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Closing one’s eyes doesn’t make the pull between the ocean and moon any less existent. The daylight hiding the moon beneath a layer of blue doesn’t make the ocean bow to it any less — just like four years apart couldn’t lessen the pull between Dazai and Chuuya.
It was inevitable, and the sun was retreating beneath the horizon and the waves continued to bend and break under the moon, and Dazai was pulling up a chair beside Chuuya at a bar he couldn’t afford – a bar that Dazai’s humble agency workwear exposed his even humbler income, and it made Chuuya shine even more desirably beside him.
“The fuck are you doing here?” Chuuya asked without looking up, holding a glass to his lips.
“Well. Why are you drinking whiskey?” Dazai asked and answered at the same time. Chuuya side-eyed Dazai over the rim of the drink. Dazai reached out, spindly fingers grasping the glass, brushing Chuuya’s as he pulled it to himself and took a sip.
“I always hated it when you’d do that,” Chuuya said, glaring at him. “You could just answer the question like a normal person instead of being a cryptic asshole.”
Dazai breathed a laugh. “Oh, but Chuuya. It’s so fun watching you try to think.”
If Chuuya were a little younger, he’d kick a foot out to knock Dazai’s stool over. However, he had four years to fortify his patience without Dazai there to chip away at it every single day of their shared lives.
Instead, in an unexpected display of forbearance, he leveled Dazai with a sharp gaze, then looked away.
“Oh? What a civil response.”
“Don’t talk to me about ‘civil’ when you’re in here dressed like that .”
“And why are you here, Chuuya?” Dazai retorted and set the drink back down on the countertop, finger tracing the condensation on the glass. “You aren’t one to drink alone, normally. You take your drinks with friends. Or, if you really are intent on drinking alone, it’s normally in the privacy of your penthouse with a glass of expensive wine while you drink your frustrations away. On that note, this place looks nice enough but the fact that I made it through the door makes me wonder. And,” he said, gaze pointedly trained on the drink they’re sharing, “I can’t say I’ve ever known you to drink whiskey.”
A moment passed in which Chuuya didn’t say anything until he sucked his teeth and shook his head. He looked at Dazai, hazel eyes glowing warm under the dim bar lights and even warmer against his alcohol-flushed cheeks.
“Alright, since you’re feeling like such a fucking detective right now,” he grabbed Dazai’s bolo tie and pulled, forcing their faces close. “You’d never willingly wonder this close to the fucking mafia. So why are you here?”
But neither of them needed to say. They both guessed the cards in each other's hands, and they proceeded to play them out until they both had enough liquid bravery humming through their veins and Chuuya paid the bill with his card.
Every step that they took toward Chuuya’s penthouse was one more card on the table until they were stumbling into Chuuya’s condo.
The absence of words exchanged made it evident that not even four years apart could dampen their intuition when it came to each other. Even as Chuuya shut the door behind himself, fisted a hand into Dazai’s collar to pull him into a searing kiss, or when Dazai’s hands found purchase on Chuuya’s hips.
It wasn’t until Chuuya was falling backward onto his bed with Dazai crowding over him that Chuuya barked out an incredulous laugh and swiftly hooked a leg around Dazai’s waist to effortlessly swap their position. He straddled Dazai’s lap and looked down at him, and in a victorious moment lavished in the rare surprise that rounded Dazai’s inky-brown eyes.
“I don’t care how fucking much you think you’ve grown as a person,” he said, leaning down, hands settled on the spaces either side of Dazai’s head. He watched Dazai through downcast lashes. “You’re staying right the fuck there.”
After the initial shock, Dazai’s only response was a sly smile as he looked up at Chuuya, dropping his hands beside his head obediently.
“Whatever you say, partner.”
—
The next morning, Dazai woke up with several new bruises that hadn’t been there the day before — bruises that happened to line up exactly where Chuuya’s fingers dug into his skin the night prior.
Disappointingly, beside him was nothing but a clump of silk sheets, tossed and rumbled from last night, and no Chuuya in sight.
Dazai pulled himself from Chuuya’s bed and padded out into the spacious living room with nothing but his pants from yesterday on. It was on the balcony that he found Chuuya, sitting precariously on the railing, shirtless with a cigarette between his lips and the glow of the morning light painting him in such a way that could only be described as ethereal.
“‘Bout time you woke up,” Chuuya said without looking up, smoke following his words.
Dazai stepped up between Chuuya’s thighs, hands settling on his knees – it was a bit too late to be shy about intimacy now. Chuuya offered Dazai the cigarette, who accepted, but only to examine it at first.
“Why do you look like that?” Chuuya asked with a displeased tut. “It’s too fucking early to be analytical.” Dazai hummed, turning the cigarette between his fingertips.
“You usually only smoke when you’re stressed.”
“You’re here, aren’t you?” Chuuya said by way of explanation.
Dazai met Chuuya’s warm, hazel eyes. He brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled, and when Dazai tilted his chin up toward Chuuya, it seemed Chuuya needed no further explanation before he turned his head and slotted their lips together.
When they parted, smoke drifted up from between their open mouths.
“Are we seriously going to do this again?” Chuuya asked, something dangerous in his eyes – something possessive that told Dazai that if they did in fact do this again, Chuuya’s resolve would not be as forgiving as it was in the past. It made a shiver snake down Dazai’s spine that was decidedly not unpleasant.
Dazai’s lips quirked up into a smirk. “I’m here aren’t I?”