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Dazai doesn’t usually think about the ‘what if’s’. He doesn’t think about what he should have done or said in a certain situation. He doesn’t think about what life would be like if he hadn’t failed that exam, changed that class or went to that store instead of the other one.
Sometimes though, when his hands are empty and his mind not occupied, a certain thought crosses his mind.
What would it be like if he was born in the right body? What life would he live, if only he could see the world through eyes that so surely belonged to him? In a body that feels like his?
He feels himself sink further into the mattress of his bed, the heavy feeling of dread building up in his stomach a weight too much to bare.
In a matter of minutes, his dog will barge in. He will surely tell him that he’s loved, that he’s much more than his body, that he’s a man. Maybe if he’ll brace himself, he’ll be able to hide his shock at a talking animal.
He smirks to himself.
And maybe if he really believes in it, it will actually change the fact that no matter what Chuuya says, the body he is in was supposed to be a woman’s.
His smile drops.
He turns around to stare at the ceiling, his limbs heavy as well as his mind. The scars under his bandages itch uncomfortably as they graze the mattress, reminding him that they’re there. That they’re waiting.
The plain ceiling isn’t doing much to soothe him.
He’s a man. He knows that. So why does it feel like he doesn’t have the right to call himself that? Why does his heart, against all odds, still keep wishing for the day he’ll turn into a real man, if he supposedly already is one?
The soul of a man trapped in a woman’s body. That sounds like some kind of made up horror story.
Maybe he’s pretending. Maybe he’s a woman after all.
..He quickly rejects that thought when he feels a strange kind of panic rise up in his chest.
The feeling of hair against his neck is making him want to rip it all out. Would Chuuya still like him if he was bald? Would that suit him?
He hears footsteps speed-walking towards his door, making him suddenly feel lighter.
Chuuya’s here.
He has been here a zillion times before, it’s nothing special.
Still, he subconsciously notices that his hands are sweating. He has looked into those eyes a thousand times before, yet his heart seems to leap harder each time. That’s.. kind of pathetic for him.
He turns away from the door, fearing the embarrassment of looking like he’s been staring at the door, waiting for Chuuya to finally come in like some kind of dog waiting for its owner.
blegh. Even the thought of him being the one to act more like a dog instead of the actual one is making him sick.
(He ignores the urge to keep staring, eager to let his heart beat at seeing that familiar face. God, he really is pathetic, he can’t believe himself.)
Finally, the door bursts open.
“Dazai?” A comfortingly familiar voice calls.
Thats when said man realizes that it probably looks like he’s been wallowing in sorrow, almost completely covered by his grey blanket, facing away from the door like an edgy teenager who doesn’t want to wake up for school. Like he doesn’t even have the energy to pretend the whole situation wasn’t messing with his head.
Even though that’s not exactly the case, he just decides to go with it. An extra caring Chuuya could never hurt.
He continues to stare at the band poster taped onto his wall as he hears the door close, before the same footsteps again (but much softer now) begin to make their way towards his bed.
A weight beside him dips, and he has to suppress a smile when a hand meets his hair, combing their way through the multiple knots to half heartedly massage his scalp.
Dazai swears on everything in his life that head scratches count as some kind of addiction. It has to be some kind of drug.
“You okay?” Chuuya asks in a very Chuuya-like way, trying to sound casual even though Dazai literally heard him almost tripping over his feet to get to him.
That feels like a pretty doggy like trait. He should point that out. “a talking dog? I can’t quite believe my ears.”
expect when he turns around, for a strange reason being too uncomfortable to meet Chuuyas eyes and fixing his gaze on the ceiling instead, he sees his expression soften from the corner of his eye. Well, that wasn’t what he hoped for.
That’s when he realizes that instead of the usual annoying tone he has mastered over the years, his voice came out rather exhausted instead. It seems quieter and much slower than he intended. He internally sighs at himself.
The grip on his hair grows a tiny bit harsher. “Dazai. Look at me.”
And that’s when he realizes, he can’t.
He can’t.
Why?
Is he afraid? Afraid of Chuuya?
That’s never been quite his thing. He was never the one to get insecure easily, was never the type to get nervous or flustered.
But now here he is, glaring at the ceiling like it personally offended him, blushing like an embarrassed idiot because he doesn’t have the bravery to let his boyfriends eyes meet his. That’s it— he’s embarrassed. he’s embarrassed and he feels like a loser, an unworthy, difficult, pathetic loser. Why would anyone want to look at that? Why would he want to look at a fake, when there are hundreds of real ones who all could want him just as bad?
He hears Chuuya sigh next to him. “I don’t have all day.” He mutters in an annoyed tone, like a liar. No matter how little time he has, he’d always make some for him.
Would he?
God. Dazai hates this unsure side of him.
He quickly frowns, finally glaring Chuuya right in the face.
Instead of glaring back, Chuuya smiles, as if he’s happy to see his face, and for some strange reason that makes him want to cry.
The redhead raises his eyebrows expectedly, apparently oblivious to the others inner turmoil. “C’mon now. What’s going on in that big brain of yours.” He asks, flicking Dazai on the forehead, making him frown even harder than before.
He thinks for a second, squinting his eyes. “Why do you care?” He mutters just as quietly as before.
Now Chuuya is frowning too. “You think I violated at least 5 laws to get here as fast as possible just for shits and giggles or somethin’?”
Dazai rolls his eyes dramatically to make sure Chuuya gets just how annoyed he is, looking away. “You asked me what i’m thinking about, and now you’re angry with me that I answered.”
His attempt to look away quickly failed when the other immediately furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head like some kind of puppy. Dazai calls it the I-almost-get-it-just-give-me-a-couple-more-minutes look.
He really wants it to look stupid. He really does. But then again, he sometimes says ridiculously difficult stuff on purpose just to get Chuuya to look at him like that.
…He reminds him of a himbo sometimes, to be completely honest.
He hates that he finds it cute rather than pathetic, like he normally would.
He kind of hates everything in general.
He hates surprises, he hates not understanding things, he hates unpredictability and he most of all hates feelings and vulnerability. yet against all odds, he doesn’t hate Chuuya.
He doesn’t think he could ever hate Chuuya.
sometimes he doesn’t quite know if its love or jealousy. Chuuya ; who’s genuinely handsome. Who doesn’t need to put in the work to stay the man he is. Who can live without any surgeries. Who played with other boys when he was younger, scraped his knees and played football just because every other young boy did. Who can sleep with girls easily because they don’t start thinking ‘hey, isn’t there something missing?’
Realization flashes in said mans eyes. “Did you seriously just ask me why I care about you?” He asks utterly offended.
Chuuya; who doesn’t stop prodding till all of Dazai’s walls finally crash. Who is rough and direct but uncharacteristically sweet whenever he kisses Dazai’s tears away. Who, despite all odds, seems to like putting up with him, listening to him rant about things Chuuya couldn’t care less about whenever they smoke together, yet looking at him like he never wants him to stop talking.
“You realize I’d give you the moon if you asked, right?” Chuuya asks like it should be the most obvious thing ever.
Who is Dazai even trying to fool. He is painfully, obviously and foolishly in love with this man.
He huffs, rolling his eyes. “That’s a little dramatic, isn’t it?”
The redhead shrugs. “Maybe.” he pauses. “It’d probably take a couple years tho, with all the.. astronaut stuff. Doesn’t actually getting to the moon once you’re in the ship take a while too?”
Despite himself, Dazai cant help but snort a little at that. It makes Chuuya look awfully victorious. “Don’t worry. I’m not gonna ask you to steal the moon for me.”
“Well, my point is: I could either sit here all day, explaining to you the concept of love and relationships, or your emo ass could simply accept the fact that I love you, even though you hate yourself and for some fuckin’ reason want me to do the same.”
Dazai feels like that was supposed to be a reasonable explanation. It’s not. And he so desperately wants to understand.
“Why?”
Chuuya sends him an are-you-actually-stupid? glare. He sighs, taking a few minutes to put his thoughts into words Dazai actually might understand. “You’re you. Out of all the people on this planet, you’re my favorite. Because you’re you. You’re for me. And I like that.” He explains slowly, like he’s trying to explain math to a 2 year old.
Which is a perfect reference. A 2 year olds mind just doesn’t have the ability to understand something like trigonometry.
Yet apparently, in the back of his mind he understood something, because stupidly enough his fucking eyes are starting to water.
He’s busy trying to keep his expression somewhat neutral, when Chuuya suddenly takes a hold of his face way too gently, rubbing his cheekbones soothingly and kissing all of his moles in a specific order, like he always does, before finally planting one last soft kiss on his lips.
Okay. Maybe he did cry.
And maybe he did let Chuuya hold him for the rest of the day, listening to his heartbeat and letting him scratch his head as he, maybe, kissed his temple and told him awfully affectionate things he has said a thousand times before, just incase Dazai wants to hear it all again.
And maybe.. most likely.. almost surely.. that was the most peaceful he has ever felt in his life.