Work Text:
Dazai’s eyes fixate onto the blemishes laid across his arm, bandages having come loose along his left wrist, skin showing underneath.
Moments before, he was tackled while trying to gather information, the perpetrator throwing him across the floor before the taller was even able to lift his gun.
During his slide, he felt a pressure being released from his arm, but he was too busy thinking about the enemy to care.
He had only realized after Chuuya stepped in to push the man off of him that his bandages had come undone. It entranced him the moment he stood up.
Which now leaves him to look at all of the cicatrixes splayed across his skin, each mark from Mori’s needles, his own razor blades, cigarettes, jagged glass, scissors, anything he could’ve possibly used. They cover from the base of his wrist to his elbow, leaving almost no unscarred area along his arm.
He’s cut out of his thoughts when a voice catches his attention, “Dazai?”
The brunet’s eyes race over to his partner’s, catching how they stare at his uncovered arm before turning to look into rusty brown irises. It twists his stomach, causing bile to rise to his throat.
Chuuya saw his scars, observed the lines littering his wrists and the intensity of which he occasionally hurts himself.
His breathing begins to quicken in pace.
The ginger is going to laugh at the pathetic reasoning he has for inflicting pain upon his body, how he constantly needs to feel the agony of cuts along his arms to remind himself that he’s still capable of experiencing human emotions.
Even if they are dating now, the older has never seen his scars nor the fresh slices that can be commonly found around his lanky figure. Dazai has always made sure to appear uninjured so the shorter wouldn’t feel the need to remove his bandages and patch him up. He’s also never allowed for heated kissing to go farther than making out.
Chuuya has never complained or pressured him to take off anything he didn’t want to, but what if that changes now that he’s seen what lies underneath the white wrappings?
Would he demand to see more only to rip off the bandages once he’s refused? Would he publicly humiliate him in front of the mafia grunts by making fun of the scars that Dazai wished were never revealed?
It feels as if he can’t breathe anymore, like all of the oxygen has been removed from the air he’s currently trying to fill his lungs with. His stomach twists in tight coils while his head feels light.
He needs to calm down, he reminds himself. It wouldn’t do any good if he began to have a panic attack in front of his partner and the enemy. Not only would Mori punish him for revealing a weakness to the rival organization, Chuuya would have more blackmail to use against him.
That thought alone makes his breath pick up speed again before he wills it back to normal. He needs to rewrap his arm and make sure it stays in place this time so the slug won’t have to stare at his disgusting scars anymore, so some of his dignity can remain intact.
Quickly, he turns away from the ginger’s wandering eyes, unable to bring himself to read the emotion placed inside of them. It would be too much if he saw an amused look swimming inside of those irises right now. He needs to recuperate first before he can deal with the teasing from the older.
Practically running in the opposite direction of Chuuya and the enemy, he hides behind one of the warehouses around the area. It’s the only privacy he can achieve in his circumstances and the only thing keeping the ginger from viewing his cicatrixes in full display.
He removes the clips holding his loosened bandages in place. Taking the excess tape off as well, he begins to unwrap the gauze covering his arm, hastily putting it back on almost immediately.
After replacing the clips — carefully this time, he doesn’t want them to fall off — he steps out from his hiding place. It’s time for him to return to the mission and help his partner out.
Silently, he prays for Chuuya to never bring up what he saw littered around the other’s arm. It would be too hard for him to accept the fact that his lover finds him ugly, that they would probably break up soon.
They finished up the mission quickly after that. His partner was the one who did most of the work while he just sat around, his mind replaying the expression on the ginger’s face. He doesn’t know if the man originally looked so disdainful or if his brain had twisted the image. Although, he's sure it’s the former.
Chuuya hadn’t said a single thing to him since the incident, only proving his imagination to be right.
Eventually, it’s time to go back home, Dazai planning to slip away and walk back to his shipping container for another sleepless night. But, clearly, the hat-wearer has other plans since he immediately grabs onto a bandaged wrist, pulling the brunet over to his motorcycle.
He’s tense as he gets on the seat, just behind his lover. The ginger has actually remembered their helmets this time, so he’s unable to snuggle into the other’s back. To him, it feels like there’s a wall growing between them, something he won’t be able to fix.
Way too soon, they’re stopping into the parking lot of an apartment building. Chuuya gets off the bike first, removing his helmet and using his gloved fingers to straighten out his hair, the younger following in suit. He usually thinks his partner is hot like this, barely drooling at the sight each moment this happens, but his intestines are tied together too tightly for him to feel anything but nausea.
Once again, he’s dragged to wherever the shorter man wants to go — this time being inside the other’s penthouse. The elevator ride is just as awkward as the motorcycle. Except, now he can see a slight downturn of lips on the ginger’s face. The small frown, the way his brows furrow while his eyes burn holes into the bandaged man’s body.
Anxiety wells in his chest at what is bound to occur when they enter the penthouse.
The elevator doors slide open, Chuuya briskly walking inside and starting to take off his shoes. He does the exact same, not wanting his lover to be even more angry with him.
“Go sit on the couch,” His partner orders. It’s the first thing he’s said, and it’s so nerve-wracking. He knows he loses anything he ever wants, but he didn’t think it would hurt this much.
He then hands over his helmet so the hat-wearer can put it away before lightly traveling to the sofa.
He sits down slowly, countenance carefully crafted to appear neutral and not as if he’s two seconds away from crying. He focuses his vision onto the floor, spacing out until two feet obstruct the rug. He lifts his head, his mask breaking slightly when he sees the ginger’s face. Suddenly, the hat-wearer crouches down, pulling a bandaged arm into his hands.
“Can I take off your bandages?” The older asks, two-toned eyes looking into his own. All the brunet can do is nod, unwilling to say anything in fear of damaging the relationship. The ginger stares at him a little longer until he decides that his nod was truthful, immediately getting to work on taking out the clips and setting them to the side.
He watches silently as the gauze is delicately unwrapped. It takes a few minutes for the bandages to be entirely gone, having been placed on the cushion next to him.
His arm tingles when the air breezes by it, his scars out in the open for the shorter’s scrutinizing gaze to rake across. The tight feeling settles into his stomach, anxiety raising with each second that passes.
He’s just about to pull his arm away when Chuuya leans down, lips ghosting over his wrist, over the cut along his vein.
“You’re really pretty, you know that?” The hat-wearer murmurs, placing a kiss on the cicatrix. It sends butterflies straight into the bruent’s stomach. The man in front of him sends a smirk, and it’s so soft he thinks he might melt.
He’s given no time to recuperate as the older is immediately moving up his arm, a buss placed on each and every scar, even the small accidental ones. After a kiss, he always says those words, variations of “You’re so beautiful” or “So perfect”.
The phrases ring throughout his mind, making his heart beat uncontrollably no matter what he does to stop it. Eventually, the kisses come to an end with Chuuya rubbing a hand down his arm to wipe away the excess spit.
Dazai’s a little disappointed, so he quickly invades his slug’s space with his second hand, waving it around to catch the other’s attention. His excitement causes the ginger to chuckle before repeating the process all over again. He unbandages the arm, starting at the elbow this time as he works his way down, kisses being placed on each scar. Then, he turns the wrist around, showing the backside of his forearm which also gets smooches laid across the surface area.
The brunet’s gone still at the end of it, heart melting in his rib cage as he stares at his partner. His chest feels as if it’s about to burst for how much love he contains for such a small, short-tempered man.
Chuuya leans into his face, placing a buss onto his lips. The taller reciprocates and deepens the kiss for a while until they both pull away for air. His lover smiles, a dreamy looking one that has every single one of the younger’s organs oozing out of his body.
“Wanna eat some crab?” The ginger asks.
The suicidal man nods instantly, slowly getting up — the other doing the same — to hug his dog from behind, following him through the process of cooking food.
When they sit down at the dining table, the ginger’s skull laying against his chest for a moment before leaving to eat his crab, Dazai thinks he’s head over heels in love for the person sitting next to him with no way out. Surprisingly, he finds himself not minding this new predicament.