite knowing he wouldn’t be leaving this home any time soon.
As soon as he was finished, a knock was heard outside.
Dazai’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the door handle as it slowly rotated open, and a head of fiery orange hair peeked through.
Before making eye contact, Chuuya’s gaze trailed along Dazai’s body, checking for suspicious wounds or damp spots in the bandages. His eyes darted between Dazai’s bare hands and chest, open perfectly for him to see, given the few buttons that sat loosely apart.
Chuuya slowly strode into the small room, gently closing the door behind him. He approached Dazai as if he was a wounded animal before kneeling down in front of him with his arms folded in his lap.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asked, eyes boring into Dazai’s own with intense regard. Dazai couldn’t help but stare at his tousled hair and red lips, no doubt having been marred by Chuuya’s teeth from worry.
Dazai didn’t think he deserved that worry, no matter what form it was handed to him in.
Dazai frowned, mimicking Chuuya’s nervous fidgeting. He had slowly developed the tiny ticks that his partner displayed throughout their time living together, and now it felt as if Dazai was a figment of Chuuya's heart, not truly real, and merely a creature burrowed deep inside of his core to devour his essence.
“I can’t remember,” Dazai muttered, eyes darting down to his hands. He could see the faint marks of the dozens of episodes where he had punctured his palms in a panic. He hadn’t been able to completely close them for weeks.
Chuuya’s eyes softened a sliver of an amount, eyebrows lowering and lips parting. He pushed himself up from kneeling on the ground to shuffle next to Dazai, with his back against the drawers and his legs sprawled out in front of him.
In this new arrangement, it was awfully easy for Dazai to rest his head on his partner’s shoulder. Chuuya no doubt had done this on purpose, even going as far as shifting closer to make himself more enticing for Dazai’s heavy head.
In a moment of weakness, Dazai let his head gently fall to the left, feeling his temple dig uncomfortably into Chuuya’s bone. He felt a hand reach up and tangle itself into his scalp, gently scratching along his neck and hairline, sending shivers down his spine.
“Your coworkers were wondering where you were today, so they called me.”
Dazai let out a huff of air. He could imagine what it had been like for Chuuya to receive that call; no pleasantries were in sight for most of the agents, other than the kids.
Dazai smiled at that because he was just now realizing how soft his partner was. Chuuya could murder a stack of men threatening to take down the mafia with a mere flick of his wrist but melted under someone like Kenji, one of the kindest people in the world.
“I’m surprised—” Dazai suddenly felt a yawn worming through his throat and weakly brought up the back of his hand to cover it. He could feel Chuuya’s amused gaze on the top of his head as a stray tear from exhaustion rolled down his cheek. “surprised they would call you, of all people.”
“Actually, they didn’t. They called your phone, but apparently, you had left it here before disappearing off to wherever it is you went for the weekend.”
Dazai let his eyes flutter closed as he thrust his hand onto Chuuya’s chest. He noticed his breathing hitch but ignored it in favor of feeling Chuuya’s torso rise and fall. It was a nice reminder that he was alive and that this wasn’t some extravagant figment of Dazai’s imagination he had conjured after successfully killing himself.
Dazai felt his face heat up as a hand was placed atop his own, interlacing with his fingers. “Today’s Monday?” He lazily muttered, trying to push down the warmth swirling in his chest.
“Yes, you stupid Mackerel. Actually, it’s Tuesday, given it’s past midnight.”
Dazai only hummed as he snuggled closer into Chuuya’s body heat.
He was distantly aware of how uncharacteristic he was acting—the soft touches and the clingy behavior that locked both him and Chuuya together in tight chains. He wasn’t used to affection like this, letting certain walls fall down in favor of allowing Chuuya closer to his heart.
It was strange to let someone see how empty he was inside. How cold it would feel if Chuuya reached into his chest and sifted through the dozens of mechanical parts only to find nothing where his heart should be. Dazai was aware his core had been stolen from him long ago, only to be replaced by No Longer Human, the ability that lapped up his very essence and threatened to engulf the humanity of those around him.
“Should you be on suicide watch?” Chuuya suddenly asked, receiving a scoff from Dazai.
“I should always be on suicide watch, Chibi. It’s a part of my charm. What can I say?”
The hand threading through his hair suddenly tightened, and he was being pushed down into Chuuya’s lap. He let himself willingly slide down and shifted his back so he was lying face up.
Chuuya was staring down at him with a gaze that could portray many things. Whether it was anger, given Dazai’s disregard for his own life, worry, though for the same thing, or that intense regard he had whenever Dazai would survive an attempt. That gaze felt as though Chuuya was peering deep into his rotten soul, picking out the small pieces that could be scavenged and weaved together by expert hands.
Dazai’s mind drifted back to the delicate hands of those golden-dipped fairies that now sat silently on the edge of his skull. He could feel fragile fishing wires being thrown into the vast ocean of his mind, attempting to catch a thought that would assist him in this moment of vulnerability.
“It’s not charm, it’s fucking worrying, and I hate seeing you bleeding out on my goddamn bathroom floor!” Chuuya exclaimed, causing Dazai’s previously serene image to disintegrate into thousands of pieces.
“I’m sick of being terrified and not knowing whether or not you’re going to be dead tomorrow!” The hand in Dazai’s hair tightened, causing him to wince. Chuuya seemed to notice this because he relaxed his grip the lightest amount.
Dazai couldn’t bear the angered gaze Chuuya wore in his irises and turned onto his side. His eyes traced the white door frame in front of him and filed the small indents he had expertly noticed throughout his time living here.
Chuuya sighed behind him, and that hand retreated from his hair. Dazai fought the urge to whine, knowing he didn’t deserve that comfort.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, attempting to lace his tone with as much indifference as he could muster. It felt like he was choking on dust as he tried to breathe in, his lungs failing because he couldn’t keep his emotions together.
Dazai knew that he was the reason a heavyweight was threatening to crush Chuuya’s chest every second of every day, but he truly had not a single clue on how to fix it.
“Fuck, Dazai,” Chuuya started, his voice cracking. “You know I love you, but it’s hard, sometimes, and I’m sorry I can’t be enough for you; I’m sorry you can’t love me as much as you want to, but can I just be a little selfish here for once?”
Dazai felt the telltale sign of tears in his eyes as his face stung and his nose cramped. He wouldn’t let those tears fall because if they did, it meant weakness. It meant all those years with Mori were for nothing; he had learned nothing.
But having Chuuya bare his heart and soul out to him, sitting on the bathroom floor after another attempt at taking his own life, Dazai couldn’t help but feel guilty for putting his partner through all this pain.
The angels with those soft, golden hands whispered to him; they told him it was worth tearing down the rest of his walls for Chuuya. The only issue Dazai ran into was that he didn’t know where they ended. He had never been to the end of the labyrinth or the center of his supposedly lost core that had been replaced by the void he called his ability.
Dazai wasn't sure if he could ever let Chuuya see the deepest parts of himself if he had never seen those parts, either. He didn’t know if he could wake up every morning knowing someone on this earth knew every secret about him, every action that made him tick, every flick of the wrist that made him sing and dance.
Yet, those angels whispered sweet nothings into his ears, singing a song that felt like soft kisses peppered across his face after a long night. It felt like the smell of patchouli sweeping through his sinuses and clearing his mind, only leaving room for that one special someone that crowded his thoughts.
“Put that trust that has withered away in your rotten crux into the very core of him, the core that is lush with flowers full of care and consideration. It will blossom into something more.
All you have to do is hope that that lush garden doesn’t depart with the last remnants of your trust, leaving you bare and unable to find those seeds you’ll need for years to come.
Your trust is what makes you, you. Now, it shall make you something more as you intertwine with a lover's embrace and dance in the fire of his eyes, listening to the patter of his heart, letting you know he is entirely alive,” those angels murmured, filling his mind with the love of something that was so entirely unlike him, Dazai wondered if he had finally lost his mind.
He let his head shift back as he stared up into Chuuya’s eyes and wondered what exactly the man above him saw in Dazai that made him stay despite whom he had found himself becoming.
“I do love you, Chuuya,” he whispered, watching as Chuuya’s eyes widened a sliver of an inch, betraying his angered face. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone, including myself.”
“No, don’t say that—”
“I’m serious, Chibi. I can't figure it all out! It’s jumbled in my head, and my thoughts are always tangled, but the one clear thing at the front of my mind is you. You’re like a stupid beacon with your disgustingly bright hair. You know, I never realized how unnatural—”
Chuuya brought a hand up to Dazai’s mouth and gently shushed him. “You’re not getting away from that compliment, Mackerel.”
“Oh, so a declaration of love is a compliment to you now?” Dazai scoffed, rolling his eyes. “What next? Marriage is a new form of friendship?”
Dazai stilled the moment those words left his mouth.
Now, Dazai had not, in fact, been thinking of marriage. Those golden angels on their spots at the edge of his skull that whispered sweet nothings into his ear and the devils with miniature fire pokers that tortured his soul were the only things at the front of his mind. Dazai could admit that Chuuya was with them, too, but marriage had been a completely spontaneous utterance that he immediately felt the need to take back.
Because even though Dazai wasn’t thinking of marriage, Chuuya would assume he had been.
So as Dazai watched the small smile twist onto Chuuya’s face, he couldn’t help but feel painfully thrown into a flurry of emotions as he was yanked out of the previously mellow world in his mind.
“Why is marriage on your mind, Dazai?” Chuuya smugly questioned, pulling his hands away from Dazai in favor of crossing his arms. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
Dazai groaned as he rolled back onto his side and found his eyes tracing those indents in the door frame again. “Yes, and it’s the fact that I’m actually repulsed by the idea of marrying you. I don’t want to even think about it.”
“Well, the fact that it's on your mind—”
“Shut up.”
“What? Can I not—”
“No.”
Dazai heard a small chuckle from the man behind him and couldn’t help but attempt to snuggle further into his lap. Considering he was already in this disgustingly affectionate position, he could at least get as much out of it as possible.
“Are you worth putting trust into, Chibi?” Dazai quietly asked, his mind already trailing back to those little angels. He could hear their faint giggles as they attempted to hush each other, and the air passing their lips sent shivers down his spine.
Chuuya stilled at the question and absentmindedly returned his hand to Dazai’s hair.
“What do you mean?”
“If there was a chance I trusted you…but there was a significant possibility of it ending in agony, should I risk that?”
Dazai waited tensely as Chuuya seemed to consider his question. He could feel tingles shooting down his scalp as Chuuya massaged his head, and his eyes threatened to droop at the calming action.
It seemed like the angels had also gone quiet in anticipation of his question, the only voices left in his mind being the muffled sounds of those torturous devils that had been banished from making themselves apparent in this event.
He could track his controlled breathing as he attempted to match it with Chuuya’s but found himself dangerously close to hyperventilating.
After what felt like an eternity but was realistically only a few seconds, Chuuya answered.
“Dazai, that’s how every relationship works. There’s no guarantee that everything will work out.”
Dazai frowned as he listened to the words. Why would people willingly subject themselves to that unpredictability merely to connect? Was that bond with another so intoxicating that it was worth sacrificing your very soul?
“You know, I put my complete trust in you all those years ago, only for you to leave.” Dazai winced at the words. “But as the years passed, it got easier. I had other people, you know. I knew you were doing something only you could possibly understand, and even though I was rightfully mad, I think some part of myself was rooting for you.”
Dazai could imagine Chuuya alone in this very apartment, wondering what Dazai was up to. He could imagine himself rotting away in that rancid, abandoned hotel for the first few months of hiding, his mind constantly wandering to how Chuuya would feel with him gone.
How Mori would feel with him gone.
Dazai felt guilt seep into his gut, threatening to eat away at his stomach, but Chuuya continued talking, oblivious to the inner turmoil withering Dazai’s abdomen.
“When we reunited, I was angry, even though I thought I had moved on. But after a few more missions together, you eventually came over like the old times…I think all I felt was grateful that you came back. And isn’t that stupid?”
Dazai felt himself freeze when he heard a quiet sniffle from behind him.
“After ridding you from my mind, I welcomed you back with open arms, all because I had never actually moved on. And even now, I still hate you for that, you know. You acted like everything was fine and that you were better. But then I find out you’re still your usual self when I walk in on you sprawled across the kitchen floor with slit wrists.”
“And then I moved in…” Dazai murmured, not knowing whether this story would end with something bittersweet, leaving a pleasant yet mellow taste on the tip of his tongue, or if it would end with a final goodbye.
“Yeah, because I put you on fucking suicide watch since you’re still a maniac.” Chuuya wetly laughed, and Dazai was sure that he was crying. He slowly lifted himself up from Chuuya’s lap, ignoring the slight tremor in his arms. He observed Chuuya’s tear-stained face and the red tint to his cheeks before bringing a gentle hand up and wiping the droplets of water away.
Chuuya looked reserved as Dazai moved closer to him. Dazai knew he was hesitant to show this type of entirely raw emotions around him.
As their bodies pressed together, Dazai cupped Chuuya’s cheek in his hand. Dazai knew the two of them weren’t at all ready for the entirety of this conversation, but he wanted to do something for his partner.
“I wish you had found someone different, Chuuya,” he murmured, wrapping his arm around Chuuya. He assumed that the hitch in breath was from him speaking something truthful, for admitting to something that would have benefited him since the beginning.
He was proven wrong when hands harshly grabbed his cheeks and forced him to lock eyes with cerulean blue. The waves in his irises were storming with anger, and Dazai truly had not a clue as to what could have caused it.
“Are you stupid? Why would I want anyone else? Even though I fucking hate you, it doesn’t mean I would choose another person at all!”
Dazai could only stare at him with astonishment. “You see how that’s contradicting, right?”
“Shut the hell up! I’ve gone through hell being in a relationship with you, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. So don’t bring your self-deprecating words into what was supposed to be a positive conversation.”
“Oh, I thought…” Dazai glanced down at Chuuya’s chest, given it was the only other thing he could look at that wasn’t his eyes. He watched how it rose quicker than usual, given his current anger at Dazai. “I don’t know.”
He was suddenly being thrown into Chuuya’s lap once again. Dazai was getting tired of being manhandled, but he was far too tired to do anything about it.
“Fuck you,” Chuuya muttered, returning his hands to Dazai’s hair. “Don't give yourself the easy way out by being a coward about it.”
“Sorry.”
Chuuya scoffed, and Dazai couldn’t help but realize he had stopped crying. “If you apologize one more time, I’m banning that word.”
Dazai frowned. “I’m not a damn child.”
“What if we got a swear jar?”
Dazai fought the urge to sit himself up once again just to stare into his partner’s eye. “ You want a swear jar?” He asked in disbelief. “That makes absolutely no sense.”
“Well, I guess….” Chuuya trailed off in thought, his fingers stilling on Dazai’s scalp. “What about a suicide jar? Whenever you try to kill yourself, I get your entire monthly paycheck.”
Dazai scoffed. “You’re already rich; stop being greedy.”
“Well, what would stop you from trying to kill yourself, then?!”
Dazai frowned in thought as he stared into Chuuya’s eyes. Nothing truly popped into his mind at the question, and he wondered if there would ever be a time when something could keep him tethered to this world.
He thought about the small things that brought him remnants of joy, foods that Chuuya said made his eyes light up, or places in the city that made him get out of bed with a sliver of excitement.
“You could take me to get crab every day, cook me food like a personal chef, do my paperwork for me, tuck me into bed, take me to all the expensive places…buy me new clothes—”
“Absolutely not, Dazai. I’m not your damn sugar daddy.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Just because I’m nice to other people doesn’t mean I’m going to be nice to you!” Chuuya exclaimed although they both knew he was lying.
Dazai whined and pushed Chuuya’s hands away from his hair. “But Chibi! You have the money, and I thought you loved me!”
“Oh, shut up. Of course I love you. I already buy you crab every damn day!”
Dazai smiled up at him as he hummed in response. It was true that Chuuya likely took too much care of him, but Dazai wouldn’t trade it for the world. He wouldn’t let himself feel selfish, knowing Chuuya cared for him all on his own terms.
“You’re too kind for the world, stupid Slug,” Dazai murmured, resting his hands on his chest as he studied Chuuya’s eyes. He could see the discernible glimmer in them that revealed just how human Chuuya was. It made something deep within Dazai’s chest ache, something that compelled him to take his partner apart merely just to study that intricate humanity nestled into Chuuya’s core.
“Shut up.” His tone showed obvious fake annoyance, and Dazai smiled at the faux words.
“That’s what makes me love you,” he finished, his whisper barely audible in the still air of the bathroom. “You’re the most human person I’ve ever met.”
Dazai watched Chuuya’s face take on that familiar red blush, and his eyes started to water. At times like these, Chuuya tried his very hardest to hold the tears back, but Dazai wasn’t sure why he continued to put in the effort, given he had just cried no more than five minutes ago.
The angels that had been observing ever since they whispered lulling advice into his ear were quietly cheering, and he could almost imagine them jumping around with glee as they finally got something out of the grueling hours they spent weaving Dazai’s thoughts in their intricately gold hands.
Chuuya pulled Dazai into a hug, and Dazai willingly let himself be squashed against Chuuya’s chest. He wrapped his aching arms around his partner’s short frame and squeezed as tightly as his trembling limbs could.
“You’re sappy,” Chuuya muttered into Dazai’s hair, sending sharp tingles down his neck.
“And you’re a sensitive crybaby,” Dazai shot back, pressing himself further into Chuuya’s chest. “And your feelings are repulsive and disgusting, and I can’t believe you contaminated me with them.”
Chuuya let out a watery laugh. “I’m glad they did.”
“Yeah, yeah, Slug. I love you.”
“I love you too, Dazai.”