Archive of Our Own

When Chuuya had thought about falling in love, he had thought of hidden smiles, soft eyes and whispered confessions that made his body course with adrenaline and chest to feel close to bursting.

The unfortunate reality was that, for Chuuya, falling in love felt like none of those things. If anything it felt like being tripped over…only to fall down a flight of stairs…and land flat on his face…whilst a small crowd watched him writhe in agony after the traumatic event.

So Chuuya could not blame his younger self for trying to repress the truth for so long. Sure, if he hadn’t he would have avoided years of embarrassment and emotional constipation, but that would have been too lucky for a boy who had never believed in luck. So, turning to denial to hopefully repress his possible romantic feelings for the most impossible, idiotic, imbecile Chuuya had ever had the misfortune of knowing only seemed logical.

However, no amount of denial could sadly lessen whatever feelings he had for that stupid idiot, because falling in love with this boy was like being hit by a motorcycle, a truck and a bus in quick succession. That was what falling in love with Osamu Dazai was like: painful, embarrassing and unfortunate.

1.

The first and last time that Chuuya Nakahara ever began to question his unequivocal hatred for his partner and constant annoyance, was a rather insignificant event in comparison to the downward spiral that it would send him into. If only he could have seen how well and truly fucked he was. But, Chuuya never was very good at predicting the possible outcomes of his stupidity, that’s what Dazai was always useful for. Except, this time, Dazai could never know, because if he did, well, Chuuya might as well wait for the ground to open up and swallow him where he stood.

Waiting for a meeting to begin had always been the most boring thing that Chuuya had experienced since joining the Port Mafia. Tardiness was not something that Mori tolerated, and so here he stood in the dark, imposing corridor outside of the meeting room, lazily slouched against the wall, twenty minutes before the meeting had even been scheduled to start. Even worse, this time was spent at the side of his partner, who either mindlessly chattered about nonsensical things, to Chuuya’s great annoyance, or goaded the red head into heated squabbling to Chuuya’s even greater annoyance.

“Chuuya should be drinking more milk if he ever wishes to grow bigger than a chihuahua.”

“Not everyone can look like a green bean damn it!”

“And here I thought Chuuya’s only insults were swear words and words he had made up. Your brain is too tiny for anything else.” Dazai’s sneer stretched across his face. Damn bastard.

“You are such a – a- “

“A what, have you lost the ability to talk?”

Despite Chuuya’s fists never failing him, words often did. “A bum head!”

“Bum. Head.” Dazai shifted his gaze to Chuuya for the first time during their interaction, a look of complete, unmasked judgment illustrated by the scrunch of his eye brows and the tensing of his jaw. Reading Dazai had always come easily to Chuuya.

“Yes.” Chuuya lifted his head in defiance despite his embarrassment.

“What does that even mean? Describe it too me, my intelligence is far too superior to understand simpleton.”

“In two words?”

Dazai rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

“Osamu Dazai.”

At that, Dazai’s features did another curious thing where his eyes crinkled at the corners and the area around his lips tensed, as if being willed not to move. Masked amusement. Sometimes, Chuuya wished that those lips would just lift for once, that they would twist into something that wasn’t a fake smile, a cold sneer or a judgmental frown. In the full year that the he had known the idiot, he had never seen a genuine smile. Chuuya imagined what a genuine smile would look like on the face of the Demon Prodigy. It would have looked prett-

The large oak meeting room doors swung open, startling Chuuya from where he had been slouched and sparing him from his wandering thoughts. Mori stood in the door way, all cat like smile and hidden claws. If it was anyone else, Chuuya would have mistaken the contained darkness that hid behind his eyes for passiveness. But it was not anyone else. Dazai grew taller at Chuuya’s side, posture pulled taut, but his shoulders relaxed to emanate his ease and care free mask. But it was just that. A mask.

“The guests will be arriving soon, be sure to remain on guard.” Mori’s voice was cool and callous despite it being released from upturned lips. It made the hair on the back of Chuuya’s neck stand on end and the warmth of a god smoulder under his skin, ready to defend and attack. The outline of Dazai’s trouser pockets shifted, the movement catching Chuuya’s eye: Dazai was subtly tensing his hands into white knuckled fists in his pockets. Mori’s eyes glimmered in satisfaction as he watched his executive squirm, as much as Dazai would ever show.

As Mori turned his back to the pair of them, returning to the meeting room, Chuuya released a breath that he had not realised he had been holding. Until the older man spun around again, eyes roving over Chuuya’s face. He looked deceptively calm, seemingly contemplating something. Chuuya’s gloves suddenly felt restrictive. The moment of silence grew pregnant with tension like a ballon ready to pop.

His eyes flicked to Dazai. “Clean him up.” It was an order.

Mori finally disappeared back into the meeting room, the oak doors shutting silently. Chuuya felt his shoulders sag and the gloves loosen their restrictive hold. But the god still thrummed hot and angry under his skin, pins and needles stinging the ends of his finger tips. Beside him, Dazai just sighed as if the whole interaction had just drained him of energy.

“Can Chuuya not take care of himself? He preens like a peacock anyway.” The taller huffed before suddenly swivelling towards Chuuya.

Before Chuuya had the time to protest or even understand what was happening, cold fingers grasped his chin, shoving his face up to meet Dazai’s eyes, well, eye. The contact sent a static prickle down Chuuya’s spine, a glacial wave numbing and soothing the calamity that strained against him. No longer human always had this effect on him, but it was never less shocking when he felt it.

To Chuuya’s confusion, his cheeks started to heat as Dazai brought his other hand to roughly wipe at the side of his face. His eyebrows were pinched in frustration, annoyance and…something else. Something that Chuuya couldn’t quite read. From this close, he could feel Dazai’s breath ghost over his face and the warmth of his face suddenly grow hotter. It was then that Chuuya started to struggle against his hold.

“Sit still you oaf.” Was all that Dazai said and Chuuya, for some unknown reason, felt the need to comply, relaxing into the grasp of those long, cold fingers, until he was freed.

The shorter just stood there, unmoving, staring at Dazai as he purposefully put space between them, avoiding eye contact. When the weight of Chuuya’s stare grew impossibly heavy, Dazai huffed another sigh of annoyance.

“You had dirt on your face.”

Oh.

That made sense.

What didn’t make sense was the downward spiral that Chuuya as about to fall into.

…

It had been two weeks.

Two weeks of Chuuya panicking because the image of Dazai cradling his face, that he had somehow, unknowingly committed to memory, had plagued his every waking (and sleeping) being.

He was honestly getting worried, because it was not normal to be thinking about someone this often. It was a bit concerning really because every time he was doing his paper work, he was reminded of those long lashes, fluttering across the assholes cheek, or when he was cleaning the dishes, he thought of those slender fingers grasping his chin, or when he was trying to sleep the image of those soft lips-

He was going to kill Dazai.

Of course this was all that bastard’s fault.

Sitting across from Kouyou, who sipped her tea quietly, Chuuya tried not to smash the china cup that was in his hand. Chuuya was pissed. He was beyond pissed. Why had that fucking bandaged asshole managed to keep him up instead of sleeping, again, for the third night this week? He knew what his face must have looked like: scowl etched into his face like a carving in stone. Annoyingly, Kouyou did not mention the bags under his eyes, or messy hair or his permanent bad mood. She was stubbornly quiet. She continued to sip her tea.

They had made this agreement when Chuuya first joined the Port Mafia and was led under Kouyou’s care: as long as it does not interfere with your work, we don’t talk about personal shit. And that’s the way it had been from the get go. Unfortunately, this also meant that some of their time together was spent like this, sitting in silence as Chuuya refrained from putting his fist through the delicate china assortment and Kouyou ignoring him completely. He sighed for what felt like the thousandth time in ten minuets.

Kouyou’s eyes flicked to him, calm and collected before she placed the tea cup down and pointedly looked at him. Chuuya just took a large gulp of scolding tea and avoided her stare.

“If you are not up to sitting with me today, that is okay, you can be dismissed early.” Her voice was always smooth, but also assertive, she was not one for entertaining or tolerating bullshit.

“Im fine.” He bit out. The china on the table shook slightly and he had to repress the tinge of red that was encompassing him.

“You are angry.” Blunt as ever.

“Im always angry.”

“Yes, but now more so than usual.”

He hated her. Hatred came easily to Chuuya. There were many things he hated. He hated bright lights, squeaky hinges, too hot summer days, too cold winter days, wet socks, the smell of sweet things like ice cream and frosting, the tags on the inside of clothes, people touching his stuff, people who pushed his authority, people who teased him, people who were taller than him, people who had brown hair, a brown eye, wore bandages, was too annoying for their own good, whose lips would look nice if he just smiled for once in his god damn life-

Chuuya was getting away from the subject.

The point is, Chuuya hated a lot of things. It may have been partially because he was so quick to anger. He wore the emotion like a second wretched skin. It was he his default feeling. If he didn’t like something, he was angry. If he didn’t have time to relax, he was angry. If he didn’t understand something, he was angry. The emotion consumed him wholly and unapologetically.

But right now, he didn’t understand why he was angry. Sure, he was tired after losing sleep over some lanky freak, but it wasn’t the lanky freak’s fault. Chuuya was not stupid despite what others said. He knew that whatever issue he had, it was his issue, blaming other people for it didn’t just make it someone else’s problem. It wasn’t like Dazai was purposely invading his mind. He had probably already forgotten about the stupid interaction.

So why could he not stop thinking about it?

“I cant stop thinking about something.” He mumbled into the rim of his cup.

Kouyou’s eyes steadily drew away from him, looking around her office. The room wasn’t as dark as others in the Port Mafia building. It was a cream colour, with green plants and shrubs placed in corners of the room, on shelves and on the window sill. The room was peaceful which was surprising considering their field of work. Chuuya hated plants, he could never keep them alive.

“And would this be a something or a someone.” Her gaze returned to him.

The image came back to Chuuya: Dazai. Long lashes that fluttered over his cheeks, eyebrows scrunched together, the firm grasp of cool fingers. He thought of the way the taller boy had furiously wiped at the redhead’s face with his thumb. For a boy who’s only language was violence, the gesture was surprisingly gentle, considering what those hands were truly capable of. Chuuya and Dazai didn’t do gentle. They were far too rough and jagged for that. But the action was close to gentle as they would probably come. He thought of the way the god inside him quietened and the way he melted into his touch. He wondered what it would be like if Dazai was to touch him elsewhe-

“Does it matter?” He grumbled. This was seriously getting out of hand.

“It is quite normal for you to think about other people, I would be surprised if you didn’t.” Well that was…it was surprisingly comforting. Maybe he wasn’t completely crazy for thinking about Dazai, he is his partner after all and they might have to move in together later this year according to Mori. Of course he would be thinking more about him, its only logic- “It is only natural for a boy your age to start to feel romantic and sexual feelings.”

Chuuya violently choked on his tea.

Romantic and…and sexual feelings. No, no, no, no. Kouyou just got the wrong idea. A vastly wrong idea. If it was anymore wrong Chuuya would have her fired for not being able to read the situation, because of her wrongness. There was never a chance in hell that Chuuya Nakahara would ever like like Osamu Dazai. It would just never happen. Not in a million years. Nope.

Kouyou sat contentedly sipping her tea, lips tugged upwards just slightly as Chuuya attempted to regain his composure.

“I- no, that’s- its not… it has nothing to do with- with anything like that.” He spluttered, putting down the tea cup before it was crushed under the gravity of a thousand planets.

“Oh really. Pray tell then what has been on your mind?” She was looking more and more amused by the second.

“Someone’s just been annoying me and- and its just been- it’s annoying!” So much for composure.

“And this person, you think about them often?”

“Too often. It’s pissing me off.” Chuuya sees her mouth tense slightly, but she doesn’t scold him for his language this time.

“And what about this person do you think about?”

Long lashes, slender fingers, nice lips. Right, so he can admit that that is a bit suspicious.

“He’s an asshole.”

“So it’s a boy then.” She looks smug, as if she’s jus won a bet or something.

“It doesn’t matter, the point is that he’s annoying.” Chuuya knows he’s huffing like a petulant child, but could you really blame him when Kouyou thought he had romantic feelings for someone like Dazai.

“What does he look like?” Dazai, he thought, was rather fragile looking. Tall and gangly, he had a likeness to a new born dear, all too long legs and too large eyes, he assumed it was eyes, plural, since one was covered in bandages. He was fine boned, almost gaunt, with prominent cheek bones that would be noticeable even if he did have proper sustenance. The mop upon his head was messy and untamed, looking like he was dragged through a bush daily. Chuuya, if he had to guess, thought he was what people would consider pretty; lean body, chocolate eyes, nice lips-

Chuuya was going to kill himself before he ever told anyone that.

“He’s annoying looking.”

“If you do not have romantic feelings for him, why are you not forthcoming with information about him? Unless you do have something to hide?” She twisted her hair over her shoulder, leaning forward with a knowing smile. She was like a cat playing with its food.

“Look, I don’t like him full stop. How could I like him, romantically, or whatever, if I cant stand him?” He was scared knowing that under the annoyed and exasperated tone, that it was a genuine question.

She hummed thoughtfully, “maybe you do not genuinely hate him. Maybe, you cover your feelings with anger and annoyance because you are scared.”

Chuuya scoffed, “what could I be scared of?”

“Rejection.”

Chuuya felt himself freeze. Rejection. He knew his face was far too open, far too vulnerable for Kouyou to see, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Not in that moment. Not when Shirase had stabbed him. Not when Yuan had betrayed him. Not when the entirety of the sheep turned their backs to him. He wouldn’t be able to do anything when Mori eventually found him no longer of use. Or when Kouyou grew tired of his bad temper. Or when Dazai…or when Dazai realised he was too much for what it was worth.

Chuuya felt his anger flare, ugly and ruthless. He stood abruptly, tipping his chair backwards. He didn’t care to pick it up as he stormed out of the peaceful office. The consequences for the outburst would be severe, but he couldn’t bring himself to care as he rattled the windows in their frames as he charged down the hallway.

What did she know? It’s not like he expected Dazai to stay. He doesn’t care for him anyway. He hates him.

He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hate him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. He hate him. He hates him. He hates him.

2.

Living with Dazai made Chuuya want to pull his hair out.

It had been two months since they were forced to move into an apartment together for “safety reasons” as Mori had put it. But Chuuya doubted that lazy excuse and thought that maybe this new terrible form of torture was for the old, sly bastard’s entertainment. There seemed to be no other explanation for it. Maybe it was some half assed attempt to get the two of them to bond. The only bonding that they had been doing was when Dazai bonded Chuuya’s hair to his pillow with super glue. Losing a significant amount of his hair that he had been trying to grow out before having to cut it off was only embarrassing for a good thirty seconds before Chuuya had managed to rip a few fist fulls of hair from the brunette’s scalp. He had been smug after that.

So two months in and they were still fighting like cats and dogs. Chuuya doubted that their arguments would ever stop, it was in Dazai’s blood to aggravate and annoy Chuuya, and it was in Chuuya’s to respond with swift kicks and hard fists. They complemented each other in that weird round about way. Brain and brawn.

However, today something was different. The whole atmosphere of the apartment felt off. Chuuya could tell from the moment he left his room to make his morning coffee, that today was one of Dazai’s bad days. He knew it so instinctually, the same way someone knew what a breeze or water felt like. He had noticed it a few times since they moved in together. On days like these, Dazai seemed to be less of a human and more of a hallucination, lingering in Chuuya’s peripheral vision, less tangible. The apartment was no longer filled with loud arguing and cursing or the sounds of them busying around getting their work done. Now it was filled with a profound, stagnant silence.

Chuuya sat pressed into the corner of the couch, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. The apartment was dark, lamps exuding warm light, but without the ferocity of the ceiling light (Dazai always grumbled about them being too bright). Everything was silent and dark, which may have been why Chuuya jumped when he saw a figure lurking in the doorway. He hadn’t even heard him, as if it was like a spectre. Upon closer inspection, it was just Dazai. But again, on days like this, there wasn’t much of a difference between the two. His face was completely blank, both eyes uncovered, void of any expression. His eyes were hardened and glazed, far away. As the boy lingered in the doorway, Chuuya stared at him, and the ghost stared back. They stayed like that for a few moments before Chuuya dropped is gaze back to his phone, but moved his legs so that he was no longer sprawled across the entire couch. He was making space for Dazai. It was a question and an offer.

A few more seconds passed before Chuuya could hear shuffling feet and the sound of cloth brushing together, until he felt the couch dip as Dazai bundled himself into the opposite corner. Chuuya saw the way he fell in on himself, hunching over as he brought his knees up to his chest to rest his head on. It was as if the weight of the sky was on the boys’s shoulders.

Or the the weight of a mafia empire.

Moments similar to this were rare on Dazai’s bad days. On his normal days he delighted in nothing more than annoying Chuuya with his constant presence. But not on these days. What was even more rare was the way Chuuya felt his gaze turn on him, observing him. He let it happen, keeping his eyes on his phone but his concentration elsewhere.

“Chuuya is weird.” He heard, the voice ruff and low from not being used. He still didn’t look up.

“Yeah, well its not like you can say much.” Chuuya tried to achieve an annoyed tone but it sounded far closer to relief. There was silence for another few minutes before Dazai shifted to completely look at Chuuya.

“Why?” There was a certain weight that the question held. It might have been the feeling of Dazai’s eyes boring into his face. Chuuya finally placed his phone down.

“Why what? Im not a fucking mind reader.”

“Why do you do it?” Whilst others may not have been able to understand what the bastard was asking them, Chuuya did: why do you help me?

The honest answer was that Chuuya didn’t know. He didn’t know why he had begun doing Dazai’s laundry or picking up after him when the other barely had the energy to get out of bed. He didn’t know why he noticed how easily the idiot lost weight and so had begun making him food that he would leave outside Dazai’s door in hopes that would eat something. He didn’t know why he would complete the brunette’s unfinished work so that he didn’t have Mori on his ass about it. He didn’t know why he stayed up on those nights that Dazai would leave without a word, or why he kept all of the lights off in the house so it wouldn’t bother him as much, or why he told the mackerel’s new friends, Oda and Ango, to keep an eye on him in his own round about way which involved a lot more swearing and threatening than necessary.

He didn’t know why there was now a Dazai shaped hole in his life that was filled with the resident annoyance and his plethora of issues. If he was being completely honest, he didn’t know when his life stopped and Dazai’s began. They seemed to be completely intertwined now. Dazai was now attached to Chuuya like a broken limb.

“I don’t know.” It was quiet in a way that Chuuya often found honesty was.

Dazai didn’t shift, only tilting his head slightly to look owlishly at the boy opposite him. His eyes took on a curious light to them which was more than anything Chuuya had seen in them over the past few days. It made him both want to squirm under his gaze and relief to flood him. To end the long silence, Chuuya broke first.

“They say you aren’t human.” By ‘they’ Chuuya meant anyone that he had ever talked to about Dazai. They talked about all the atrocious things that Dazai was rumoured to have done. They spoke of his blood thirst and his unmerciful actions as if it was his nature. They spoke of Dazai as if he were a machine designed to cut and maim. In some ways he was, but it bothered him that others less fucked up than them thought so. Only people as bad as them should be able to judge the severity of how fucked up they were.

Dazai looked even more curious rather than offended, “and what do you think I am.”

Chuuya thought for a moment.

“Only a human can break this badly.” He said, without dropping his gaze. “And besides, its not like I can say much. Im not exactly human either.” He sounded bitter and resentful.

There was a long pause, where Dazai seemed to flit through a range of emotions too quick for Chuuya to read. For a moment Chuuya thought that the brunette looked angry, but for some reason that seemed to be directed at something else Chuuya had said, not about him being broken, which he hadn’t even attempted to dispute. The emotion he eventually settled on was confusion.

“You hate me.” It wasn’t a question. It was the reason that made all of his… considerate actions that much more confusing.

“Yes I do.”

A few moments passed of just Chuuya and his annoyance staring at each other. It was almost a challenge to see who would break first. To look at Dazai like this, in the eye, not hiding, everything plain to see, it was intense. Chuuya felt like he was being stripped bare, every single one of his scars on show for the other to see. But he stood his ground, he would not lose.

Dazai must have seen something in his expression change, because his did too, and it shocked the redhead. He saw as Dazai’s face trembled, cracked and broke as his lips tugged upwards. They parted to bare gapped, somewhat wonky teeth as a gurgle of what could be considered giggles tumbled out of his mouth. It sounded raw and tender as if this was the first time the boy had ever laughed. Chuuya was frozen watching as Dazai laughed almost hysterically until there were tears beading at the corners of his eyes and he sounded winded. Chuuya watched on as Dazai laughed at a joke that only he seemed to find funny and was mesmerised at what he saw when the other eventually turned to face him again. Osamu Dazai’s smile was a crooked, broken thing, weak and wobbly from misuse.

It was imperfection at its most beautiful.

Chuuya… hated him. Hated him and his stupid, beautiful smile.

Through giggles, Dazai managed to stutter out, “oh chibi, I hate you too.”

Hate. Chuuya hated Dazai. This was a fact. It was a fact as much as water was wet and the sky was blue. But hatred took effort. It took passion and commitment to keep the feeling burning so brightly. Chuuya thought that hatred and love were similar in that way, the only difference was that Chuuya knew hatred intimately. Knew all its ugliness and its devastation. Chuuya and hatred were well acquainted much like how one regarded a broken limb: painful but still attached to the body. Chuuya did not know what love felt like. It was foreign and unwelcome to him. It was weakness. But if he had to guess, it would feel close to what hatred felt like; all consuming and dangerous.

Chuuya wondered how it would feel to love Dazai.

“I really hate you.” Chuuya growled leaving the couch to move to his room.

“Oh no, whatever will you do? Do my laundry for me?” Dazai called out behind him, the taunting lit returning to his voice. Chuuya couldn’t stop the way he turned to look over at the idiot, his face uncharacteristically soft.

“If that’s what it takes to get you back to this.” He laughed.

“You just gestured to all of me.” Dazai looking amused and confused.“You hate all of me.”

“Yes I do.” It was said hoarsely, his heart rabbiting in his rib cage, before Chuuya fled to the safety of his bedroom.

3.

Chuuya took a drag of his cigarette, letting the acrid smoke infiltrate his lungs, before he released it into the humid air. He watched as the wisps of smoke danced away, higher and higher, mingling with the rain that fell and the grey clouds above. Inside the apartment was silent, outside there was only the sound of he heavy drops of water tapping on the roof that Chuuya currently sat on. The soothing rain was welcomed with relief as it cooled his feverish skin and distracted him from the hot thrum of power that lay dormant and waiting, once again, to be released.

He would catch a chill if he sat out here any longer, he thought distantly, but he couldn’t seem to find enough of a reason to care. He couldn’t find a reason to care that he was soaked through to his skin, his clothes clinging stubbornly to his trembling frame, or that his hair was plastered to his head, matting uncomfortably, making him look close to a drowned rat. Chuuya just didn’t care. He couldn’t remove himself from the comfort of the rain and decided that it was all future Chuuya’s problem. Chuuya, now, was quite content to sit there until he either died or fell asleep. What was the difference really?

He took another drag, his fingers shaking slightly. His eye lids slid shut and he was met with darkness. He sat like that for a few minuets, eyes shut, head tilted back to the sky, sickly pale skin making him stand out against the dark, grey horizon. However, a few minuets was all he could last before his eyes shot open and he bent double, coughing and spluttering, trying to regain his breath. He couldn’t remember if he had been intentionally not breathing. Maybe it was his last attempt at trying to regain control. It hadn’t worked. Composure was something that Chuuya prided himself on. It was one of the things that he used to distinguish his now self with his fifteen year old self, who was so fuelled by anger that composure was what he lacked most. However, as Chuuya bent his head between his legs, trying to breath past the lump in his airways that was preventing him from doing so, he could no longer see the difference. The cigarette dropped from his grasp and Chuuya descended into panic.

Darkness was just starting to seep into the corners of his vision when he felt someone’s cool hand grasp the back of his neck.

“Breath Chuuya.”

Dazai.

Chuuya tried to let the air in, but his body rejected it as if it were poison.

“Breath in through the nose, hold for a bit, then breath out through the mouth. Come on, slugs can do this.” Despite his words being mocking, they were surprisingly grounding when paired with the pressure on the back of his neck. Chuuya sucked in a harsh, ragged breath and released it.

“Too fast, you need to hold it for a bit to gain control.” Dazai’s voice was as smooth as silk, a low hum that made Chuuya want to see the way his lips twisted around the words. When he struggled again to follow Dazai’s instructions, the hand on the back of his neck moved to cradle his cheek, forcing Chuuya to look up. Dazai’s eyes were boring into his own, his gaze steady and unwavering. If Chuuya wasn’t having a panic attack, he would have seen the worry on the others face shown by his pinched eyebrows and the crinkle around his eyes.

“Please.” Chuuya didn’t know what he was asking for and even to his own ears his voice sounded pathetic.

“Here see.” Dazai sucked in an exaggerated breath, holding it and then breathing out. His thumb stroked the side of his face, something that Chuuya latched onto the feeling of to anchor himself. Dazai repeated the action, encouraging Chuuya to follow his lead. Soon enough the ragged breaths became smoother as his airways began to open again.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

Not once did they break eye contact, but now that the panic in his system was starting to dwindle, the full intensity of it made Chuuya feel like he had been winded. It wasn’t helpful after what had just happened. He was starting to panic again, but for a completely different reason.

Chuuya harshly shoved himself away from Dazai, away from his numbing touch that soothed the god inside, away from the comfort and the foreign feelings. He created as much distance between both of them before he felt a wall pressing into his back. The heat that had disappeared when Dazai first made contact with him returned with a fever, so sudden it made his head spin and his fingers dig into the grit on the roof.

Control.

He needed to get his control back.

He whimpered slightly, and immediately regretted it. He hated everything about this. He hated how powerful he was. He hated how vulnerable he was. He hated agreeing to do it. He hated what might of happened if he hadn’t. He hated the fact he couldn’t remember what he did, or the destruction he caused, or that he was unconscious for roughly four days. He hated the side effects; the piecing headaches, the lack of balance, the constant shaking, the dry throat, the coughing, the all encompassing heat that hadn’t gone away.

He hated corruption.

He was chaos. He was destruction. He was calamity. He hated it.

Chuuya looked at his hands that were gripping desperately at the roof. He saw the paleness of his skin and how it contrasted the dark bruising on his knuckles. He saw the dirt and dried blood that was still logged under his nails. Most of all he saw the curved scars on his hands, still raw and red. Those hadn’t been there before corruption. If those ugly marks were anything to go off of then he must have truly looked like a monster. He felt a lump clog his throat and tears prickle his eyes.

He shouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t cry. He couldn’t cry.

“Chuuya.” So soft for a single word. Too soft for a monster like Chuuya.

The dam broke.

He let out a guttural howl. It sounded more animal than human. He sobbed, his arms coming around to hug himself as he rocked forward to curl into a ball. The tears that rolled down his cheeks were hot and that made Chuuya sob even harder, rattling his rib cage. Chuuya had not cried since the day he clawed his way out of the experimentation facility as a lab rat. After that day, his life just seemed to be one more fucked up thing after another, and he cried for it. He cried for his shitty childhood and the shit hand that whichever shit god had dealt him.

For the first time, Chuuya gave in to the brief privilege of hating himself.

And he cried for it.

At some point, Dazai must have moved forward, because Chuuya felt long arms circle him, holding him loosely as if he might break. Chuuya buried his face into the others chest, desperately clinging to his coat, his arms, his shoulders, anything that would make Chuuya feel less like he was free falling with no way to stop. Dazai wrapped his hand in the gingers hair, nullifying the god beneath his skin. And Chuuya cried.

.

When Chuuya woke up from a deep, dreamless sleep and found that he was not, in fact on the roof anymore, but in his bed, he couldn’t help but be slightly confused. That was until he looked over at his bedside table to see pain killers, a glass of water and a note.

Hope you had a good sleep chibi! Next time have a breakdown in the apartment so I don’t have to carry you down all those stairs again. Eat some food, drink some water.
-your knight in shining armour.

Chuuya felt his face heat, but not in an unwelcome way. He rolled shoulders and heard as his joints popped and clicked, protesting as he sat up. He thought of Dazai, a boy who hated emotions, physical contact and other people so vehemently, holding Chuuya as he sobbed into his shoulder. His stomach felt unsettled and his heart beat erratically.

He hated Dazai.

He made sure to dry swallow the pain killers just to spite him.

4.

Chuuya knew he looked good. He knew that when he walked into a bar or a club, all eyes were on him. He knew this and others knew it too. So looking in the mirror, he knew what he was wearing was going to turn some heads. A tight, black compression shirt that showed off his board shoulders, slim waist and the muscle that hid underneath. Tight jeans that showed off his ass and really didn’t leave much to the imagination and the grounding pressure of choker that was always around his neck.

He sat looking at himself satisfied that his outfit was casual enough to just go out for some drinks with coworkers, but if he was lucky he might be able to pick someone up. He traced the curved scars that twisted on either side of his cheeks. Marks of corruption. Marks that he had gone through something so horrendous that it left ugly gashes all over him, and yet he survived. They may have been ugly but they were a reminder that he was as powerful as he let himself be. He was in control.

Whilst applying some mascara and eyeliner to make his blue eyes really pop, he heard a loud bang and crash come from the kitchen.

He was immediately on guard. Life in the Port Mafia had conditioned Chuuya to be expectant of danger at all times. Ready to fight and ready to die. At any time. At any place. It didn’t matter. It was something you had to make peace with. Every nerve in Chuuya’s body was ready for a fight as he reached out for the power that lay dormant and waiting to be unleashed.

Silently, he rose, the red haze encompassing his body as he drifted towards the doorway of his bedroom and into the empty hallway. Their apartment was supposed to be a safe place, but he had grown complacent. No where in his field of work was safe. Another loud crash had him advancing down the hallway until he made it to the sitting room and the kitchen attached o it. He took one last steadying breath before he through himself around the corner, ready for the attacker.

When he took in the sight, it was nothing that he was ready for. Pots and pans were scattered across the floor of the kitchen. On the stove a pot of water was over boiling causing foam to go everywhere. There were herbs emptied all over the counter and in the middle of it all was Dazai, who stood there unmoving as if he wasn’t surrounded by chaos.

He was going to kill Dazai.

As if sensing there was someone watching him, Dazai turned to see Chuuya. With a blank face Chuuya watched him as he raked his gaze up and down Chuuya’s body, before settling back on Chuuya’s eyes. A face that blank meant he was definitely trying to hide something. He felt himself shiver at the intensity of Dazai’s stare, before remembering the mess he had created as. He pushed forward to save their stove from the boiling water.

“What the actual fuck were you trying to do?!” He screeched, using his ability to lift the pot of water into the air whilst simultaneously levitating a tea towel to clean the mess.

Dazai shrugged. “Cook.”

“Cook? You were trying to cook and you managed to make a bomb site diorama?!” He was late to meeting his coworkers now and it was all Dazai’s fault. But when was it not?

“Don’t be dramatic slug, its only a bit of water.” He rolled his eyes. Chuuya saw red.

“ A BIT OF WATER IM CLEARING UP BECAUSE OF YOUR INCOMPETENCE AND NOW IM LATE!”

Dazai narrowed his eyes. “Late for what?”

“Just a few drinks, but still its impolite to be tardy.” Chuuya grumbled as he furiously swiped all of the herbs off the counter onto the floor so he could hoover it up.

“Drinks with who?” Dazai’s voice was low and hushed, but the shorter was too busy clearing up the catastrophe to notice the tone change.

“Why do you care asshole? Not everyone is as antisocial as you.”

He huffed. “I just didn’t know chibi was capable of making friends.” When Chuuya turned around, he looked to be pouting which was a strange expression on the face of the Demon Prodigy.

“Are you seriously pouting? We’re seventeen, not four.” The redhead almost chuckled.

“Chuuya is lucky he has a pretty face to distract from his awful personality.” The taller mocked, turning away to move the various pots and pans he had dropped, not noticing that Chuuya was frozen.

Pretty face.

Dazai thought he was pretty?

“You think I’m pretty?” It was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Chuuya watched as Dazai froze for a few seconds, the cogs turning in his stupidly quick mind, somehow slowed down by the relayed information. He stood tall, pushing the pots into a drawer with more force than necessary and scoffed.

“Yeah as if.” But Chuuya didn’t miss the tinge of pink on the other boys pale cheeks or the way he fumbled more than he should have putting the pots away. For some reason, he now felt strangely giddy.

“You said my pretty face distracts people.” He murmured low and smooth. Dazai’s movement stuttered even more.

“Cause you are just that ugly.” There was a slight hitch to his voice that would have gone unnoticed to anyone but Chuuya. The redhead slowly advanced towards Dazai, who was already leaning against the counter he had destroyed, trying keep a relaxed stance. But Chuuya knew him better.

“Well that would go against the point of calling me pretty.” They were close now, and despite Chuuya hating being short, he used it to his advantage to look up through his eyelashes at Dazai, who’s blank mask was crumbling.

“What are you trying to do?” He said hoarsely. That was a good question. What WasChuuya trying to do? He hated the bandaged idiot.

“Maybe I just like knowing I have some effect on you.” His voice became less sultry as he moved away to give Dazai space. What the hell was he doing flirting with Dazai of all people. Maybe he was really more desperate to get laid than he thought. He really should leave if he wanted to get to the bar.

“Oh okay then. Someone’s lost their nerve. And here I thought you always finish what you start.”

Chuuya stopped. The bastard. As he turned he could see the smug smile on the assholes’s face. If his heart beat any faster then his rib cage was going to collapse. God Chuuya hated him.

“Why would I want to finish anything with you?” He ground out. Dazai’s smile only turned sharper.

“Why did you start it in the first place?”

“I DIDN’T! You’re the one that called me pretty.” Dazai always had a way to get on his nerves no matter what.

“So what if i did, you’re the one that liked it.” Chuuya was lost for words. The absolute nerve of this prick. He was not having this conversation. He was storming away, that’s what he was doing.

“No I didn’t. Don’t for a second think I like what you call me.” He was fumbling for responses now and fumbling trying to unhook his jacket from the coat hanger so that he could make a quick escape.

“Sure, whatever you want to believe sweetheart.” Chuuya tripped over the shoes that were left on the floor, until he was laying face down on the floor. God he hated his life. Using his ability to turn the discarded shoes into projectiles to throw at the idiot, he was up and out into the night, slamming the door.

“GOD I HATE YOU.” He shouted loud enough so that he knew Dazai heard.

Fuck. His. Life.

5.

Chuuya and sleep were not the best of friends. Arahabaki made sure of that. When he was younger he used to sleep with his hands in his pockets and then when he moved to the Port Mafia he wore his gloves to bed. It was the small semblance of control that helped Chuuya to relax enough to fall unconscious. But ever since the first time that he used corruption, when he finally let the God within, take the metaphorical wheel, sleep was not something that came easily to him.

So the only option was to either finish off the paperwork that he had been putting off, or pretend to sleep and gaslight himself into believing he was well rested.

Well there was a third option, but Chuuya had never entertained the thought until now, when he had been awake for the last two days without any sleep whatsoever. If this continued he would either go insane, die of sleep deprivation or both.

Maybe that was what was fuelling his stupid idea. Insanity. It was the only thing that made sense when he stood in the hallway, outside of the bedroom of the biggest inconvenience in his life.

Insanity. Definitely.

He willed his arm to raise and knock on Dazai’s door before he lost his nerve and when his knuckle first made contact, the echo of the knock made him wince at the loudness of it in the silence of their apartment. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Surprisingly, the door opened in a matter of seconds to reveal Dazai, who looked rather confused to be woken at the early hour, blinking at him as if trying to make sure he was seeing things correctly. He was dressed in long, sweat pants and a t-shirt so oversized that his already lean frame now looked more twig like. Both eyes were also completely bare, something that was only more common to be seen in the safety of their apartment over the last year. When neither of them spoke, he wiped the sleep from his eyes and yawned.

“What does the chibi want. I was asleep.” Oh. Chuuya hadn’t thought he might have woken Dazai. He had his own issues with sleep of the insomniac variety as well. The fact Chuuya had woken him in the very few precious hours that Dazai did sleep made him suddenly feel very guilty.

“I-sorry. I shouldn’t have woken you.” Chuuya turned to leave, weighed down by guilt and embarrassment, until a hand grabbed his wrist pulling him back to the door way.

“Now now Chuuya, what’s wrong. Don’t say I woke up for nothing.”

“It’s stupid.” He grumbled, not making eye contact.

“Yeah, you’re pretty stupid too.” This is not what Chuuya’s sleep deprived brain needed.

“Do you ever take a beak from being an asshole?” He grit out.

“Part of the job description of being you’re partner.” Was that all they were? Partners? Not friends? Not…something else? At this point, after all they had been through together, all the ugly spats and arguments, all those brushes with death and close calls, all the gentle touches, careful words and vulnerable moments, could they even be considered only partners? Chuuya felt his anger rear its ugly head.

“You know what, forget it.” This…whatever this was going on with Dazai was giving him a headache. He struggled out of the taller’s grasp, preparing to stomp off back to his room and go insane which was really rather favourable compared to what was happening at the moment, but he found himself unable too pull away from Dazai’s iron grip. Fuck him for being able to nullify his ability. When he looked over his shoulder Dazai was already pulling the ginger into his room. Chuuya found himself too tired to protest and let himself be moved around and shoved towards the bed, where he sat on the edge looking at his hands.

“What’s wrong?” His voice was its usual grating self, but softer.

“Im tired Dazai.” He sounded so small for someone capable of so much violence destruction. He was able to level cities, destroy governments and make monsters look tame, but here he was loosing his mind because he couldn’t sleep. How pathetic.

“How much sleep have you been getting?” That was a good question.

“Eight hours.”

“Last night?” Chuuya could almost hear the scoff in his voice.

“This week.” The long silence that followed was heavy. After what seemed like an eternity, of waiting for something to happen, Dazai positioned himself on his knees in front of Chuuya. Osamu Dazai kneeled for no one, but like many things, Chuuya was the exception.

“…It’s Friday Chuuya.” His voice was hard as if trying to convey the severity of the problem.

“I know.”

“We’ve had combat training, with and without abilities three days this week.”

“I know.”

“And we’ve had two missions.”

“I know.”

“And…”

“I KNOW DAMN IT! I know its bad. Trust me, I feel like shit.” His voice wobbled a bit and he put his head in his hands.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” They never really talked to each other about their problems. Whenever something was wrong, they always seemed to sense it with the same bone deep understanding that was cultivated when traumatic event after traumatic event has shared with another person. Chuuya knew about Dazai and his bad days. He knew about the scars in his mind and those carved beneath the bandages. He knew about the addiction and the drugs and he knew that it was fuelled and encouraged by Mori. Chuuya knew. Had they ever talked about it? No. But he observed, he understood. Like wise, Dazai knew about Chuuya. He knew about his fight with control. He knew about his martyr complex that bordered on suicidal tendencies. He knew about the alcohol and his symptoms after corruption. Dazai knew. They were almost conjoined by their understanding of one another, it passed codependence and it passed anything remotely healthy about a relationship.

But the knowledge that someone else understood was almost crippling, and that’s why they clung to each other, to stay balanced. To stay on their feet.

So when Chuuya opened his mouth to answer, there wasn’t a response, because he physically didn’t know how to speak about what he was experiencing. A weight rested on his chest.

“Is it Arahabaki.” The weight lifted. He nodded.

With that, their eyes met and like an electric current understanding settled between them again. Dazai stood and led Chuuya further up the bed, where he pulled the covers back and silently urged the redhead to lie down. When Dazai disappeared from his side, Chuuya tensed slightly, until the other boy crept back into view as he rounded the bed to the other side. Dazai slid into the bed facing the other boy, pulling the covers over him until it was nestled under his chin. Chuuya fidgeted, trying to get comfortable, wrapping the covers around his waste, how was Dazai not hot?

“Chuuya is boiling. He’s like a personal heater.” Could he seriously feel the heat of his body despite the careful distance that they kept between each other?

“Im always warm.”

“It’s a good thing I’m always cold then.”

He continued to move and wriggle, the god bound inside of him still very much awake. Dazai reached out, capturing Chuuya’s cheek, also catching him off guard enough for him to still and settle. The cool sensation of No Longer Human washed over him, calming and soothing him.

“You know, a few years back, you said you weren’t entirely human.” Chuuya hadn’t expected Dazai to speak to him again, so it took him a while to formulate a reply, too distracted by the hand resting on his cheek.

“That’s because I’m not. Im a laboratory experiment.” He didn’t sound bitter anymore, he had made peace with the fact that the human experience was simply not one he would get to experience. Dazai opened his eyes, and it made Chuuya wonder how he hadn’t realised they had shut in the first place when he should have noticed descending into that deep, brown gaze.

“Only a human can break this badly,” Dazai quoted Chuuya to himself, “and you, Chuuya Nakahara, are the realist boy I’ve ever met.”something inside Chuuya was torn open, long ago, but now, with those words, the wound began to sew itself shut. He let his eyes drift shut. When exhaustion began to pull Chuuya away from consciousness, he only managed to say three words.

“I hate you.” He heard a low, fond chuckle and Chuuya slept soundly for the first time in years.

+1

The darkness of the sky was pierced by the cherry of his cigarette that burnt brightly as he breathed in, scaring away the darkness, even if only slightly. At his side was his constant annoyance, sat with his legs hanging over the roof ledge. Suicidal maniac. They had been sat like this for the last hour in silence, as Chuuya smoked three cigarettes and Dazai stared out into the distance, alarmingly quiet. Something was wrong, but what, Chuuya didn’t know. So instead he didn’t move, he let the feeling of Dazai’s lingering presence ground him as it always did. It was one of the only constant things that Chuuya had the luxury of trusting that it would stay constant, much like how the world kept turning, the sun would rise the next day and there would be more paper work on his desk in the morning.

The slight, drizzling rain coated the fabric of his clothes in small crystal beads, and he sighed as they gathered, subduing his warmth. He watched, out of the corner of his eye, Dazai’s nose crinkle in displeasure, knowing how hated soggy bandages. He giggled to himself quietly.

“What?” Dazai turned to him, annoyance coating his features, something darker hiding beneath it.

“You hate soggy bandages. Why the hell are you sat out here.” The question was more aimed at himself rather than Dazai. The other boy looked back out to where the buildings of Yokohama grew into he sky.

“Maybe I wanted to push you off this roof.” It didn’t sound very determined.

“Yeah right. I’d drag you down with me.” Chuuya watched for the small upturn of the others lips that he knew would be there. Since the first Day Dazai had ever laughed in his presence, Chuuya savoured every small smile, quite chuckle and hidden giggle he caught. It satisfied Chuuya, knowing that the boy next to him was as human as he was.

“You could try.” It was quiet, but sounded amused.

“What’s wrong asshole?” Dazai was silent. “Dropped the cutlery drawer on your foot again?” They needed to get that fixed. Dazai stayed silent. “Some poor woman rejected you again?” Dazai’s eyes slid to him slowly. He stayed silent. “You running away?” It was a joke, but it didn’t seem to land. Dazai’s gaze grew impossibly heavier. “Bad day?”

“Bad life.” It was a joke. Wasn’t that the understatement of the century. “Can I have one?” He gestured to the cigarette he held in his fingers.

Chuuya quirked his brow. “You don’t smoke.”

“I don’t smoke with chibi.” He corrected, holding out his hand. Out of pure curiosity, Chuuya humoured him, shaking out a cigarette from the pack into the other boys lithe fingers.

“Do you have a light?”

Just to be difficult, Chuuya decided to deny him. “I’ve already given you a cigarette.”

“Well its not much use if its not lit.” Dazai grumbled. Chuuya felt his lips curve.

“Not my problem.” The silence that descended was comfortable, but Chuuya could feel the cogs in Dazai’s brain turn as they usually did when he was about to do something stupid. Chuuya kept his eyes on the buildings in front of him, watching the lights of apartments and street lamps. Darkness in the city was often beautiful. He took another drag, or at least tried to as he felt a familiar pair of fingers grip his chin, roughly turning his face towards the brunette.

Before he could register what was happening, Dazai was bringing their faces closer until their noses were almost touching. Dazai manoeuvred his face until the lit cigarette that was in his mouth brushed against the unlit one in Dazai’s. For a few moments they stayed there, Chuuya pliant in Dazai’s hold as he lit his cigarette, breathing the same smoke filled air.

Suddenly, Chuuya was fifteen again. He was fifteen and was watching mesmerised as Dazai scrubbed furiously at his face. It was the same face now, but long gone was the roundness of youth. Now his jaw and cheek bones were sharp and elegant. The same long lashes fluttered over his cheeks as he watched and angled Chuuya’s face so that his cigarette would light. The same lips. The same lips…

Oh

Oh

Okay, maybe Kouyou had been onto something all those years ago. Luckily for Chuuya, repressing feelings only made them burn hotter, so now there was literally nothing that could stop him from making his next decision.

The cigarettes dropped from their lips as Chuuya surged forward, capturing those lips for himself. They were soft and damp from the rain as he viciously pushed against them, feeling the breath of surprise that exited Dazai’s mouth and using it to deepen the kiss. That’s what this was. A kiss. Reality came crashing down on him and what he was doing. He roughly drew away, not noticing the huff of protest from Dazai as he moved, putting distance between them, until the only thing that was connecting them was eye contact.

The urge to flee the situation was so visceral that Chuuya didn’t even realise he was doing so until he was standing and moving towards the door that led to their apartment stair well. When he heard foot steps behind him he continued on like a man on a mission.

“I know. Im sorry-I just-“ he was cut off by those same lips before he could even finish and he felt himself melting into the contact, every nerve in his body hyper aware and sensing any and all contact from Dazai. He felt the air in his lungs begin to dwindle, but Dazai kissed him like a dying man taking his last breath, so all that Chuuya could do was give it to him. He kissed as if this was the last time they would ever do so. Their teeth knocked and their lips bruised and it was such a violent display that it was so uniquely them.

When Chuuya broke the kiss, it was like surfacing, from swimming, for air; necessary for survival but disappointing. But despite breaking the kiss, they stood there, basking in each others constant presence, breathing the same used air, loving the same broken person.

Chuuya was right. Love and hate were very similar.

Through ragged breaths he spoke. “I hate you.” Maybe that one phrase had always meant something different to them. It was as complicated and as fucked up as they were.

Dazai huffed, amused. “I hate you too.” Why did he sound apologetic?

As always, it was Mori who ruined everything when Chuuya’s phone buzzed in his pockets. Annoyed, he pulled it out to see that Mori had planned another mission over seas that he should prepare for. Chuuya wished more than anything to stay there. To stay in Dazai’s desperate grasp and to relish in what had just happened. Four years of emotional repression, confused feeling and what seemed like justified hatred, had led up to this. All to be ruined by one text message. One order. Fuck. His. Life. Biting his lip, the redhead looked up at Dazai. He didn’t need to apologise, Dazai already understood.

“I know,” he nodded encouragingly but he looked saddened, “go.” And with that Chuuya kissed him on the cheek apologetically, cool skin under burning lips, before resuming his journey to the door.

“I’ll see you when I get back Osamu.” It was a promise. He could do it again when he came home. He had a lot more kissing planned when he got back.

“Yeah…” Dazai hesitated. He never hesitated. “I’ll see you later love.” Chuuya turned and smiled at the pet name over his shoulder. He would not let his mind try and over think that hesitation. It probably didn’t mean anything. He started his walk down the stairs with a comforting warmth in his stomach and a happy buzz in heart.

.

When Chuuya came home to an empty apartment after the meeting, he couldn’t register anything but those words. Traitor. Defected. Abandoned. Enemy.

The door closed and the silence had never been so loud.

He hated him.

It had never been so true.