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“Dazai?”
After a moment or two of realizing he’s no longer spinning nor falling, Dazai lets his arms fall from around his head: desperate to protect it even if the best case scenario would’ve been for him to crack his skull and bleed out.
Kunikida’s kneeling above him in nothing but his boxers, eyes wide, probably not even realizing that he’s almost naked. Is he that blinded by rage? He’s holding Dazai by the man’s shoulders, grip tight, and the brunet is sure this is it: he’s going to die.
Dazai closes his eyes, preparing himself for the final blow.
At least his killer will be someone he loves. That’s a nice way to die, isn’t it? It’s much better than committing suicide alone. The last thing he sees will be the blond, serious but sincere.
And that would all be fine and dandy, but the blow never arrives, and Dazai is forced to crack one eye open to see that Kunikida’s gaze has significantly softened.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
Dazai’s voice doesn’t quite work from being quiet for so long — combine that with being wasted, too — but he still opens his lips and lets out a confused noise: “Huh?”
“You dropped that bottle and then fell down the stairs, I— I didn’t realize you came back to my place. We must’ve made a lot of noise, I’m sorry,” Kunikida apologizes before sighing to himself, taking one hand off Dazai to rub his forehead. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let you leave alone.”
“No, I—”
“Come on, can you walk? Let’s get you inside.” Kunikida takes Dazai’s hand and helps him stand up. His flesh explodes with pain the second he tries to put pressure on his right foot, and he yelps. “Okay, hold onto me, Dazai.”
With his arm around Kunikida’s shoulders for stability, the two ascend the stairs back to Kunikida’s apartment door with Dazai limping the way there. The door is wide open, and when they enter the apartment, the woman peeks out from Kunikida’s bedroom. She’s pulled one of the blond’s striped dress shirts on, the length barely covering her ass, and that makes frustration simmer somewhere inside Dazai.
She furrows her brows and asks: “You’re inviting him back in?”
“He probably twisted his ankle, I need to help him,” Kunikida explains rather calmly for a drunken man, walking past the woman to the combined kitchen and living room without sparing a glance at her.
“So what?” she asks accusingly as she follows the two men to the couch where Kunikida lays Dazai down, foot raised on the armrest, “He was obviously creeping on us!”
Something twitches in Kunikida’s expression. He finally turns to the woman and says: “You should leave. I won’t accept such heinous claims about my friend.”
The woman’s eyes widen in fury. “Are you seriously taking his side? He basically drooled all over you all night!”
“That makes him no different from you. Please return my shirt, I’ll call you a cab.”
With a scoff, the woman turns around and returns to the bedroom, presumably to change back into her dress. Meanwhile, Dazai looks at Kunikida, a strange blooming of guilt inside his chest.
“You didn’t have to kick her out.”
“I believe she got what she came for,” Kunikida sighs. “Now excuse me, I need to make sure she gets home safe. Just keep your ankle elevated, okay?”
Dazai swallows. “...Okay.”
The next fifteen minutes are the worst and slowest of Dazai’s life. The two others in the apartment get dressed without speaking to each other like a couple on the verge of divorce. Kunikida calls a taxi, brings Dazai an ice pack and places it gently around his ankle, cleans up the pieces of glass by the bedroom door before leaving to walk the woman safely to her cab. What a gentleman.
A gentleman whose trust in Dazai will soon shatter completely. The brunet has never regretted his actions more. It seems he’s in his usual “regret every single life choice” stage of drunkenness.
Maybe he truly should just jump off the balcony before Kunikida gets back. Surprise him by landing on the pavement next to him as he says goodnight to the woman getting in the taxi.
But Dazai doesn’t even dare get up as if even that would be doing something wrong, so he stays put and waits for the blond’s return. He’s uncomfortable and sticky in his boxers, and he realizes to actually button his slacks back up before the apartment door finally opens and Kunikida enters with a sigh.
“She sure cursed me out,” he says while slipping off his shoes. He walks through the hallway to Dazai and asks: “Do you think we need to go to the emergency room?”
“I’m fine!” the brunet squeaks right away, but the other does not seem impressed. “I mean, yes, it hurts, but Kunikida, I am rather used to pain as much as I hate it.”
“If you say so,” Kunikida mutters, surprisingly raising Dazai’s legs in the air for a moment in order to sit on the couch before letting them fall back over his lap. Dazai would be lying if he said that didn’t damn near make him blush.
“Kunikida…”
“You drank my wine,” the blond says, an observation.
“...That I did,” Dazai admits, because at this point lying would just make his case worse. “I’ll get you a new bottle.”
“I got that from the president after a successful mission. I’m not sure you can find the same one anywhere.”
“I’ll ask him about it. I can be very persuasive.”
“It’s fine, Dazai,” Kunikida tells him. Something tells Dazai it is not fine. Perhaps it’s his consciousness. “Just focus on resting so you’ll be back in action in time for Monday. We have a new mission and it shouldn’t be hindered by your limping or the fact that you accidentally saw me have relations with someo—”
“I spied on you!” Dazai spits out, because he would’ve choked if he didn’t.
There it is. Out in the open. Dazai’s sick, perverted ways. Kunikida will probably plead for the boss to give him a different work partner after this, and Dazai will probably drink himself to death this very same night.
But Kunikida just chuckles. “I know you did.”
Dazai blinks. “...What?”
“Obviously I saw your shoes and coat by the door when we came in. I thought you were asleep somewhere, but then I briefly saw you by the door when we were… getting into the action.”
The brunet furrows his brows so far it’s hard to even look Kunikida in the eyes. “Why’d you keep going, then?” he asks.
Kunikida shrugs. “Perhaps I wanted you to see.”
It takes a lot of effort to surprise Dazai. Kunikida has somehow managed to do so with just six words. The brunet nearly falls off the couch just from hearing them.
“I like you, Dazai,” the blond continues while Dazai’s melted brain drips out of his ears, “I wished you had noticed how much I was trying to push the woman away at the bar, but then you decided to leave early. And then we got back with her because I was hurt, and I… I saw you and I… Something just snapped. I wanted you to see every inch of me.”
This can’t be happening. Dazai should not be receiving a reward for being such a creep. Yet here he is, with Kunikida’s hands softly massaging his ankle while admitting his feelings for him.
“Well, say something,” the blond insists. “I’m going to feel idiotic if I just confessed and it turns out you’re just a voyeur.”
“I’m not!” Dazai insists. “Of course I like you too, Kunikida! I’ve liked you for a long time now!”
Kunikida laughs weakly. “I’m relieved. As long as this doesn’t happen again, I’m willing to let you off the hook for spying.”
“What am I, a kid being punished?”
“I was thinking more like… my partner?” Kunikida suggests, a hint of warmth on his cheeks.
“I am your partner already, Kunikida. You have to specify,” Dazai says with an innocent expression which only makes the blond sigh with annoyance.
“I am starting to change my mind about not pressing charges for voyeurism,” he mutters before finally saying: “I’d like to be your boyfriend and I’d like for the only people who see us having sex to be the two of us.”
“What? No orgies?”
“Dazai.”
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! I’d totally love to be your monogamous, non-cuckold boyfriend!” the brunet cheers, sitting up and bringing his face close to Kunikida’s. “No matter how much you’d beg for me to change my mind.”
Kunikida sighs and playfully pushes Dazai back down. “You’re going to be the death of me. Goodnight.”
Once the blond has already stood up, the brunet calls after him: “Hey, you’re not even going to cuddle me on our first night together?”
“We’re drunk and your ankle needs rest. You are staying on the couch tonight, voyeur.”
“Rude!”