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Dazai hates summer.
Summer in Yokohama is brutal, unrelenting. The rising temperature coming together with the unforgiving humidity is a match made to torment him. The scorching sun bearing down on him, his bandages sticking to his body like a second skin. The sudden rainstorm that drenches him in the middle of the day as he pays Odasaku a visit, bandages clinging to him even more.
Attempting to escape the heat in the Agency only results in Kunikida yelling at him, demanding that he finishes his report. Ranpo offers him a popsicle, but he waves it away. He tries sheltering in the cafe downstairs, away from his irritated colleague but it is no better. Everyone else in Yokohama apparently has the same idea and the cafe is packed. The cacophony of excited chatter and cutleries in motion makes his head spin.
When the sun finally takes pity on Dazai and swaps places with the moon, the chirping of the crickets reaches a crescendo, disrupting the tranquillity of the night. The stifling heat does not subside, the breeze rustling through the trees is a sham intended to lull him into anticipating comfort that never arrives. His walk home feels longer in summer than any other season.
And as Dazai lies awake at night, staring at his ceiling, sleep evades him once more. He envies the shadows flickering in the darkness, reckless and carefree. His mind wanders to faraway places, distant memories.
To when he endured summer in a shipping container with only a portable fan - hell on earth was the most apt description for his previous living conditions.
To when his teenage brain somehow thought that wearing a black suit in summer, and during all other seasons, was the epitome of style. Granted, the sweat stains and blood splatters were hardly noticeable at all times.
To when he sought respite in a luxury penthouse - crisp air descending on him, the ebb and flow of smooth silk gliding against him, and cool touches sending shivers down his spine.
Times when things were simpler in their own complicated ways. It’s ironic how the past always finds a way to creep up on him when he has already made peace with living in the present.
Dazai closes his eyes and wishes for autumn to appear.
Autumn does not make an appearance. Neither does slumber. But daybreak does.
Another sun-drenched day awaits.
Dazai walks into the air-conditioned office, breathing a sigh of relief. Thankfully Kunikida is too preoccupied with scribbling something onto his notepad to spare him a glance. Yosano flashes him a bright smile, then turns back to painting her nails, an obvious indication that she is preparing for a night out. Naomi is next to her, flipping through a fashion magazine.
Trudging to his desk, he spots a pamphlet that was not there the day before. Peppered with cutesy artworks of takoyaki and kakigori, and silhouettes of people with fireworks in the sky as a backdrop. Without picking it up, he scans it, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach. He watches his initial plan to stay indoors tonight disappear before his eyes as he reads the words on it.
Minatomirai Bon Odori Festival
Below that is a date. Today’s date.
Dazai turns to his left and sees Atsushi looking at him expectantly, a hopeful expression on his face. A defeated sigh leaves Dazai. It may not be what he wants to do, but it is what he needs to do. He takes his mentoring much more seriously now anyway.
He can feel Ranpo’s gaze on him. When their eyes meet, Dazai sees a glimmer in his eyes, one that doesn’t bode well with him. Dazai is now pretty sure that the detective is the person behind the sudden appearance of this pamphlet on his desk. The reason behind Atsushi’s interest, and everyone else’s too, in attending the festival.
A nod of his head was all it took to turn the hopeful sparkle to one that now shines with joy.
Seems like Dazai will be sweating it out at a festival tonight.
The night air is thick and sultry, filled with promises of honeyed dreams and candy-coated fantasies. Lights and sounds swirl around Dazai. A young boy collides into him. After mumbling a sheepish apology, the boy runs off, chasing after his friends and a feeling that used to elude Dazai. But not anymore. He almost gets lost amongst the throngs of human bodies as he searches for familiar faces.
Stalls upon stalls selling all sorts of treats. Ranpo is already stuffing his face with a red bean taiyaki when Dazai finally spots him. Ranpo is dressed for the occasion, his brown yukata mimicking the chestnuts being sold at the stall behind him. Atsushi looks at ease in his white yukata with hints of grey, an ikayaki in one hand, and takoyaki in another. Yosano looks very much like a picture of elegance, regal in a plum-coloured kimono. He spies Kunikida and Fukuzawa in the distance, conversing with a smile on their face, talking about whatever serious people like them talk about during a summer festival.
Dazai is greeted with hugs and smiles, and momentarily he can feel the suffocating atmosphere fading away. It is easy to forget about the sweat clinging onto his nape, the sweltering heat enveloping him, when he is surrounded by people that care about him. He doesn’t need to say anything, instead he makes his feelings known by not wiggling away from Yosano’s embrace.
Maybe, he thinks, maybe it’s not so bad to be out after all. Ranpo’s smirk all but screams I told you so.
Atsushi drags the group to a table, already occupied by the rest of the members of the Agency. They cheer when they see him, pleasantly surprised that he is only an hour late. Kyouka does not hesitate to take the takoyaki from Atsushi’s hand, Kenji looks on eagerly. Yosano slots herself between the Tanizaki siblings, challenging them and Haruno to an impromptu drinking contest.
Dazai takes a moment to appreciate the people around him. He has worked hard to reach where he is now, but they have worked just as hard in supporting him. They all accepted him - the good, the bad and the worst. He hopes that Odasaku is proud of him, deep down he knows that Odasaku is.
A burst of laughter from a nearby group attracts his attention. With a sheepish smile on his face, he excuses himself. They all wave him away, well aware that Dazai’s presence tonight is not just meant for them.
From Dazai’s hiding spot - if you can even call it a hiding spot - where he is standing nonchalantly between two shrubs that could pass off as scrawny-looking trees, he is surprised that he has not been detected yet. Even now, after more than five minutes of him standing there, no one pays him any attention.
Honestly speaking, no one would have cared even if he was standing out in the open. No one cares to bat an eye at the random guy dressed in navy yukata, who seems to have made himself right at home in that particular spot. Not when the festival is in full swing and everyone is more engrossed in losing themselves in the festivities.
Everyone including the local mafia members. Who usually dress like they are attending a funeral, accompanied by a sombre expression that makes you wonder if it was their dead parents’ funeral that they were in fact attending.
But right this moment, Gin looks absolutely radiant with her hair held up in a bun with an intricate flower hairpin, giggling at something that Higuchi said. Higuchi, pretty in her pink and white floral kimono, pointing animatedly at another stall that has caught her attention. Akutagawa might look like he has been dragged here against his will but everything else about him indicates otherwise. Dazai is sure of that. The fact that Akutagawa has a kitsune mask strapped on the side of his head, and he is holding onto a bag with a goldfish swimming inside, is a dead giveaway. God help him, even Dazai can’t deny that Q looks adorable in his baby blue yukata, looking every bit not like the little monster that he is.
All of a sudden, Dazai has to push down the urge to turn into a monster himself and throw a rock straight between Tachihara’s eyes when he sees Tachihara slings an arm loosely around Chuuya’s shoulder, laughing as he does so. Because he doesn’t want to cause a scene, but mainly because he knows that the rock will be thrown back at him with so much force that his skull will crack. And he has been reminded numerous times by a certain redhead that jealousy is not a good look on him, especially when it is unfounded and unwarranted.
As if sensing his killing intent, blue eyes land on him.
A warning glare is what Dazai got in lieu of a greeting. A glare that speaks volumes.
Don’t you dare do anything stupid, or else I will castrate you.
He waves with an innocent smile plastered on his face. Slinks back into the shadows, anticipating, waiting. He knows that Chuuya will be here tonight, even though he had just arrived back in Yokohama this morning. Chuuya will never miss out on spending time with his friends. Moreover, he knows that Chuuya also knows that he will be here tonight, no doubt knowing full well that the Agency will not let Dazai mop around at home when there is a festival being held.
As it stands, there is no point hiding when they already know every single thing about one another.
It used to unnerve him that Chuuya can read him like an open book. It baffled him that even after reading and eventually comprehending the jumbled words and convoluted plot that is Dazai, Chuuya still refused to put the book down. Instead, Chuuya cherished it even more, rereading it again and again. I would never get bored of my favourite book, Chuuya had assured him.
Back then, Dazai thought that he didn't deserve this. When your brain is working non-stop at the speed of light, sometimes you can’t help but listen to the voices that manifest unexpectedly. Voices that murmured words that should not have a place in his mind, words that managed to worm their way into his heart. Voices that whispered to him in the dead of the night, trying to undermine what he has fought so hard for. Soon he found himself turning into an unwilling yet staunch believer of those voices.
It has taken a long while for Chuuya to convince him that the voices in his head were merely that - voices and nothing else. Insignificant and deceitful. Time and time again, Chuuya persisted. With a fierce devotion that Dazai has a newfound admiration for, Chuuya never once faltered in trying to make Dazai see beyond those make-believe words. Little victories that slowly rolled into one major triumph when Dazai finally understood.
That he is inherently human. Flawed at times yet loved nonetheless.
That he can rely on others. Seeking assistance and experiencing emotions does not make him weak.
That Chuuya will always be by his side. As his partner, confidante and husband.
He is not sure how he got so lucky but he is definitely not complaining.
The crackling of leaves announces to Dazai that he is now not alone.
Turning around, he is once more faced with the same blue eyes from earlier. Except this time, Chuuya is looking at him with a quiet fondness that he so adores. One that is only ever directed at him, he reminds himself. A soft side to the indomitable Port Mafia executive that only he gets to see. There really was nothing, or no one, that he needed to be jealous of.
You’re an idiot, Chuuya’s wry smile says as he holds one hand out to Dazai.
They certainly don’t have to say anything to one another to understand one another.
I know, his grin answers as he takes a step forward, taking Chuuya’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together.
You’re finally back, his finger traces those words on Chuuya’s cheek, as he tugs Chuuya closer.
I miss you, he breathes right onto Chuuya’s lips.
Chuuya responds by sealing their lips together.
Dazai can taste the subtle remnants of the sake that Chuuya must have been drinking earlier, the subtle sweetness of strawberries most likely from the strawberry kakigori that Chuuya loves so much.
The kiss is tender, filled with unspoken words. Vows and odes to one another, secrets shared only between them.
The soft sigh that rewards Dazai makes him melt every single time.
He pulls apart and peers into Chuuya’s eyes. It has only been a week without his husband by his side - Chuuya being sent overseas on a mission, hence Dazai’s sleepless nights and restless thoughts - and Dazai already misses allowing himself to be dragged into Chuuya’s gravitational pull. A silent sigh as he laments the years he wasted being a pining idiot in denial. Sometimes he wonders how he survived so many years without Chuuya when it now only takes a week for him to turn into a brooding mess whenever Chuuya is not around.
A chuckle slips past Dazai’s lips as he realises that he overlooked a fact. Chuuya misses him, just as much as he misses Chuuya. As evident by the tender gaze in Chuuya’s eyes as he gives Dazai the once-over. A mischievous smirk slowly spreads across Chuuya’s face as he takes in the sight in front of him. Clearly proving that Dazai was right in choosing to wear his navy yukata tonight. He had an inkling that Chuuya would be wearing his maroon yukata, and Dazai wanted to make sure that they complement one another. Not to mention that Dazai owns a mirror, he knows that he looks good right now. Almost as good looking as his husband. Devastating rivals? More like, a devastatingly handsome pair.
Chuuya rests his head right above his chest. Silently, they stand there, content with just being together. Dazai and Chuuya. Chuuya and Dazai. In a space that they have carved out for themselves. Uncaring of the world passing them by.
The warmth that spread across him right now has nothing to do with balmy summer nights. He does not mind it at all that his bandages are sticking onto him, all damp and gross, the sensation even more noticeable with Chuuya’s body against his. It’s admittedly uncomfortable, but he wouldn’t give up this feeling for anything in the world.
But what he needs right now is a cold shower. Preferably together with Chuuya, now that Chuuya is home.
"ただいま.” Chuuya finally breaks the silence, as if sensing Dazai’s thoughts.
“おかえり,” Dazai says, nuzzling into silky red.
Home.
A sanctuary that he and Chuuya have built together, where it’s only them and no one else.
A haven that protects him from the harsh summer, and the even harsher evil that haunts him.
As Dazai grows older, he finally understands that the horrors brought upon by summer and the monsters in his head can be easily overcome when he has now found the true meaning of home.
And only in summer will his husband walk around at home shirtless.
Maybe he doesn’t hate summer that much after all.