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Dazai lets out a soft huff of air, sighing comfortably as he hears the water ripple quietly around them. Chuuya’s shifting closer, his soft hair slightly damp as he lays his neck against the bare skin of Dazai’s shoulder, head against Dazai’s chest. Dazai feels a drowsy smile tug at his lips, hand forming a cup as he brings water up to the back of Chuuya’s head, tipping his cupped hand to let it trickle onto his boyfriend’s hair. Chuuya’s eyes close, lashes wet, and he hums, relaxed, leaning into the feeling.
They’re both silent, it’s relatively past 10 P.M., dark outside. All they hear are each other’s steady, relaxed breathing, their heartbeats nearly in sync, and the small droplet noises the water makes once they move. It’s been a while since they bathed together, usually only once they’re both tired, exhaustion wearing away at their bones and their eyes burning behind their lids.
Dazai’s always enjoyed it. He likes the closeness, like bathing together was their sanctuary. He likes hearing Chuuya’s soft little huffs as he sits up to wash Dazai’s hair, or how he smiled when Dazai gently did the same. He knew Chuuya liked it too, seeing as he’s the one who started the routine. He’d come home one day, sighing exasperatedly as he shrugged off his coat, staring at Dazai with a tired expression, his brown eyes a little duller. Dazai, per usual, jumped up and followed him around, which led to them relaxing in a bathtub that afternoon.
He doesn’t want to boast, but he knows Chuuya well enough to assume it was one of Chuuya’s favorite things too.
Chuuya purses his lips as Dazai kisses his cheek, a soft gentle touch of his lips to show Chuuya just how much he was loved. Chuuya’s free hand, the one not tracing circles on Dazai’s skin, went up to run through Dazai’s brown hair, the feeling evoking an immediate reaction from Dazai as he leaned forward, eyes closed in comfortability.
Dazai’s hand, arm without bandages, snakes around the back of Chuuya’s neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of Chuuya’s neck as he kisses his boyfriend gently. A small peck was still meaningful, especially now, when their bare bodies pressed against one another, the shower curtain pulled open and the bathroom door locked -- the lock was always a tough one, hard to get locked, and harder to unlock, even with a key. It was moody, the bathroom lights dimmed and, yet, somehow, the razorblade lying on the side of the tub still caught a refraction of the bulb’s light, gleaming, a reminder of how this night would end.
It doesn’t ruin the mood, for either of them, still holding each other close and sharing gentle, warm kisses in the bathtub. Of course, their partnered leaving of the world was premeditated, but it always had been. Dazai had been wanting, yearning for this since he’d been fourteen, craving a sweet release from the pain of life, peace from the feeling of not belonging. He’d felt like an empty shell. Suicide was the only solution.
They’d joked about it before, since they were fifteen, since they'd been work partners, since they’d become actual partners. It's been casual conversation, Dazai’s dream and fantasy of dying in a romantic lovers suicide, until now.
“Shut it, fish sticks.” Chuuya whispers, but he's smiling, his voice soft, like a lulling breeze over a meadow of flowers. His lips seem softer than his voice, of which was the gentlest Dazai had ever heard.
Despite how his brown hair looked almost orange at times, depending on the lighting he was in -- another reason Dazai loved Chuuya; his complexity, everything about him was complex, his emotions, his features, his actions, his perspective, the fact someone like him could love not just someone like Dazai, but Dazai himself -- or the setting, Chuuya always reminded Dazai of the easy-on-the-eye, saturated, and soft flowers you’d see.
Dazai didn't take himself to be one of those flower guys, but that was before Chuuya, and now he can’t help but see the perfection of the weeds, and compare it to the most beautiful person in his life, perfect without even trying, Chuuya.
He’d give the world in its entirety to Chuuya if he could.
“I didn’t say anything,” Dazai purses his lips, making a soft click as they parted. His hand moves to trace circles around Chuuya’s back, finger stopping to rest up on Chuuya’s pale shoulder. There's a repetitive, yet not annoying, sound of the water droplets falling from Dazai’s fingertips to the tub of water, as he adds, “Did I?”
“You’re thinking too loud.” Chuuya mutters, but it sounds more concerned than anything, one hand coming to cup the side of Dazai’s face, caressing it as he hums to himself, eventually coming to twirl Dazai’s wet hair, “Do you not want to--?”
“Of course I do, just thinking about Chuuya,” Dazai smiles softly, the sight almost euphoric, “You’re pretty.”
Chuuya snorts, sounding affectionately amused. There's a soft dust of heat over his face, hardly visible under the light, but he responds with, “So are you, ‘Samu.”
“I love you.” Dazai smiles, his eyes filled with nothing but warmth, with nothing but love.
Chuuya was like the sun, his only source of happiness, his only source of enjoyment. He’d die without him, hell he has separation anxiety if he doesn’t see Chuuya for a day. No sun, no life on Earth. No life at all.
That’s why they’ve both taken this route, hand in hand, heart to heart, life with one another, death with one another. He loves Chuuya, he wants to be with Chuuya forever. If he has to die, he wants to die with Chuuya.
Taking a deep breath, the blade’s cold, metallic surface hit Dazai’s arm, sliding across his pale skin, across the old, healed, white lines from his time before Chuuya.
To Dazai, Chuuya was life itself.
He hopes that their love won’t die with them.