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“So how the fuck do I do this?” Chuuya asked.
Dazai hummed in an attempt to sound casual, his shoulders tense and his jaw locked. “You trace your finger over the mark and say…” Dazai tried to remember. It had only happened once, after all, and he hadn’t exactly been paying close attention at the time, so caught up in panic and what-ifs.
He jumped when Chuuya flicked his forehead. “Calm down, mackerel.”
“I don’t know what you're talking about,” Dazai said, trying to give a laugh. It was strained and breathy. Damn it. “I'm just trying to remember—”
“Exactly,” Chuuya interrupted in a no-nonsense tone. “Just relax. I'm right here.”
Dazai wanted to scowl, to shove Chuuya away.
“Communicate more, dipshit.”
“Right,” he said, voice tight. He stared at his fingers, rubbing the back of his thumb, trying to calm his heart. Thinking about Odasaku always hurt. Thinking about being a slave always hurt. Thinking about his past always hurt. Thinking—
“Get it together, mackerel,” Chuuya huffed, jerking Dazai from his spiral. Chuuya was watching him, a serious, determined look in his eyes. “Figure this out, and then you can have all the panic attacks you want.”
Dazai felt his cheeks flush. “I'm not going to have a panic attack! I don’t get panic attacks!”
Chuuya raised an eyebrow.
Dazai pouted. Despite his objection, he did feel a little more settled as he tried to think again.
“—Tsushima Shuuji—”
The burning spread as his master spoke.
“—release you from this contract—”
It was unlikely that he had heard the beginning of the sentence; he could guess that it was just some statement of ownership, the name on the dotted line acknowledging their right, and therefore their responsibility for the release.
“I think,” he started hesitantly, “that you need to say, ‘I—” He stopped. Chuuya would have to call himself Arahabaki. Dazai was bound to the god within his chibi, not quite the chibi himself. But Dazai didn’t want Chuuya to have to say that.
Before he could try to think a way around it, Chuuya sighed, “I've gotta say that I'm Arahabaki, don’t I?”
Dazai didn’t meet his eyes. As always, his chibi could read him better than he sometimes wanted him to.
“What else?”
Dazai was somewhat surprised – should he even be anymore? The chibi had shown how much he cared for him so many times – that Chuuya was so easily acquiescing. He swallowed. “‘I, Arahabaki, master of Tsushima Shuuji” —he shivered; even from his own lips, his true name only made his stomach knit nauseously— “release you from this contract…”
Dazai thought. There had been more. He could remember hearing Ą̴̡̧̧̧̨̛̫̬͔̻̖̮͖͔̪̞̼̤̪̩͕̟̤͉̥̭̞̹̏͋̀̔̄̃̀͒̅̐̈́́͗̃́̂̏̃̕t̸̛̼͚͎̦̎̎͋̂̌́̑̈́̀̆̿̾͒́̍͋͊̄̚͝r̴͈̲͇̞̺͐͌̋̑͐̈̈́̎̈̈́̏̃͒͆̿̀̂̀͝l̴̛͖̙̱̲̖͚̗̊̍̕ä̵̢̧̖̣̳̟͔̟͍͈̩̪̝̣͍̯̬̥̝̫͍́̋͋̉̉̿̒̓͑̈́̆̎͆̍̂͂͂̓̑͌̈́̂͑̚̕͜n̷̛̛̲̖̦͈̖̪̫͇̗̥̋̈̐̒̾̊̄̋͋͋̌̎͆̽̍̂͆́̊̎͛͗̉́̚̕͜͝͠m̶̨͈̫̬̞̥͉̙͇͔̠̬̠͍͚̗̼̒̌̈́̎̍̋̇͋̀͊̂͝͝͝ͅd̵̛̛͇̈͒̈́̇̇̂̂̉͆͊̌̄̊̓̔͆̈́̽͒̎́́̉́̾͘͝ saying something else, but he couldn’t remember what had been said.
“…and return your Hoshi no Tama to you.” He considered. That sounded workable. It didn’t need to be perfect; it was, after all, equal parts statement and intent.
“Do I really have to call myself your master?” Chuuya asked, distaste written across his face.
“I thought you’d be more upset at calling yourself Arahabaki,” Dazai chuckled, unwilling to show that Chuuya's insistence made warmth stir in his chest.
Chuuya grumbled unhappily. “Alright. You gotta sit on the floor, you skinny-ass beanpole.”
Dazai laughed. Of course his chibi would only tacitly acknowledge his chibi-ness with three insults. “You could just stand on a chair,” he hummed, but he did slide to the ground. “Short enough for you?”
“I could just knock you out,” Chuuya snarled, but his hands were gentle on Dazai's neck, brushing his hair out of the way. The tips of his fingers brushed the edge of the dragon brand, causing Dazai to suck in a breath. Instantly, he felt his mind start to disconnect, distancing him from his surroundings.
He forced himself back in time to hear Chuuya ask, “You alright?”
He nodded, his words caught in his throat.
Just get it over with.
Chuuya – of course, his precious chibi – understood what Dazai wanted and didn’t press. He set his finger – Dazai's spine straightened painfully – on the mark, beginning to trace it.
“I, Arahabaki,” Chuuya began, his own voice sounding a little tight. Dazai figured he ought to buy the chibi his favorite wine for soldiering through all this for him. “—master of Tsushima Shuuji—” Chuuya sounded as ill as Dazai felt, his mind hazing without his permission.
He was 800 again, knelt in front of Ą̴̡̧̧̧̨̛̫̬͔̻̖̮͖͔̪̞̼̤̪̩͕̟̤͉̥̭̞̹̏͋̀̔̄̃̀͒̅̐̈́́͗̃́̂̏̃̕t̸̛̼͚͎̦̎̎͋̂̌́̑̈́̀̆̿̾͒́̍͋͊̄̚͝r̴͈̲͇̞̺͐͌̋̑͐̈̈́̎̈̈́̏̃͒͆̿̀̂̀͝l̴̛͖̙̱̲̖͚̗̊̍̕ä̵̢̧̖̣̳̟͔̟͍͈̩̪̝̣͍̯̬̥̝̫͍́̋͋̉̉̿̒̓͑̈́̆̎͆̍̂͂͂̓̑͌̈́̂͑̚̕͜n̷̛̛̲̖̦͈̖̪̫͇̗̥̋̈̐̒̾̊̄̋͋͋̌̎͆̽̍̂͆́̊̎͛͗̉́̚̕͜͝͠m̶̨͈̫̬̞̥͉̙͇͔̠̬̠͍͚̗̼̒̌̈́̎̍̋̇͋̀͊̂͝͝͝ͅd̵̛̛͇̈͒̈́̇̇̂̂̉͆͊̌̄̊̓̔͆̈́̽͒̎́́̉́̾͘͝ , Oda purchasing his freedom. He felt the tatami on his knees, could hear Ą̴̡̧̧̧̨̛̫̬͔̻̖̮͖͔̪̞̼̤̪̩͕̟̤͉̥̭̞̹̏͋̀̔̄̃̀͒̅̐̈́́͗̃́̂̏̃̕t̸̛̼͚͎̦̎̎͋̂̌́̑̈́̀̆̿̾͒́̍͋͊̄̚͝r̴͈̲͇̞̺͐͌̋̑͐̈̈́̎̈̈́̏̃͒͆̿̀̂̀͝l̴̛͖̙̱̲̖͚̗̊̍̕ä̵̢̧̖̣̳̟͔̟͍͈̩̪̝̣͍̯̬̥̝̫͍́̋͋̉̉̿̒̓͑̈́̆̎͆̍̂͂͂̓̑͌̈́̂͑̚̕͜n̷̛̛̲̖̦͈̖̪̫͇̗̥̋̈̐̒̾̊̄̋͋͋̌̎͆̽̍̂͆́̊̎͛͗̉́̚̕͜͝͠m̶̨͈̫̬̞̥͉̙͇͔̠̬̠͍͚̗̼̒̌̈́̎̍̋̇͋̀͊̂͝͝͝ͅd̵̛̛͇̈͒̈́̇̇̂̂̉͆͊̌̄̊̓̔͆̈́̽͒̎́́̉́̾͘͝ ‘s cold voice. He felt the rush of anxiety, the embers of hope that Oda would be different, that he wasn’t lying, that his kindness was true.
“—release you from this contract—”
He was 63, being sold by his parents. He couldn’t remember their names, only their words. ‘No matter what you do, you must not run. If you run, they will learn what it is to chase.’ The nue’s hands were harsh, holding him by the scruff of his neck, paralyzing him. He felt nothing as his parents were killed by the nue’s colleagues.
“—and return your Hoshi no Tama—”
He was 100, a birthday that was to be celebrated by a kitsune’s first transformation into a human form, sobbing in pain as his first brand seared itself into his skin. His Hoshi no Tama had been taken from him as soon as it had materialized, beaten from him despite his attempts to keep it hidden. What was supposed to be his first instance of spiritual power was taken before he could even taste it.
“—to you.”
He heaved, the nothing in his soul filling again. He grasped at his chest, déjà vu consuming his mind. Oda was holding him, asking him if he was okay. Chuuya was looking at him, concern and shock marring his face. His heart was going to explode, filled with something so right that it hurt.
“I'm okay,” he coughed, resting a hand on Chuuya's knee as he blinked hard, bringing himself back to the present.
“The fuck was that?!” Chuuya asked, sounding almost frantic.
“My soul returning, chibi,” he tried to soothe. It didn’t work, his chibi still looking panicked.
“You fucking glowed black!”
Dazai raised his eyebrows appraisingly. “Black? How tacky.”
Chuuya didn’t answer him, grabbing Dazai's face to turn it side to side. “You sure you're okay?” he asked worriedly.
“I'm fine, chibi,” he said, raising his hand to rest on Chuuya's arm, relief that the fear that he had, years ago, sequestered into a cold, unseen corner of his mind, one that whispered of masters and pain, no longer reacted to his precious chibi. He looked down at his other hand, turning it over and opening his fist to reveal that little white marble. “That was just my full power returning,” he explained absently.
“Your full power?” Chuuya asked, sitting back on his heels.
Dazai nodded. “I haven’t used it in such a long time,” he hummed, considering as he leaned against the couch. He felt exhausted. “Before you, I hadn’t bothered to use it since I defeated the gods. There was no reason; there wasn’t anything I couldn’t achieve with just my wits, nothing I really even wanted. It was all so bleak. But…”
He let out a breath, and suddenly they were in the middle of a forest, sitting on a swing made up of vines hanging from a Maidenhair tree. Ginko leaves fluttered through the air, landing on a pond filled with little kappa’s, forming delicate ripples. Birds chirped around them, and, if you listened closely, you could hear the distant sounds of children playing, as well as deep, calming laughter.
“What—” Chuuya started, alarmed at seemingly being teleported from their apartment.
“Shh,” Dazai hummed, leaning against Chuuya, his eyes closing. “Let me rest, Chuuya.”
A moment passed, and then Chuuya's arm wrapped around Dazai's back. Dazai distantly realized that his tails were manifested. Strangely, he didn’t feel anxious; he only felt contentment, his soul safe, his partner’s arms holding him, protecting him.
“Odasaku was right,” he breathed, half-asleep already. “This is more beautiful.”
“… Rest, partner. I’ll keep you safe.”