Chapter Text
Sitting alone in the dimly lit apartment, the weight of despair presses down on him like a suffocating blanket. He feels bare skin stings under the cool, nauseating air. The bandages he'd roughly removed lie discarded, some in the trash, others clinging stubbornly to his thin arms. The reddish, purplish scars glisten under the bathroom light, stark reminders that the wounds are still fresh.
Dazai picks up the blade next to him, darkness consuming him as he slices through his already wounded skin—again, and again, and again. Blood, a deep crimson shade, seeps out of his skin, splattering onto the bathroom floor. His head tilts back against the wall, a sardonic smile creeping onto his lips.
He reaches for a bottle of pills, swallowing a handful without hesitation. What was the point of striving, of seeking meaning, when everything inevitably led to the same void? He couldn’t envision a future—only a bleak, empty horizon stretching endlessly before him.
All he sees is static noise. Blaring horns. Screams.
He looks down at his arms, skin raw, blood staining the floor. His reflection in the mirror taunts him, a hollow shell of the man he once was.
Stop staring at me.
He looks horrible. His eyes, sunken and hollow, speak of nights spent without sleep or food. Something cracks inside him, and when he opens his eyes, the sink and floor are stained with blood. He watches the figure in the mirror tear apart, and for a moment, he feels content.
The glass shatters, shards ricocheting and cutting into his forehead.
Good. I hate being stared at.
His vision blurs, and he feels himself start to fade. Then, a thud.
~-~
It's quiet. Too quiet. Usually silence means—
Chuuya bolts toward the bathroom, knocking repeatedly. "Dazai? Shitty Dazai, it's me—Chuuya."
Silence.
"Oi, Dazai?" His voice falters slightly. "I'm coming in, okay?"
Not a sound. The door isn't locked, and he pushes it open gently.
The sight of Dazai, crumpled and bloodied on the floor, sends a sharp pang through his chest.
Shit.
~-~
"dazai-san, you're weird,"
"dazai, why can't you fucking cooperate?!"
"stop being so useless!"
Dazai stirs, consciousness slowly returning. His body feels exposed, wounds marking every inch of his skin, bandages barely clinging to his frame. He feels small. So, so small and vulnerable. The static noise remains, but then—blue. His favourite blue eyes, staring down at him.
I hate being stared at. But when you stare at me… the world stops.
"Oi, stupid mackerel," Chuuya kneels, tucking a lock of brown hair behind Dazai’s ear. His voice is soft, gentler than Dazai's ever heard. "You with me?"
Dazai leans into the touch, eyes fluttering open. He almost thinks the sincerity in Chuuya's voice is genuine, but he brushes the thought away.
Chuuya wouldn't be worried about me. That's preposterous.
His gaze meets Chuuya’s, and a quiet mumble leaves his throat, "Why… are you here?" It hurts even to speak, and he winces at how hoarse he sounds.
Chuuya scoffs, standing to grab the first aid kit. "This is my apartment, idiot. Why do you think?"
Dazai watches the blood splatters, broken glass shards and pills everywhere with the stupid blank expression he always had in the Mafia. He looks at Chuuya, his mind foggy, trying to process the softness in the redhead’s tone. It makes his stomach churn.
I messed up Chuuya's bathroom.
"I'm sorry."
"Don’t apologize, moron," Chuuya responds, kneeling back down. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Dazai hesitates, looking away. But then, he feels Chuuya’s fingers entwining with his, the warmth of the gesture grounding him. He stiffens, heart pounding painfully in his chest.
“I won’t push it,” Chuuya adds softly, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of Dazai’s hand. “But I’m here, alright fucker? I’ll always listen.”
A slight, shaky nod from Dazai.
i wish we could be 15 again.
-~-
"Oi... I'm gonna bandage you up now," Chuuya says, sounding like he was forcing his voice to remain steady. He waits for Dazai’s signal, then carefully begins wrapping the bandages around Dazai’s arms. His touch is gentle, almost reverent.
Dazai loves Chuuya's hands.
They're warm.
He remembers finding every excuse or another just to hold Chuuya's warm, soft hands back in the Mafia.
Dazai will allow himself to be vulnerable, just this once.
just this once, in the warm embrace of his partner.
-~-
"There," Chuuya mutters, finishing the last of the bandages. He moves around, gathering the mess of broken glass and bloodied bandages.
Dazai's eyes follow his movements, the chaotic swirl of emotions in his chest growing louder. "Why...?" His voice is barely a whisper.
Chuuya stops, turning to face him. "Huh?" His nose is scrunched up and he's frowning, and under the dim light of the bathroom, the freckles that dot his face are more vibrant and Dazai feels himself falling in love with Chuuya all over again.
"Why do you even care? "
"I told you before, idiot," he says, voice strangely gentle. "Only I get to kill you. You can't die before me, asshole."
Dazai’s throat tightens. The sincerity in Chuuya’s gaze makes his heart ache. He looks away, mumbling, “I don't des'rve it."
Chuuya lets out a huff, surprisingly blunt. "Maybe not. But that doesn’t change the fact that I—" He pauses, visibly struggling with his next words.
Dazai raises an eyebrow, watching Chuuya squirm. "What?"
"Forget it," Chuuya growls, standing abruptly and offering a hand. “Come on, fucking beanpole, you need to eat. I can feel your bones," Chuuya grunts, swiftly changing topics.
Dazai grumbles, refusing to move. "Not hungry."
Chuuya rolls his eyes. "When was the last time you ate, huh? You're not a kid anymore, you need to eat something."
"Don't feel like it," Dazai mumbles, desperate to know what Chuuya was going to say.
"Tch, you're eating whether you like it or not," Chuuya growls before somehow lifting Dazai up and dragging him to the living room.
"Chibi's a grumpy mother."
"And Dazai's a picky child," Chuuya rolls his eyes, mocking him. "Sit," he points to the sofa before disappearing into the kitchen.
Minutes later, he returns with a bowl of rice and miso soup, placing it in front of him.
"Eat," Chuuya orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.
With a resigned sigh, Dazai picks up the chopsticks and takes a small bite. The warmth of the rice settles in his chest, unexpectedly comforting. He pauses, eyes flicking up to meet Chuuya's.
"How is it?"
"Okay."
Chuuya’s lips twitch, threatening to curl into a smile, but he plays it off with a casual shrug. “Tch. 'Course it is. Now finish it all, asshole.”
“Stop smiling, you look ugly,” Dazai says, looking back at his bowl of rice. Though he loves to see Chuuya smile
Chuuya scowls, face reddening. “HAH?! What the hell did you just say?!”
Dazai chuckles, a light sound that fills the quiet apartment. It's almost as if, for a moment, the weight on his chest eases. Chuuya glares, but Dazai can see the corner of his lips twitching as if he’s trying to suppress his own laughter.
They stare at each other for a moment, and then, as if some invisible dam breaks, they burst into laughter—free and unrestrained, echoing off the walls of the small space.
Dazai feels his heart clench and his throat constrict along with the strange flutter in his chest he would always feel with Chuuya. His heart pounds painfully against his chest. I love you. I love you. I love you, his thoughts echo like a broken record, relentless and consuming as he glances at Chuuya. He wants to hold him, to pull him close and whisper how much he loves him, but he doesn't dare.
He doesn’t feel the same. He’d never want someone like me.
Dazai swallows the lump creeping up his throat.
i will adore whatever we have.
and maybe and hopefully, one day,
you'd like me too.
~-~