Work Text:
Chuuya’s eyes narrowed as he examined the envelope in his hand. Who would send him a letter? In this day and age? And someone who had this address… There was something familiar stirring in his gut, and it was not a good feeling.
He carefully flipped the envelope over, opened it and slid out the slightly creased paper inside. He unfolded the letter with a few swift movements and froze when he caught sight of its contents.
Chuuya knew that handwriting.
His grip on the paper tightened as he inhaled sharply. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Skimming the letter, his suspicions were one hundred percent confirmed.
“Full of fuckin’ surprises, aren’t you,” he hissed quietly, to no one but his quiet apartment. “Bastard. Who sends letters? What is this, the medieval times?”
Even so, the paper remained clutched firmly in his hand as he made his way to his office. At least the moron is alive, his mind screamed. What a hassle.
19
‘For some reason’ is right, you imbecile. What possessed you to run away from the Mafia and then send a letter? I ought to hunt you down and remove your access to paper myself. Do you know how easily mail can be traced back to you? I thought you were smarter than this.
Not that I’m going to go looking. You’re not worth my time. But it’s still stupid as fuck.
I’m sure it’s just horrible. Doing nothing all day truly sounds like torture for you. How ever will you cope? I hope it isn’t by showing your ugly face to me. Wherever you are, suffer.
Your promises are worth less than a dime.
‘Like a flower in the light?’ Have you been reading too many poetry books? What’s with this shit? And I don’t want you thinking about me either. I don’t want to be associated with you at all, idiot.
Hey, I have a solution. Go to sleep and never wake up.
Of course, people are capable of change. If people never changed then they’d be horribly boring. I’m not the same person I was four years ago. I’d say neither are you, but I don’t actually know–and we both know I would probably be lying. It’s not entirely out of the question, though. After all, you’re on your own now and you’re still alive; which isn’t something I’d expect from you four years ago. So, I guess it’s up to you, right?
‘I know already’ then why’d you ask, fucker. And don’t call me naive, you despicable bastard. I’m doing just fine where I am. I hope you get a painful concussion for the stabbing comment.
Very funny. Although, I have actually been by the arcade. I can sense your teasing smirk from here, too–it had nothing to do with you. I was there on personal business.
I’m not your dog. And no, that’s not missing someone, that’s you being an obsessive freak.
Again, I don’t want myself in your head, either. You think I want to be in that wasteland?
The Mafia is none of your business anymore, twat, so keep your nose out of it. And if you truly have to be such a nuisance, then you should know that it’s doing fantastic since some dead weight left last year.
Yes, that means you. Fucker.
Ane-san almost ripped me a new one about something she found in one of her old tea sets last week. She didn’t specify, but I have a strong feeling that whatever she found had something to do with your ass. Can’t stop being a bastard even when you’re gone, huh?
And Hirotsu handed me your old console the other day. You know, the small, loud one you always carried around and wouldn't fuckin' share. Apparently you never took it back from him, or something. I’m not sure what possessed him to give it to me specifically, though. I ought to throw it away. Or burn it. Haven’t decided yet, so for now it’s at the very back of my drawer where I don’t have to look at it.
I’m going to go on the grocery run on Wednesday just to throw you off. Stop fucking stalking me. Doesn’t sound like this ‘laying low’ you speak of.
See you preferably never.
Aggravatingly yours,
Chuuya
20
You shouldn’t be chipper about this being an actual annual thing you do. I’d warn you about it being unsafe again, but something tells me you don’t actually give a damn. Not like they’d catch you, anyway, you slippery fish. Disgusting.
Oh, they get delivered to the apartment alright. They’re certainly not collecting dust, though. It’s insane to me that you’re under the impression that the apartment is vacant. What reason would I have to move out? It’s my home, asshole. And you better not fucking show up. I don’t want to see your slimy ass and I definitely don’t want to deal with the hassle of killing you.
A legal job. You? Huh. Should I get the confetti?
I never thought I’d see the day where the Great Dazai Osamu admitted to actually liking a job. Certainly not a legal one. But I can’t say this is a bad development, I suppose. Good on you. Maybe you can use your brain for something more than annoying me and everyone in your vicinity, for once.
Kind never meant useless in the first place, asshole. Maybe some morals will be good for you. Goody-two-shoes Dazai isn’t something I’m excited to see, but it would still be better than a blank slate that shows emotion once in a blue moon. Right?
Maybe something will actually come of this, yeah?
No urge to murder is definitely a good start, mackerel. If you’re serious about the new leaf you’re turning, then you seem to be going in the right direction. Can’t say it doesn’t sting a little, that you’re doing it alone, but it’s something.
They’ll guess you’re ex-Mafia sooner or later. You’re good at lying, Dazai, but enough time with anyone will start to put cracks in that mask of yours. You’re better off bracing for the impact. I don’t know what kind of people you’re working with, but if they don’t take to it kindly–
Well, you obviously know my address. Just don’t stain my welcome mat. It’s a new one.
Let yourself get attached, idiot. Don’t try to forcefully stop it because you’re scared. Your new job clearly isn’t the Mafia. Don’t ruin your own chances by shooting yourself in the foot.
…Obviously, they’re not me. What, did you think everyone you met would just be another me? Don’t be stupid.
A new partner, huh? I hope you treat his ass better than you treated me, work-wise. I wonder how quickly he’ll give up on you. If he doesn’t, I wish him all the best. And I’m not a workaholic, you just never fucking work at all. Anyone is a workaholic compared to you, bastard.
Understanding you in any way is already a feat. I should send this new partner of yours a gift basket.
Unfortunately, I am the one who spent three years with your ass and now more with your letters. Of course, it won’t be like me. How long have you known him? A few months? Less?
Don’t get sentimental on me now, Dazai. It doesn’t suit you.
Yeah, I’ve decided. Your partner deserves a gift basket. If I ever meet him, I’m buying him one.
In all seriousness, though, that’s good. Someone has to look after your sorry ass, ‘cause you sure as hell aren’t going to do it yourself. At least I’m free of that damn job now, you suicidal leech.
Vulnerability is normal around people you care about, idiot. You’re the one that’s fucked up enough to not realise that. Maybe you’ll understand eventually. It’s not a bad thing, even if it can be fucking terrifying.
Who said I was worried about you? You can drown in a river for all I care. Don’t be stupid.
Good for you for making something out of your life, Dazai. Just don’t throw it down the drain when you get bored.
Aggravatingly yours,
Chuuya
P.S. Again, stop stalking me. And I don’t dislike crab, I disliked the canned bullshit you always ate. Crab itself is a fine dish.
21
Miss you? Not at all. Who would miss you?
I don’t remember what you said, either. What happened to that masterful memory of yours? Going soft on me, Dazai?
Right, right, that partner of yours. He still putting up with you? That’s another gift basket to add to the list. I should research those Agency co-workers of yours and find out what they like and send those baskets anonymously.
Your Agency wasn’t hard to find by the way. You’re not exactly hiding, though I expect you’re not trying to, not anymore.
Slugs actually have a pretty good memory. For slugs, that is. So go fuck yourself.
You getting along with people is the biggest thing that’s showing me you’re changing. You’d never admit to actually getting along with another human being unless it was waterboarded out of you.
You asked if people could change, two years ago. The answer is yes. Just look in the mirror, you blind moron.
I was never easy to predict, you can just read me too well. Unfortunately for both of us, it’s mutual. Three years and I can still tell what you’re going to do right before you do it, whenever I catch a glimpse of you. I blame you.
Naturally, it’s nowhere near Soukoku. I don’t like your annoying ass, but we were the best for a reason.
I have no problem with another person by your side if you deem them worthy to be. I don’t dictate your life, do I? From the small bits and pieces I’ve collected, though, he seems to keep you in line. But, as you said–nothing will ever measure up to Soukoku, huh?
I fucking better be the top contender. The facts speak for themselves.
Yosano is your doctor, right? I’m not sure how you two would be similar, but common ground is always nice to have. You’re lucky I can’t go over there and make fun of you for being scared of her, though. Unless she has some freaky ability, what are you scared of? You weren’t usually scared of anything medical.
Oh, a betting pool sounds hilarious. What do they think you did? Probably absolutely nothing. Who’d look at you and think ‘Yeah, he was a productive member of society’? I’m kind of surprised they haven’t figured it out, yet, though. Aren’t they a detective agency?
Crab does lower your cholesterol, but I’m not sure how much that matters with the amount of that canned garbage you eat. Eat a proper meal for once, bastard, or I’ll shove one down your throat myself.
And I bought you crab all the time. I still would. Just not from the fucking can, damn it. The fact that you never saw me buying the crab doesn’t mean shit. What, did you think your every meal just appeared from thin air? Bastard.
So someone did see right through you, then. I told you. I’m impressed by how much trust you put in these people. Even if you have to push yourself a bit to do so, it’s nice to see. You’ve always had emotions, you fish, you just had to let yourself acknowledge them.
This just sounds like another genius this city has in its grasp. Figuring your plans out isn’t easy, so this Ranpo character must be just as smart as you if not smarter. I’m glad there’s someone, at least, still capable of seeing past your bullshit and telling you off.
I trust your plans, moron, obviously I don’t question them. Have you ever been wrong? If I can trust you with my life, I can trust everything else, right? Except for you outside of battle. Then I don’t trust anything that comes out of your mouth. Your ‘fun facts’ were always a bunch of bullshit.
Your birthday was easy to guess. It was like the entire atmosphere around you shifted when I saw you that day. You never liked your birthday much, I know, and it wasn’t hard to notice. I don’t know what you thought, but you weren’t slick. I’m surprised no one knew beforehand.
And obviously, your facades are useless with me, moron. I know how your shitty mind works, even if I can’t understand most of it. Why would some plastic face fool me?
Again with the sentimental shit. Freak.
…Although, yeah. No one else seems to understand what I need from them as fast as you always did. It was infuriating, at the time, how you would pick up on things I needed before I knew I needed them myself; but as you said–I didn’t notice how much of a privilege it was before it was gone. I suppose I got used to never needing to explain myself too much–so now I have to overexplain. It’s a pain, sometimes, I admit.
So, yes, I miss it too. Don’t let it inflate your ego.
I don’t miss you yourself, either. I don’t need to hear your annoying voice or deal with your stench in my apartment ever again, and I like it that way. And I’ll put a muzzle on your dick if you don’t shut your trap, fucker.
Being in the dark is one thing. Having a partner you thought you shared everything with disappear from the same dark seemingly overnight without a word to you is another.
I must say, though, you’re doing a good job.
No matter my other feelings about your defection, I’m proud of you, Osamu. I am.
Aggravatingly yours,
Chuuya
22
I would’ve just hunted you down and made you write the letter anyway. You’ve got to keep up routine now, no slacking, bastard.
Yeah, sure, I’ve missed you.
As much as someone can miss a fish who sends letters every year without fail.
A father? What kind of shit are you playing at now? Don’t tell me you kidnapped a child. I don’t know what morals you’re being fed, but I don’t think that’s what they meant.
… So you did just kidnap an orphan off the streets. I’m not sure if I should be surprised or not. But tiger transformation seems like a hefty ability. Speaking of which, hasn’t there been a bounty recently for exactly that? Something about a tiger ability. Akutagawa knows more than me, I just got back. That your kid?
Also, being better than you as a kid isn’t hard. And don’t lump me in with you, freak.
Looking up to you is what kids are supposed to do, when you take them in. You’ve always been good at making people look up to you, in your own twisted way. Just look at my boy, over there. You fucked him up, yeah, but he’ll do whatever it takes to please you anyway. I sure hope you ain’t doing the same to this new kid.
I trust that you’re not. For both you and the kid’s sake.
I enjoy the positive comparisons, I’ll never complain about you actually giving me compliments. But one thing, Osamu, my trust in you isn’t quite blind. Sure, I may not know what I’m getting into most of the time, but it didn’t just magically appear. It started as a sort of blind trust, sure, but you worked for that–in your own way. We clicked fast, but the trust was still built over time. I trust you because I know I can, not because I’m blindly throwing my life in your direction with no basis. If we were never partnered, I’m not sure if I would be doing the same. I’d at least hesitate.
I’m afraid it’s too late for that, mackerel. I’ve already told myself.
From what I’ve seen in these letters, you thinking about me seems to be a recurring theme. Still obsessed, are you, vagabond?
Hearing something from me isn’t off the table, no. If you’re harbouring a kid with the bounty on his head, then the Mafia will be gunning in your direction, too. Guess the gig of avoiding each other is up, hm?
Also, what is your problem with my hat? You literally wear the ugliest bolo tie I’ve seen in my life; absolutely no room to talk.
And no. I suppose I will get hit with the impending doom closer to the time. My bullshit radar will go off when you’re in my vicinity, don’t worry.
Unfortunately, I accepted fate stringing us back together again years ago–the moment I saw that letter you sent. That was the moment I knew I’d never be rid of you, no matter how hard I tried. Meeting face-to-face again was inevitable.
Yeah? I doubt it could be better than Ane-san’s, but exploring flavours is always nice. Although, with the way you drink your tea, you might as well be drinking liquid poison. But you’d like that, I suppose.
This Yosano of yours is absolutely correct. I’m surprised you haven’t given yourself a heart attack with how much sugar you put in to that tea. As I said, liquid poison. It’s too much, idiot.
Saying all this out loud seems counterproductive. After all, you’ve already written it all in the letters. If I feel the need to have you repeat it, then I’ll make you repeat it.
The other letters are intact. They sit in a box on your old cabinet in the bedroom. Nothing special, but they’re certainly not in the trash. I have a feeling that if you knew I was reading them, then they wouldn’t be quite as honest. I suppose these are the same, since you’re not reading them either. Two peas in a pod.
The first? I’m assuming it’s one you never sent. The very first one I received wasn’t crumpled at all. So there is a letter I’m missing. No wonder.
Honesty from you at that age would be strange, indeed. So many truths spilled in ink on a piece of paper would truly be the bane of your existence, hm? And there’s plenty of truths you could be talking about here, guessing is impossible. You’ll have to enlighten me.
Ah. Yeah, I could’ve guessed that. You weren’t exactly subtle.
I love you too, Osamu, even if you don’t know it right now.
If it makes you want to barf, imagine how reciprocating must make me feel. I’m surprised I’m not heaving above my toilet bowl yet. But, Osamu, you’ve always been sappy. Don’t act like that’s a new thing.
I know you denied it. I could see you battle with yourself every day. Although at the time my own oblivious mind didn’t pinpoint it as love, exactly–more care. You’ve always had issues with caring for people, I know, but you cared for me, didn’t you? Still do. Love me, even, as you say, you disgusting bastard.
Four years of your absence actually made it worse, on my end. Before, I knew you weren’t just my partner–I cared for you, obviously. I didn’t hide that. But these four years of letters, reflections, hindsight–and most of all, observations of you growing in the light–made me accept what it is. Or was even, possibly earlier than either of us realised.
Love fucked us both over. We’re both disgusting.
I could never truly look forward to seeing your ugly mug, but just this once I can admit I’m excited for it. See you seemingly soon, Osamu.
Aggravatingly yours,
Chuuya
Chuuya hummed a soft tune as he held Dazai close, the taller man’s face hidden safely in his shoulder. His thoughts were still a bit scrambled, mentally going through the letter he just read all over again. Dazai hadn’t lied when he said it was full of raw emotion–far more than Chuuya would have expected from an eighteen-year-old partner.
Despite his swirling thoughts, though, his chest felt warm. He could tell Dazai was happy to get those emotions off his chest, and he’d be lying to himself if he said it didn’t make him happy in return.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, Chuuya starting to rock them back and forth gently. Dazai’s breathing eventually evened out, emotional turmoil clearly winding down.
That was when a thought sprung to Chuuya’s head, and a smile spread on his face.
Dazai’s not the only one with letters.
“Dazai?” He said, tapping the man’s shoulder. Dazai made a small noise to indicate that he was listening, but didn’t move, and Chuuya held back a laugh.
“I have something for you to see, too,” he admitted, Dazai pulling away from the embrace to shoot him a questioning look. He was visibly close to sleep, and Chuuya felt slightly bad, but the letters were in the bedroom anyway. Dazai could sleep there once he read them.
Chuuya started standing up, much to Dazai’s dismay–the brunette went so far as to whine. Chuuya rolled his eyes on instinct, holding out a hand. “Don’t be a baby.”
Dazai grumbled something under his breath but he did take the hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet. Chuuya smiled at him before pulling them towards the bedroom and heading straight for the cabinet he knew held two boxes; one contained all of Dazai’s letters–the other had all of Chuuya’s.
“Sit,” he told Dazai, gesturing to the bed.
Dazai raised an eyebrow. “Since when does Chuuya get to boss me around?”
“Since ya poured your heart out to me on my couch,” Chuuya replied with a click of his tongue. “Now sit.”
Dazai stuck his tongue out at him rather childishly, but surprisingly obliged, throwing himself on Chuuya’s bed. Chuuya shook his head and opened the cabinet, taking the box containing his letters out of it. He could feel Dazai’s gaze on him as he pried it open, taking the small stack of letters out.
He hesitated only for a moment before turning back to his partner and handing the stack to him. Dazai stared.
“These are…?”
Chuuya huffed, shoving them into Dazai’s grip.
“They’re letters. My letters.”
Dazai fumbled with the papers in his hands before meeting Chuuya’s gaze. “Your..?”
“My letters,” Chuuya repeated with a firm nod. “They were in reply to all of yours, I just didn’t have your address–then I did, but I kept ‘em anyway. Now they’re yours to read. Only fair, since I read all yours, right?”
Chuuya watched as Dazai’s eyes fell back onto the letters, looking at them as if they were some ancient scrolls. It was kind of exhilarating, seeing that much uncertainty in Dazai’s eyes, for once, but that wasn’t what Chuuya was trying to do. He sighed softly, walking over to his partner and sitting next to him.
“They don’t bite,” he teased, pressing a kiss to Dazai’s cheek. “You can read them in any order. I have your old ones too, if ya wanna compare ‘em.”
Dazai was silent for a moment, gaze locked on the letters. Then he moved, carefully unfolding the one at the very top. It was the very first one Chuuya had written, when he was nineteen. Chuuya remembered how it felt to receive a letter in the mail, penned by familiar handwriting–it was like something had lifted from his chest. He had been angry at first, sure, but it was crushed by the overwhelming wave of relief that came with the confirmation of Dazai being alive. A traitor, sure, but alive.
It hadn’t taken him long to decide to write a reply, even if it wasn’t with the intention to show it to the bandaged idiot.
Dazai wasn’t usually an expressive person, even if he was an emotional one. But now, sitting in front of Chuuya, every single twitch of his face didn’t go unnoticed. His lips curved upwards a few times as he read, and he was practically beaming by the time he reached the end.
“So that’s why Chuuya wasn’t at the store on Tuesday,” Dazai said, making Chuuya snort. “I thought he’d gotten lost in the parking lot.”
“As if,” Chuuya countered with a scoff, taking the first letter from Dazai’s hands and placing it back inside the box. “If one of us was to get lost in a parking lot, it’d be your ass.”
“Chuuya’s shorter than the cars. Very easy to lose,” Dazai said happily. Chuuya punched his shoulder for it, grumbling. “Jackass.”
Dazai paused for a moment, clearly thinking, before tilting his head in question. “Does Chuuya still have my console?”
“Huh?” Chuuya said, then nodded after a moment. Last he checked, he hadn't touched it in years, but he still had the damn thing. “Yeah, it’s somewhere in the apartment. Definitely out of battery, though, so don't even think about it. Why?”
Dazai just shook his head gently, smiling from ear to ear. “No reason.”
Chuuya raised an eyebrow, but ultimately didn’t comment. Dazai was allowed to be a bit weirder than usual, with all the shit being dropped on him. Chuuya rested his head on Dazai’s shoulder as he watched him unfold the next letter.
Once Dazai finished that one, Chuuya felt the shoulder under his head shake a bit.
“What’s so funny?” He asked, Dazai’s laughter quieting to a small chuckle.
“You should totally send Kunikida-kun a gift basket,” he said, amused. “Please. I’ll even give you his address. I need to see his reaction to that.”
Chuuya grinned, putting the second letter back in the box, too, before returning to his position on Dazai’s shoulder. “I’ll do that, then. You can give me the address later.”
Dazai was still chuckling as he unfolded the next letter, and Chuuya felt an odd sense of pride. Making Dazai laugh genuinely wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t easy, either, so the small and wholehearted chuckles coming from the younger man were like music to Chuuya’s ears.
“Aww,” Dazai cood after making it to the bottom of the third letter. Chuuya let out a questioning hum, and he could almost feel Dazai’s grin. “Chuuya missed me, too?”
Chuuya groaned, turning his head to hide his face in Dazai’s shoulder fully. “No.”
“The letter says otherwise, Chuuya.”
“Shut up or I’m pulling out your letters.”
Dazai shut up, then, and Chuuya couldn’t help but snicker. Sure, Chuuya had been sappy in parts of those letters, but the whole reason they were written in the first place was to match Dazai’s sappy letters. Dazai had nothing to tease him over.
Chuuya didn’t take the third letter–courtesy of not bothering to move from where he was comfortably hidden–but heard the rustling of paper as Dazai put it aside to reveal the last letter in the pile.
Chuuya basked in the comfort of the silence for the duration of Dazai reading, until it was broken by a hitched breath. Chuuya’s head immediately shot up, scanning Dazai’s expression for signs of distress. Dazai’s eyes were wide, staring at the words on the paper. After a moment those eyes turned to meet Chuuya’s, a flustered pink starting to spread on Dazai’s cheeks.
To say Chuuya was confused was an understatement. What about the letter would make Dazai react like that?
“Osamu?” Dazai croaked then, interrupting that train of thought before it even started. Chuuya immediately relaxed, shoulders dropping. He shrugged.
“What? I’ve called ya that before, plenty. Why’s it a big deal, now?” He said, still a bit confused despite the relief. Chuuya had called Dazai by his first name multiple times back when they were partners in the Mafia, it wasn’t something foreign to either of them.
“I didn’t think Chuuya still would,” Dazai admitted, eyes going back to the letter. “Just surprised me, is all.”
Chuuya frowned. “Why wouldn’t I? That’s stupid.” He reached up to flick Dazai’s temple, earning a quiet yelp from the brunette. Then his lips spread into a soft but teasing smile. “If ya liked it so much, I can call you it more. Not a problem on my end.”
Dazai swallowed, putting the letter aside and wringing his hands once they were empty.
“Use your words, Osamu, I can’t read your mind,” Chuuya teased, poking Dazai’s reddening cheek.
“Chuuya can,” Dazai replied, quiet and stubborn. Then, after a moment; “But I suppose the first name isn’t horrible…”
Chuuya clicked his tongue at the half-admission, but laughed anyway. He’d take it, for now. He’d flustered Dazai enough for the day.
“Yeah, yeah, you emotionally stunted bastard,” he said, leaning over Dazai to take the letters and put them back in the box. “It’s bedtime for stinky fish.”
Dazai made a face at him as Chuuya put the box away. “Bedtime? It's not that late.”
“Ya look like you’re about to collapse, Osamu,” Chuuya said, a bit softer, as he closed the cabinet. “So yeah, bedtime. Get in bed.”
“So forward,” Dazai said with a giggle, but he did lay back on the bed.
“Or you could sleep on the couch, if ya wanna be such a smartass,” Chuuya grumbled, walking over to the closet to take out spare pyjamas.
“No, I get boyfriend privileges. That includes the bed, the pillows, and Chuuya himself.”
“Who’s your boyfriend, oi? I never agreed to that.” Chuuya threw a set of pyjamas at Dazai, aiming for his face. Bastard.
“Chuuya signed up for it when he said he loved me,” Dazai chimed, catching the clothes. Both of them pointedly ignoring the fact that they were the right size, even after four years of separation.
“You’re talkin’ out your ass. Get changed and shut up, idiot. We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“Such a demanding dog I have," Dazai said, standing up and heading towards the bathroom.
“Never mind, get out and don't come back.”
“Chuuya!”