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If Nakahara Chuuya were an animal, he would most likely be a cat. Elegant in appearance, with an attractive and unusual color palette - with that vibrant blue and that flaming orange hair - and with extremely delicate features typical of a female. Despite the multiple coincidences between the felines and the executive, he does not think that those are the most similar aspects with Chuuya.
Yes, he won't deny the visual and auditory wonder that the man is to a large segment of the population, but, if he had to describe what kind of cat Nakahara is, the phrase "small but dangerous" pops into his head without much effort. Grumpy, confrontational, explosive in temperament but not lacking in intelligence - this he would never admit to the redhead - and, above all, averse to outside contact.
Because yes, despite the fact that physical contact is a requirement to make use of his ability, the slug has never been particularly fanatical about gestures such as hugs, caresses or anything similar. Regardless of trust or hierarchical relationships, Chuuya would keep human-to-human touch to a minimum. That was the theory.
However, in practice... "Looks like the slug is enjoying this."
He got no response at first. Not that he could see the man's expression either, but it was more than enough to feel the redhead's body tense up after his comment. In the end, all he hears is a small - and embarrassed - shut up from him.
Dazai just laughs and continues with the gentle movements over Chuuya's long, soft locks. Because here's the thing, Nakahara Chuuya isn't complaining about his fingers stroking his hair and the reason is quite simple: he doesn't dislike that he, Dazai Osamu, is being so openly affectionate with his person and the chestnut knows it.
He knows how Chuuya behaves, he knows almost everything about him and he even understands the reasoning the mafioso has for allowing a situation of this caliber. And the reality is that, like any cat, Nakahara has a person, his person, who is none other than the very man he swore to kill one day.
It's strange, it's safe to say, but he has no complaints, after all, before a cat or a slug, Chuuya is his dog and owes him his loyalty.
Encouraged to come to such an amusing conclusion, Dazai slips his long, cold fingers to behind his companion's ear, sending shivers down his spine. "W-What are you doing...?" Chuuya asked in a shaky voice, almost letting out a whimper.
Dazai couldn't see him, not his bright eyes or the slightly frowning brow, not the moist lips, not the faint pink tinting his cheeks. Instead, he could hear it, he could smell it, he could feel it. "I just want to listen to Chuuya."
Colors and silhouettes became unattainable for him, so he had to maximize everything else: listening to his gasps, smelling his body, feeling the tension of his muscles, he wanted to enjoy Chuuya on a completely different plane.
He must have shown some strange expression, because as soon as he said his words, he felt the boy turn until he had his head facing his belly-because yes, he was lying on his thighs, like a cat. As smart as Dazai was, he knew that the lack of visual information prevented him from fully understanding Chuuya; he didn't understand why this change in posture. "Chuuya?"
He was unaware of what kind of grimace the bluish-eyed man had on his face, but he could hear him lick his lips before speaking. "Doesn't it hurt?"
It's a whisper, so intimate that no one - besides them - could hear it. There's no need to define exactly what, because there's nothing but a single possibility. Dazai shook his head, trailing his fingers back into the orange locks. "Chibi shouldn't have to worry about that."
A snapping sounds, and the man's body twitches again. The detective hopes that response didn't bother the mobster, because he was really enjoying this.
On his side, Chuuya stands up and the contact between the two is broken for an instant. Dazai is unable to follow him with his eyes, it's impossible for him, so he won't know until the redhead makes some sound if this is over or not.
It's a lonely feeling not knowing what's going on; Dazai hates being adrift, in the middle of the unknown.
Nakahara Chuuya is aware of that and that is why, as soon as he is sitting on the sofa, he grips one of the lost hands tightly. He is not hurting it, but the grip is firm, as if he does not want to let it go. He sees Dazai's long, slender fingers move a little, settling and intertwining with his own; despite him not being able to look at him, Chuuya witnesses his features soften into a soft, but lost expression. "What's wrong, chibi?"
His face isn't looking at him, the brown eyes are cloudy and the only thing that confirms to him that he's talking to him is the way the words escape his lips. It's painful to watch, he thinks. "What can I do, Dazai?"
What can he do to remedy this? How can he stay by his side when he was the one who provoked it? Why does Dazai still cling to him despite everything he's done? He may be smart, but he will never fully understand the monster that Dazai Osamu is-or was.
The eyelids droop and hide the dull brown. It's no use, but it's almost a reflex, so he remains silent, expectant for an answer.
Chuuya feels his hand grow tighter, then the eyelids lift and he speaks again. "Nothing."
It's just one word, it shouldn't hurt to hear it. But it does, and a lot. Because all of this, these kinds of interactions, those confused expressions and that feeling that eats him up inside are his responsibility.
That there is nothing he can offer after his failure sinks him even deeper into his misery, because even being a feared ability user, he has no way to give back to Dazai that which he lost because of him. "There must be something." However, he is stubborn. "You're smart, mackerel, I know you can think of something." And he insists, once again relying on the inhuman capabilities of the once named Demon Prodigy.
The chestnut's brow furrows for a second, hearing the slight desperation in his dog's voice is not pleasant. "There's nothing." He repeated dryly.
His jaw tenses, all he wants to do is explode at the man because he doesn't think he's trying. "Dazai—!"
"Chuuya."
But it's the mention of his name that instantly silences him. Dazai isn't looking at him, but it would seem he is and that only makes his understanding of himself worse. All because he, Nakahara Chuuya, has been the one guilty of hurting the people he cares about once again.
First it was the Sheep, then the Flags, and now? The one person he trusts so blindly and would be willing to risk his own life for almost ends up the same as most of his friends: dead, three meters underground.
He pulled a gun on him, shot him multiple times - shot him in the fucking head - and somehow Dazai Osamu is still here, acting as if nothing happened.
Deep down he wishes this was an illusion, a ruse of his subconscious reflecting in a murky narrative the feelings of guilt that devour him. The world has never been so accommodating to him, one need only look at the person next to him to know: blind, with no chance of recovery.
He sees how Dazai tries to maintain his intimidating countenance and show that, even without his eyes, he is still the same threat he has always been. But it is those details, those slight wrinkles on his face, those repetitive movements in his fingers in a constant search and those bite marks on his lips that remind him that this Dazai Osamu is fragile. Not weak, but fragile and defenseless.
Chuuya witnesses how that mask fades because of the uncertainty he himself provoked. It is cruel, it is unfair, it is plain and simple pitiful.
Dazai played Fyodor as skillfully as he could and yet he lost. He lost because he, Nakahara Chuuya, was so stupid to fall under the Russian's hand and go against his partner, the only person he could perhaps call his friend.
He thinks he should be punished and not rewarded with these visions of the suicidal maniac being so damn kind. He doesn't deserve it and yet Dazai stands by him.
He hasn't abandoned him and still doesn't understand why. "Dazai..."
"As usual, chibi is too dumb to understand." Says the younger man, rubbing his thumb against the back of his other hand. "If a dog attacks its owner, it's his fault for not training it properly."
Chuuya wants to say something, but Osamu won't let him. "So there's no reason to get angry at the dog when it's the human who's responsible for teaching it the tricks."
It pains him to hear it, denying any involvement in the disastrous outcome. "You can't say that when I—"
"However—" and he interrupts him again, almost as if he's ignoring him. A small smile appears on his lips, so small that Chuuya manages to see the honesty expressed in it. "...The dog doesn't understand this logic. It's not so smart, after all."
And despite the fact that he cannot look at him, despite the fact that he is completely unaware of what kind of look Chuuya has inscribed on his face, Dazai turns his head until he has his opaque eyes on him. He doesn't look at him, and at the same time he does.
"So, as expected, the dog will be sad to bite his human." While both hands are still intertwined, Dazai's leftover limb begins to climb up through his arms, past his shoulders and brushing against his neck. Dazai's hands have always been particularly cold, the very delicate touch shivers him. "He will look at his owner with sorrow, weep silently for the pain caused and try to regain what he thinks he has lost."
Fingers reach for his cheek, Chuuya leans against them without peeling his blue eyes from the dull brown. "Normally, a dog would not be able to understand what his owner expects of him." Thumb stroking his left cheekbone gently, the redhead feels a lump in his throat. "But, I happen to have a very special dog who is just a little bit smarter than the rest."
The sentence escapes with some mockery, Chuuya can't help but frown. "So he can understand what I expect from him, don't you think?"
The blue-eyed man must swallow hard for a second before even speaking again. "What is it that you want?" What is it that you expect from me?
And even though Dazai lacks his eyes, his fingers deliver enough information to be able to deftly move and reach for an unruly lock that covered part of Chuuya's face. He smiles for a moment before hiding that same lock behind his companion's ear. "There are guide dogs."
He can't see it, but Chuuya is about to break down completely. His eyes water and his throat burns so hot that if he gets to say anything, all he'll hear are words broken by emotion.
"It wouldn't be bad to have one." He says.
And even if it takes an overexertion not to break down at that precise moment, he doesn't dare leave Dazai's request up in the air, without any answer. "Do I have the right to be?" He murmurs to him, begging for this to stop.
If he rejects it, he will never achieve redemption. If he accepts it, the guilt he feels will be magnified by the pity he is aware he does not deserve.
He has no way to win in this war, it is heartbreaking to know. Tears begin to fall, hot and aching, wetting the mobster's cheeks until they reach the delicate fingers resting on his skin. Dazai's features hesitate for a second before he continues once more. "It's up to you. Though, well, this is more of a request. It's rare for an owner to ask favors of his dog, don't you think?"
"Dazai..." he wants to say so many things, but the only thing his mind is able to formulate to his name.
The named can see through that pain, and wipes the few drops that reach his hand from the red-haired man's face. "I would like you to be my guide."
Guide me through the darkness that consumes me.
Guide me through a world we know will stalk us.
Guide me as would a dog faithful to his master.
"I would like you to become that which I lost, Chuuya."
Emotions overtake him: heat in his chest, pain in his throat, guilt in his heart. Dazai Osamu ignores all this and decides to continue to trust him, the monster who took him from him. He shows himself vulnerable to him despite the danger he meant - and means - to his existence. Why does he do so? He has no reason to substantiate that, but the words are there.
And he has no right to deny them.
In one swift movement, Chuuya wraps his arms around Dazai's torso, passing under his armpits. The chestnut gasps in surprise for a second, but soon a soft playful humming resounds in his ear. The heartbeat echoes against his own body, demonstrating the life that many said Dazai should not possess.
But he is there, alive and with a Nakahara Chuuya clinging tightly enough to prevent his escape. "Did the slug get sentimental?" he asks with some derision. Chuuya hides in his collarbone, inhaling his scent and not moving his body away from Dazai's. "Chibi?"
"I accept."
There is a silence between the two after enunciating his answer. He doesn't think he made a mistake, but he also doesn't understand why the other man doesn't say anything. Nerves strike his mind, implant the idea of running away and—
A hand presses his head against the brown man's collarbone. He doesn't have a view of Dazai, doesn't know what expression he has right now, but even so... "Will my dog be faithful to me to the end?"
That question is not worth answering, because he knows how Dazai wants to hear him say certain words. Then, ignoring logic nor considering the situation, Chuuya separates from Dazai and—
Their lips collide. It is short, unromantic, careless and inexperienced -something unthinkable for the background of both adults-; and with all those flaws, Chuuya freaks out because there is no sign of rejection, just submission. Dazai isn't forcing anything and gets everything the redhead is willing to give. One, two, three, four seconds pass until Nakahara feels he must release the other's lips before choking him for it.
A translucent, glistening thread binds their mouths together, Chuuya feels the blood rush up to his head and is glad Dazai can't tease him about it. "It's the first time my dog has ever kissed me." And yet, he still manages to find a way to do it.
But he doesn't care, because he— "I'll stay until the end."
He kisses him again.