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“Chuuya– go away. I don’t want you here”
Dazai didn’t need to be facing the door to know who was there. He could tell by the quick, pattering footsteps down the empty hallway that it was Chuuya. Always so full of energy for no reason.
Even in his hazy mind, clouded by illness, Dazai fought to keep himself alert. Despite his consciousness slipping between his fingers, he still had Chuuya’s every move memorized, as easy as breathing.
“As if I want to be here! Are you insane?” Chuuya starts, slamming the door shut behind him as he puts the cluttered little room under scrutiny. “Ew, don’t you clean?”
Dazai groans as he turns over in bed, muffled by his cheek pressed firmly into his pillow.
He can barely stifle a cough as he hears Chuuya start complaining from the doorway, his voice sharp and much too loud for Dazai’s head.
“Take out your trash, at least…” There’s a sour look on Chuuya’s face, like he’s repulsed by being in there.
He takes each step towards Dazai with a pointed toe, shuffling around the glass bottles and empty cans on the floor like he was dancing. “There’s so much shit in here, you included.”
Dazai stirs once more, lifting his blanket up and over his face as he feels Chuuya loom over him. “Chuuya’s so noisy… so nosy too.”
“Huh?” Chuuya leaned down, hands searching for something in his jacket pockets. “Boss ordered me to come over while he’s busy, I’d leave you to rot in here if I could.”
Chuuya made it clear he wasn’t here of his own volition, voice trailing off towards the end as he found a strip of medicine.
“You’d be doing me a massive favor.” Dazai didn’t turn over to spare a glance at him, further curling into the thin sheets that shrouded his frame. “Chuuya is so cruel.”
Dazai was just a mess of brown hair peeking out from the sheets. Like a small animal– curled up and hiding away from the world.
Chuuya hated the fact that he understood.
Chuuya just frowned in response, crouching down to meet Dazai’s level. “He said I need to watch you take these, it’s like you’re a baby.” He sighed, tossing the shiny packaged pills at the back of Dazai’s head.
The mention of Mori, medicine, and pills sent another wave of sickness through Dazai, making him want to stuff his fingers down his throat and vomit for the third time that day.
Chuuya silently got the message; and made a mental note not to bring him up if possible, like Dazai had conveyed his discomfort without saying anything.
He bought up a hand to shake Dazai out of his half-asleep state, albeit roughly.
“Come on. Get up, I know you’re not gonna take them anyways.” Chuuya then pulled the cover off of Dazai’s face, settling it over his chest as he lay him on his back.
It was alarming how easily Dazai let himself be manhandled– like a spineless ragdoll, stuffed full of cotton and bursting at the seams.
His eyes were still sewn shut, brown strands obstructing his face like strings of soft yarn.
“I know you're awake, so quit pretending.” Chuuya's frustration had begun to flare, but not as quickly as usual. It was odd, seeing Dazai be so loose and pliant. He is sick, Chuuya thought to himself.
All Dazai did was whine in protest, eyes blinking open the slightest bit as they adjusted to the murky, dimly lit room.
Before they fixated on a very annoyed, very close Chuuya.
He wasn’t that close, but close by Dazai’s standards. Close enough that vivid red filled his blurred sight for a moment.
He focused on that– eyes trailing down to the arch between Chuuya’s brows, then the soft roundness of his cheeks. Like the petals of a flower in full bloom.
Dazai always insisted Chuuya had freckles, although he claimed he ‘couldn’t see them’ whenever he looked into the mirror.
If that was a product of Dazai staring at Chuuya for extended periods, he didn’t know. But they seemed so clear now, even in Dazai’s clouded vision.
They were delicate and hazel-coloured. Scattered over pale skin like stars. Decorating the slope of Chuuya’s nose and dusting his cheeks.
Barely there, but visible if you were looking for them. Visible to Dazai.
“Huh, you really are out of it.” Chuuya’s less-than-pleasant voice snapped Dazai back to attention, earning him a whine.
“Have you ever heard of personal space?” Dazai mumbled, spluttering weakly as Chuuya moved to lift him up from beneath his armpits.
“Shut up.” He hears Chuuya say, his back now slumped against the headboard.
“How’d this even happen? Your-”
“Always so full of life,” Dazai intercepts, trying to muster up a wry smile. “Thank you, I know.”
Chuuya clicks his tongue, the arch between his brows now more prominent. “No! I meant your disgusting vitality usually does you some good.”
“Oh, so am I not always a joy to be around?” Dazai teases, somehow fathoming the strength to do so. But his little grin faltered as Chuuya laughed in his face.
“Is that even a question?” Chuuya starts, “I can’t even think when you’re near me.” He enunciated the ‘think,’ eyes widening as if the thought frightened him.
Now Dazai was a bit more awake, he noticed that Chuuya looked stressed. His eyes were duller than usual, with dark shadows weighing down beneath them.
It reminded Dazai of the way he thought he looked the last time he saw himself in the mirror.
Chuuya even looked agitated as he shook off his jacket, discarding it onto the floor he regarded as dirty minutes prior.
“You should pick that up, it’ll get dirty.” Dazai drawled, threatening to drift off once more as he watched Chuuya fuss around with his leather.
Dazai never knew why he registered Chuuya’s every movement, word, and breath into his head, filing them away in his brain to use against him later. It was scary.
“Ow! What the-” Dazai complained as Chuuya kept slapping his cheek to keep him awake, but not roughly.
Dazai silently wished it would turn into a punch that knocked him out cold.
“You can sleep later, I don’t give a shit. Just not now.” Chuuya gave him one last once-over, judging if he could trust Dazai to stay awake.
He made his judgment, then backed away to the sink in the kitchen area.
The faucet squeaked as Chuuya started running the water, clearly unused for a while– which made his eyes dart to the empty bottles on the countertop.
He reached past them to grab a small glass, shaking his head as he did so before filling it up with water.
“Have you taken anything?” He asked as he turned back to Dazai, only to see his eyes sealed once more. “For the last time, get up!”
“No, I haven’t. Mori-san never gives me anything good.” Dazai answers, Chuuya’s temper rising at his act– but he swallows it down.
“He says he’ll give me one thing, but gives me something else entirely!”
If Dazai wasn’t whining about such a grim topic, he would’ve sounded like a young child complaining to their parents over a toy. Eyes squeezed shut and lip jutted to form the ghost of a pout.
“Because I don’t want you throwing up on me.”
“Chuuya–” He took his hand and tangled it in the back of Dazai’s hair, carefully pulling his head back to guide the water down, knowing Dazai was in no state to do it himself.
Chuuya always knew things. He always knew what questions to ask and what to do in a crisis, despite most of his decisions being made on impulse.
He didn’t know why he was being gentle with Dazai, or why he felt bad as he watched him writhe in his hold.
He examined Dazai’s drained complexion, and how the back of his hair felt like it was thinning from stress.
His throat bobbed from beneath his bandages as he drank, sweat-coated skin straining against them.
Through veils of sweat, Dazai’s pale skin looked almost translucent. Chuuya could see his cool-toned veins climbing up his throat, like the thorny vines of roses in the snow.
He looked so fragile, and so easy to break. Phrases that could never be used to describe the Osamu Dazai everyone knew.
Chuuya let him go, not missing the way Dazai held in a cough. “Maybe I should, then you’ll share all my germs.” Dazai’s voice sounded hoarse and scratchy, like he’d had this illness for a while but ignored it.
Dazai was an actor, a professional liar, and so many more things Chuuya hated bundled into one package. Wrapped up with bloodied gauze and sealed with the interchangeable masks he wore each day.
“Ew, that sounds so gross I could die!” Chuuya said as he backed away, like a child who’d just seen a ghost.
Dazai let out a small huff, a pathetic expulsion of air that couldn’t even be classed as a chuckle. “I thought you were so slow you wouldn’t understand.”
For the first time that morning, Dazai met Chuuya’s troubled gaze. Dazai always hated looking into Chuuya’s eyes, so he always tried to search past them.
They were bright, fierce things– often glazed over from frustration. Dazai avoided them, as he felt like tidal waves were crashing down on him with which glance. It was uncomfortable, to say the least.
Instead, he indulged in the whirlpools beneath them. Constantly spinning with turmoil, in sadness.
Chuuya brimmed with aching loyalty– loyalty to a bad man. But deep in the abyss, there was a yearning for peace and acceptance. One that could never be brought to the surface.
Perhaps only Dazai saw that in him, empathizing with the need for a sweet release.
“I don’t want you here. I want to sleep.” Dazai muttered, eyes and voice equally distant. “I don’t want whatever help you have to give me. I don’t need it-”
“Shut up, dumbass–” It didn’t matter what Dazai said, Chuuya always knew. Whatever double meanings were laced through his words, Chuuya saw right through them. Like Dazai was made of glass.
“You know what I don’t need?” Dazai could tell Chuuya was trying to keep his voice under control, as he spoke through gritted teeth. “I don’t need the Boss giving me shit if you fucking die on me. We’re–”
“Partners. I know that already.” Dazai interjected, expressionless as he watched Chuuya’s conflict stir in his head.
Chuuya gripped the back of Dazai’s hair once more, yanking his head up to face him– fingertips tugging at the oily roots.
“Hurts–” Dazai winced, but Chuuya’s fingers only tightened as he pressed their foreheads together.
Red strands tangled with dark brown, and the small room fell deadly silent. Only the shallow beating of two hearts could be heard, creating a steady rhythm with each second.
Two flushed cheeks met each other, soft pink blooming beneath ivory. Blood surged forth to both their brains and their cheeks, but Chuuya felt like he was staring straight at a porcelain mask.
“In a few years, I won’t give a shit if you’re dead.” Chuuya untangled his hand from Dazai’s hair, but kept it there to keep him in place.
He brushed his bangs back with the other, then pressed the back of his palm to his forehead, still maintaining the same proximity.
“Well, we don’t know about that.” Dazai retorts, desperate to mask once more. Chuuya ignores him.
“But for now, if you die, I die. And I still have shit to do.”
Chuuya’s blunt like that, always says what’s on his mind. There’s never a filter to sweeten what comes out of his mouth.
“Keeping me alive for your own sake? You really are cruel.” Dazai breathes, eyes narrowing at Chuuya’s disapproving glare, like his assumption missed the mark entirely. “Or am I wrong?”
Chuuya falls quiet– for once , Dazai thinks. But the silence between them speaks louder volumes than words ever could.
There’s something heavy in the air, it’s stifling, and Dazai feels like his senses are being obstructed by cotton wool, or he’s underwater.
“Doubting yourself?” Chuuya questioned as he slowly pried himself off Dazai, still keeping his eyes fixated on him. “That’s new.”
He started fumbling with the strip of pills he bought earlier, but only popped out one. It’s red and blue, and he takes it instead of Dazai.
“You’re so slow, you can’t take a joke.” Dazai drawls, teasing, but not unkind. “Don’t assume things. You don’t know anything.”
What was meant to sound condescending was followed by a muffled cough, which made the corners of Chuuya’s mouth prick upwards. Forming a smile as sharp as the flick of a blade.
“You just said that we’re partners, no?”
There’s another crease between his brows, and a wide, toothy smirk plastered on his face. His pointed canines reflected the dim light with each movement, each fang a silver glimmer in the mundane room.
It’s a face that screams Chuuya , and it makes Dazai feel sick to his stomach.
“So, even though you drive me fucking insane–” Chuuya started as he leaned back down to Dazai, who looked up back up at him with the expectancy of a starving kitten.
“Just insane?” Dazai laughed, “You have no idea how you make me feel, you’re not even close.”
Chuuya faltered, “What’s that supposed to mean?” He pulled back from him, voice raising as his small spout of confidence was cut short.
“Nothing. Please, do continue.” Dazai quietly chuckled at the sight, the tiniest of smiles playing on his lips. “I’m just making it clear that I can’t stand you.”
Chuuya scoffed and clicked his tongue. “Even though you’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met,” Chuuya continues, slowly leaning back with his gaze averted somewhere in the corner.
He looked shy, and Dazai swears he saw soft pink brushing at his warm cheeks. It was gentle, like the way Chuuya’s fingers hesitated to trace the line of Dazai’s jaw.
“I have to keep you alive, it’s part of my job.”
Dazai felt his stomach in his mouth, and his heart beat rapidly against his ribcage, so hard as if it threatened to break out from underneath.
He should have resented Chuuya for that; reached up and pushed him away, but Dazai’s body was rendered useless by sickness.
Not because he was completely shell-shocked. Or that he was listening to the tiny voice in his head that gave him the green light.
As much as he detested it, Chuuya was the only person who ever saw him like this. Body limp, exposed, and bare-bonded– with no guard to be put up.
He was the only person that made him lose his breath in awe, his face flush with warmth, and his heart beat so fast even his brain couldn’t keep up.
Dazai thought he hated it; Chuuya was a nuisance, and what he did to Dazai scared him.
Chuuya evoked a plethora of strange things deep within Dazai, things he disdained to discover out of fear.
But as Chuuya pressed his palm flat against Dazai’s cold skin, guiding his head up, the panic spiked before melting out of him.
It was like ice cream melting; leaving a sickly, bittersweet scent that dripped down his skin as he felt lips on his.
Chuuya didn’t miss the way Dazai’s eyes widened, or the little choked gasp that slipped out of him. But Dazai still let himself become pliant in Chuuya’s hands, dark eyes eventually blinking shut.
Their noses bumped together clumsily at first, and Chuuya cursed under his breath as he corrected the angle, movements more firm this time.
Chuuya’s lips were simply warm, like the sunset colors of his hair, fading into the oceans below.
It was an ocean Dazai felt like he was drowning in with each shaky breath, barely having any time to think as they parted. Chuuya repeated the same action, but with impossibly more care.
For once, Dazai allowed himself to accept it. Each silent second passed by in a blur, just roughness firmly slotted beneath Chuuya’s softness.
Chuuya’s fingertips softly ran down Dazai’s jawline, stopping at the middle to press them against the bone, each touch scorching him down to the marrow.
He felt the shape of Chuuya against him and committed it to memory, like it was just another part of him that Dazai would inevitably discover.
Dazai wondered how his lips felt to Chuuya; if they disgusted him, but he was in far too deep to pull away now.
Deeply lost in the dark, sullen abyss of their souls as they mingled together to become one.
Chuuya’s hand then rushed to tightly grip Dazai’s chin, the roughness filling his body with an inexplicable warmth.
His nails dug into the skin when he didn’t get his wanted response; earning another gasp from Dazai as his mouth fell open.
Chuuya carefully fed the pill onto his tongue, before loosening his hold and pulling away. Deep down, Dazai wanted to chase him and bring him back, so he could examine that rush in detail.
“I double-checked with the Boss, it’s real medicine.”
Chuuya mumbled as he drew away, the apples of his cheeks flaring pink as his gaze lingered elsewhere. “Say anything and I’ll kill you myself.”
Dazai didn’t open his eyes. He looked like a statue, sitting so still. Made up of delicately carved lines and fragile porcelain that looked cold to the touch, and stood up so high he was unreachable.
The faint sound of Dazai swallowing brought Chuuya back to attention, and the sight of tired eyes fluttering open in a daze. Like he was still trying to comprehend what just happened.
Seeing Dazai like this was unsettling: scared, unsure, and confused, like a timid cat– afraid of getting burned by the flames of reality.
Chuuya turned away from him, stalking off in another direction as he opened up the only window in the room, mumbling something about ‘fresh air’ that Dazai’s ears didn’t catch.
“Go back to sleep.” He groaned, pottering around the room as he began to clean up with reluctance.
“Chuuya is always so cruel to me.” Dazai managed as he sank back down onto his pillow, Chuuya’s scent somehow managing to linger there.
“Really, really cruel.”
────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────
The windy greyness outside faded to black, and the breeze wafted through the window with an added chill.
Minutes bled into hours as Chuuya fought to get Dazai clean and his room tidy, getting him bathed and dressed after a string of complaints and arguments between them both.
“Ew, how much snot is crusted on this? You're so gross...” Chuuya grimaced as he picked up Dazai’s worn blazer by the cuff, keeping it at arm’s length.
Dazai just yawned in response, accompanied by a nonchalant wave of his hand. “Quit overreacting over the little things, Chuuya. You’re so dramatic.”
“You– what do you mean, dramatic? ”
Their conflicts remained like that, trivial. Never threatening to spiral out of control like their other arguments.
But as Dazai started to whine about how lethargic he felt, Chuuya settled him back onto his bed with little resistance, bringing a bowl of cold water and a cloth with them.
“Lie on your back,” Chuuya muttered as he sat next to Dazai on the bed, hands wringing out the soaked cloth with practiced skill.
Dazai watched him as he worked, and thought his hands resembled those of a mother.
“Why? Why should I? What’s that for?” Dazai taunted, eliciting a sigh from Chuuya as he sneered–
“I know you’re being difficult on purpose, Osamu.” The name slipped off his tongue casually, like Dazai’s stomach didn’t start doing frontflips. “Just do it.”
He maneuvered himself to lie flat with a groan, his aching limbs sending shooting pains through him with each movement. “Chuuya is so–”
The boy in question suddenly clamped his hand down on Dazai’s mouth. He combed his other hand through his brown bangs to brush them back, then placed the folded cloth on his forehead.
“Can you just shut up? For two seconds, just shut up.” Chuuya’s eyes were narrowed from frustration– dark, and overflowing with chaos.
There’s an arch between his brows again, canines fussing the flesh of his bottom lip as he loomed above Dazai, maintaining eye contact for a bit longer than necessary.
He thinks he likes Chuuya like that. Open and struggling, each emotion so perfectly present on his features. Suffering, but still brimming with life.
However, it doesn’t help the fact that look is usually followed by a distasteful remark.
“You’re so fucking annoying…” Chuuya trails off, moving away from Dazai and setting the bowl down, before pulling the sheets over his form half-heartedly. “I’m leaving.”
Something in Dazai falters as watches Chuuya walk around to his side of the bed, giving him a glance that looks almost pitiful.
“If you’re not better by tomorrow, I'll leave you for dead. Don’t think I won’t.”
Dazai doesn’t say anything, even as he watches Chuuya turn on his heel to leave, but he’s already too late;
He’s already reached out to grab him by the wrist, Chuuya understanding it as a silent plea for him to not leave just yet.
It’s so uncharacteristic of Dazai that it makes Chuuya flinch, eyes widening in surprise.
His head whipped back around to stare down at Dazai, like a frightened dog on the brink of provocation.
“No, Dazai.” Chuuya objects, watching Dazai’s spindly fingers slip away from him. “I won’t.”
“Yes, you will.” Dazai’s barely awake, dark brown hair draped over his bandaged eye from how he pressed his face against the faded pillow.
“Does Chuuya love me?”
The question hangs heavy in the air for a moment, suffocating both of them as Dazai keens for an answer.
He expects Chuuya to sneer in horror, followed by a bite that’s worse than his bark.
Instead, he remains stock-still, expression laced with something unreadable. Like an immiscible discord.
“It doesn’t matter if I do,” Chuuya states matter of factly, and it’s only seconds before he’s retracing his steps and slipping under the covers next to Dazai.
“It can’t change anything.” Chuuya’s back is facing Dazai. Dazai wants to trace the lines of it like he’s an ancient sculpture. He wants to carefully snake his finger down his spine to see how he contorts in response.
Then, too late; he’s already done it. And Chuuya yelps like a kicked puppy, scared out of his skin.
“Ah- fucking idiot! Go to sleep!” Chuuya snarls, and Dazai giggles like a little boy on Christmas morning. “You should finish off your spell first, no?”
“You–” Chuuya’s infuriated, but continues nonetheless. “Even if I do, it won’t change anything. So just leave it.”
No, Dazai thinks. That’s not the response he wanted from him. But he didn’t even know what he wished for himself.
They both settled into silence, the sounds of the city bleeding in and filling the gaps between them.
The silent, dead hours of the night complimented Chuuya’s shallow breaths, a signal that he’d fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Despite the room’s coldness, Dazai felt white-hot. Like each nerve was on the brink of destruction and in dire need of rest, but he couldn’t– not with Chuuya so close.
Nakahara Chuuya is a problem.
He’s loud, infuriating, and tests Dazai’s patience until it runs dangerously thin, as thin as delicate white lace or satin ribbon.
Dazai hates being around him, he hates him and everything he stands for. Dazai berated himself for all the things he said today, wishing he just forced Chuuya out the door this morning.
As his heart thrummed in his ears, he barely managed to lean over to look at the cause of his prolonged discomfort.
Bright red was sprawled messily above the other pillow, a stark contrast to the worn grey sheets that covered it.
Chuuya’s hair splashed vivid color onto them, like vibrant watercolors on a blank canvas.
The soft plumpness of his skin was still visible in the darkness, the only source of light being the city outside.
Even bathed in that pale, dimmed glow– Chuuya looked much more peaceful in slumber compared to when he was awake.
Dazai attempted to shake off those thoughts, an aching migraine bursting forth the moment he settled back down to rest.
The day’s events replayed themselves in his head like a broken tape, but pausing to focus on when Chuuya kissed him earlier.
If Chuuya could heal all of Dazai’s wounds with his lips, and handle him with such unspoken tenderness as he did today, it made the blissful release of death pale in comparison.
Before he could regret it, Dazai mumbled into the darkness;
“Goodnight, partner.”
────── · · ୨୧ · · ──────
As Chuuya awoke from a dreamless sleep, he could instantly tell something was wrong.
He didn’t know where he was and this bed didn’t feel like his own, causing him to spiral into panic.
The sunlight that seeped through the window was much too bright, making him to squint and curse whenever he caught it in the corner of his eye.
“Chuuya– shut the blinds, it’s too bright,” Dazai murmured from below, snapping Chuuya's attention back towards him.
His body was lazily stretched out, his back curved like a sleeping cat waking from its afternoon nap. He nuzzled into the folds of the pillowcase, hugging it tight against his chest.
Dark brown hair, like the color of chocolate– shrouded part of his face from view, reminding Chuuya of sweet desserts made of milk chocolate and vanilla.
As he collected his thoughts and recalled the day before, it caused soft pink to rise up from his neck, flushing him to his ears.
He traced his fingers over his lips, the taste of Dazai’s sweetness still lingering.
Dazai’s eyes opened just a slit as he peeked up from his pillow; whining as he struggled to adjust himself to the sunrise, unused to having the blinds drawn so early.
Instead of seeing their usual emptiness; like black holes devoid of any humanity, destined to swirl deeper into nothingness– Chuuya saw tiny pools of melted gold, twinkling in the light.
Even in his half-awake state, Chuuya admired the deep brown colors of Dazai’s eyes in a new light, an image he knew was only reserved for him.
The sunlight seeped past his skin like it was delicate glass. Its ghostly transparency made his veins visible up to his cheeks, blues and greens winding together like traces of a fine artwork.
As Dazai yawned himself awake, tiny beads of tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, hanging on by the threads of long lashes.
“What did I just say? Close the blinds.” Dazai’s voice was still hoarse, but somewhat better. Causing him to sound like a snarling cat whenever he spoke.
Chuuya couldn’t pry his eyes away, having no strength to part with the sight of Dazai in front of him.
He didn’t want to shield him away from the light that made him shine so beautifully, not anymore.
Chuuya frowned, mumbling something unintelligible before enveloping Dazai in a bruising embrace, ripping his breath away with it too.
Dazai felt so frail and weak in Chuuya’s arms, like any sudden movement would leave a lavender bruise.
He entangled his limbs with his, clutching onto the fabric of Dazai’s shirt as he buried his face into the crook of his neck.
A feeling of warmth and heaviness weighed down on both their chests. Something blissful that threatened to spill over at any second, like the joy of a sunny afternoon.
They both had so many things they wanted to say; you’re insufferable, get a grip, i’m so sorry– but there was no need to speak them aloud.
“Chuuya, I’m suffocating–” Dazai struggled, hooking two fingers beneath Chuuya’s choker to pull him back slightly. “I don’t want to die if it’s with the likes of you .”
There was barely a centimetre between them, the tips of their noses brushing together with each breath.
Chuuya stared down at Dazai with a frown, at all his stupid pointed features and his stupid shaggy hair and his eyes that were blown wide like a stupid black cat.
His eyes that were nothing but pure beneath the surface, and equally as tormented as Chuuya’s own.
“Just shut up. Stupid–”
Chuuya doesn’t finish his curse, not before Dazai’s yanking him down by his choker to press his lips against his.
It was as light as a whisper, barely-there, like an angel's kiss. Like the faint traces of a dying white lilies’ fragrance, before wilting away in a blizzard of snow and ice.
It was so subtle that Chuuya only felt it for a moment, before Dazai pulled him back by a hair’s breadth.
“You’re a terrible kisser.” Chuuya mumbled against his lips, Dazai knew he didn't mean it at all. “I’m not all that interested in eating you, you’d taste horrible.”
Dazai fully yanked him away this time, prying him off completely and settling himself back down, making Chuuya flush red from embarrassment.
“What the?! You can’t just–” Chuuya’s frown made his canines glimmer as he complained, and the veins in his forehead looked like they were bulging.
Dazai zoned his voice out, rolling over on his side as he covered himself in his blanket.
There was a strange heat that crept up his neck and to his cheeks, making his skin feel oddly warm to the touch.
There was no way in hell Chuuya could see him like this, no way–
Dazai’s prayers were cut short as Chuuya dragged the sheets away from him.
“What the fuck? Don’t just run away!” He sneered, voice loud in Dazai’s ears as he felt Chuuya’s eyes land on him.
He gulped and cleared his throat, and Chuuya looked somewhat alarmed at Dazai’s state.
The brightly coloured veins that were littered beneath Dazai’s skin; like beheaded flower stalks, had now blossomed like pink roses in spring.
Fear and panic churned in Dazai’s stomach as Chuuya stared, until he felt gentle fingers smoothing over his cheek.
He had grown familiar with Chuuya’s touch, but its newfound softness was taking some time to get used to.
“Close the blinds.”
Dazai’s voice broke Chuuya out of his trance; and he got up immediately to close them, blocking out the sunlight for whenever they were ready to face it, together.
“Sorry, Osamu.” Chuuya muttered under his breath, so quiet that it threatened to be carried away in the breeze.
“I’m sorry too, Chuuya.”