Work Text:
The suit stared back at Dazai from the hanger. He sat at the edge of the twin bed, the hotel mattress perhaps the comfiest he's lay on in a long while- not that it helped him sleep at all last night. It taunted him, that suit, the whole time he was wrapping his bandages, knowing eventually he'd have to put it on.
It was first suit he'd ever actually bought himself. Despite practically living in them for the past three years, Dazai hadn't bought a single one. They were all the mafia issued suits. Traditionally, after getting your first suit, you were expected to supply the rest yourself. It wasn't like it was a mandatory thing, plenty of members of the Port Mafia, didn't wear them, but it made a better picture when they were all uniform.
Mori had supplied Dazai with his suits, coats and ties all these years. It used to be funny to Dazai, the idea of Mori adding Dazai's clothes and dry cleaning to his to-do list like some mother hen. If Mori wanted Dazai as a prodigy and successor he could put the effort in to his upkeep. But now, the thought of it turned his stomach with disgust. He hated himself for allowing Mori to dress him like a doll for so many years.
Catching his own reflection in the mirror next to the suit, Dazai sneered at the pathetic boy looking back at him. How docile and stupid he'd been, this was his fault. He stood, if only to be free of his reflection and approached the suit.
Buying his own suit for today, making sure to go to a store not aligned with the mafia, was his own way of defying Mori. It might look practically identical to his usual suits, but it's black at least wasn't mafia black.
He slipped on the trousers, belt and shirt as per-usual, but this morning, there was the addition of a grey waistcoat, a small adjustment to his outfit to make it feel his own. Then instead of his regular tie, Dazai took a bolo tie from the pocket of the blazer. It hadn't been a planned purchase, the item simply caught his eye in the store.
The leather cord a rusty brown and the clasp a golden pendant with a cerulean blue gem. The colours weren't an exact match, yet he couldn't deny his first thought was of Oda when he saw it. It came with a pair of matching cuff links, though he cared only for the bolo tie.
Dazai donned it around his neck, the clasp resting on his chest above his heart. A marker of only one he would truly allowed to guide him from now on.
Still too early to leave, Dazai instead moved to the balcony, where a table and chair awaited him, along with an ash tray and a pack of cigarettes. He sat in the chair, picking up the pack and pressing it in his hands. The cardboard creased and dented from the repeated action of this.
Opening it, Dazai found one last cigarette.
The ash tray was littered with the butts of the rest of the pack. It had been the one thing he'd taken from Oda's body that day. The brand was cheap and could be bought easily, still the smoke they gave off smelt so uniquely like Oda. Others he knew that smoked, like Chuuya and Hirotsu bought more expensive brands, pretended like the cost of the nicotine they ingested mattered.
Oda was the only one he knew that smoked these.
He lit the cigarette with a match from a Lupin matchbox and took one single drag, trying not to choke on it. He didn't really smoke himself, it was simply a habit he mimicked around others, a way to fit in. Dazai placed the cigarette in the ashtray with its fallen comrades and closed his eyes. Breathing in its dying scent, imagining he could find Oda in the wisps of smoke.
When it finally went out, Dazai stood again, his eyes glancing down onto the street.
Outside the hotel a black car sat waiting for him. One of the mafia's, one he didn't call for. He hadn't told anyone where he was staying, but Dazai wasn't a fool. Of course, Mori knew where he was. If Dazai wanted to hide from him in the future he'd have to be a lot more cautious than he had been the past week.
The thought of getting in that car made him nauseous. It felt like admitting his dependence on Mori once again. He pushed away the bubbling heat in his stomach and accepted it one last time.
When a Nobody from the Mafia is killed, they’re lucky to be buried in an unmarked grave. Funerals are reserved for the important members, ones who held enough power and respect in life for their subordinates to be offended should they get anything less. Oda Sakunosuke was a textbook nobody, he should have been forgotten about the moment his heart stopped, but then, he had single handedly ended a major conflict that had already cost the mafia far too many other nobodies.
This meant Oda was in the unique position of being a Nobody who demanded a funeral. Out of all the funerals Chuuya had been to, this was easily the cheapest. The church was much smaller than the one The Flags’ service had been held in, the flowers, the coffin, even the black suit they’d dressed the body in were as basic as they came. It was like Mori wanted the world to know he resented spending the money this time.
There was also one other major difference between today and previous mafia funerals he’d attended. The mafia usually comes out in droves for them, when the Colonel died, the church was so packed most of them had to stand outside. Until today Chuuya had just assumed that was how it always happened. For Oda’s funeral, a total of three people had shown up.
Himself. Dazai. And Mori.
Chuuya was currently leaning against the wall of the Church watching the other two. They’d all apparently arrived separately. Chuuya had ridden his motorcycle and parked away from the service, then walked the rest of the way, so as not to make too much noise. Upon arrival he’d witnessed Mori getting out of his car and Dazai’s less than welcoming reaction.
“What are you doing here?” He seethed, speaking through gritted teeth.
“I always attend the funerals of our family.” Mori replied, calmly holding his hands up in a placating motion.
Our family. Code for members of the mafia. That choice in words only seemed to make Dazai angrier, his knuckles were stark white from how hard he was gripping the sleeves of his blazer.
“You’re not wanted here.”
“Dazai.” Mori’s tone was gentle, like a parent reasoning with their child. “It would be a disservice to Oda if I wasn’t here. I couldn’t disrespect him like that.”
That was when Chuuya decided to intervene, kicking off the wall and walking closer to them. “I don’t think Oda would care.” The pair of them looked to Chuuya, Dazai seeming to notice him for the first time. Chuuya kept his eyes on Mori. “Funerals are for the living. Right, Boss? He won’t care if you’re not here.”
Throwing words Mori had once said to him back in his face didn’t sit right with him. It tasted far too much like disrespect for Chuuya. He almost regretted it, until he glanced Dazai’s away again. It shocked him every time, to see Dazai’s whole face uncovered. Even more so, to see how completely undone he looked. As much as Dazai had always tried to hide his deeper sadness under his easy smiles and childish demeanour, Chuuya had known it was there, brimming under the surface. Since Oda had been killed, that facade of Dazai’s had cracked and the dam it was holding back was just waiting to burst through any moment.
Funerals are for the living. Today wasn’t for Oda, it was for Dazai. Chuuya didn’t understand the particulars of why Mori and Dazai were fighting recently, but he knew today was Mori’s attempt to smooth it over. So he should take his own advice and leave.
Mori’s smile faded with displeasure, Dazai's current disrespect came from a place of grief, he could accept that. From Chuuya though, that was another thing. It wasn't just disrespect, it was choosing Dazai's grief over Mori's authority. It was the barest hint of disloyalty, but even a hint could permeate into something more dangerous if one isn't careful. The disdain in Mori's eyes lasted only a second, long enough for Chuuya to break a sweat, before his smile returned. “Alright. I’ll pay my respects in due time.”
With that Mori saw fit to return to his car.
After it had pulled away Dazai turned on Chuuya. “And you? Why are you here? You didn’t even know him.” He snapped, a wounded animal lashing out in pain.
“You’re my partner.” Chuuya replied, sympathetically. “I figured you could use the support. If I was wrong about that, I can leave. It’s whatever you want.”
Dazai’s eyes widened, Chuuya caught the minute way his lip trembled. “You can stay.”
Chuuya nodded before gesturing to the church entrance. “Ready to go in?”
He wasn’t, the hard way Dazai swallowed and the tears that threatened to flood over his lashes in that moment screamed that he wasn’t. But this funeral was cheap, there wasn’t the time to stand around, the priest checking his watch at the doors confirmed as much. They had to go in now.
There was no choir for Oda Sakunosuke. The service was impersonal, the priest read from a script. Nobody stood and shared stories of his memories, with an audience of two there wasn’t much point. Dazai spent most of it in a state of shock, staring unmoving at the coffin.
Then it came time for him to say his goodbyes, Dazai practically fell standing up, his gait was slow and clumsy as he stepped up to the coffin. He’d never attended any of the funerals Chuuya had, Chuuya was beginning to think this was the first funeral Dazai had ever cared to go to.
Chuuya remained seated, there was no point in him saying goodbye to a man he didn’t know and he didn’t need any more unpleasant funeral memories resurfacing. He watched as Dazai’s fingers tentatively touched the wood of the coffin and leaned down to whisper the final words he’d ever say to Oda’s face. Whatever they were, Chuuya couldn’t hear them from his seat, not that he wanted to, they weren’t his to know.
When Dazai sat again, he never took his eyes off the coffin but his hand came to clutch Chuuya’s. By the time they left the church, Dazai’s fingernails had left half-moon shaped imprints in the back of Chuuya’s palm.
“What are you gonna do now?” Chuuya asked around his cigarette, one hand shielding it from the breeze the other attempting to work his lighter. They stood at the edges of the cemetery, the brick wall was short enough for them to sit on, which Dazai did, his legs folded up to his chest. It made him look far too small. Chuuya almost wished Dazai would stand up and make fun of his height again.
Dazai shrugged in reply. He still hadn’t looked at Chuuya, his eyes remained locked on Oda’s grave.
Chuuya had been expecting a car to come and pick Dazai up, but either Mori hadn’t arranged for it or Dazai had refused it. With the way he was acting, Chuuya wouldn’t be surprised if Dazai had planned on remaining in the cemetery. The thought sent a shiver through him. It didn’t escape his notice that Oda’s grave was under a tree. The branches of which he’d caught Dazai looking up at more than once.
“We could go somewhere.” He offered, taking a drag from his cigarette and sitting closer to Dazai. “Somewhere he liked.”
“Somewhere he liked?” Dazai mouthed the words like they were foreign to him. His gaze dropped to his shoes, making him look ever more like a lost child. “There was nowhere he liked in the end. Not enough to not…” The words trailed off as if he couldn’t bear to finish that sentence.
Chuuya fussed with the cigarette in his hand as a reason not to look too directly at Dazai, seeing the way his whole face seemed to tremble as he fought to hold everything inside himself was too surreal. It was bad enough just hearing the small catches of breath Dazai tried to suppress.
“Alright.” Chuuya began, after giving Dazai a moment to gather himself again. “What about somewhere with good memories? It can help.”
There was a flash of that earlier anger in Dazai's eyes, he curled in on himself tighter, retreating from Chuuya. He muttered the word 'help' like it was something repulsive before the tiny fire in his heart blew out again and Dazai deflated, hanging his head on his knees.
Chuuya watched Dazai with quiet acceptance. If Dazai didn't want to go anywhere, then Chuuya wasn't going to force it, but he wasn't going to leave him alone either. Not in this cemetery, with the body of his friend and that tree whose branches looked far too inviting for Chuuya's liking.
The wind whistled past them, catching Chuuya's hair so he had to pull it back over his ear and away from his cigarette. It chilled him to the point he shuddered and he couldn't help but look back at Dazai. His black trench coat had been absent since Oda's death, Chuuya couldn't help but wonder whether Dazai was cold without it.
He was about to try suggesting they go to his apartment when Dazai looked up from his knees again. His expression vacant and eyes glossy.
"I have somewhere I wanna go."
The world was emptier without Oda.
At first Dazai had thought he was imagining it, but as he walked the alley to Lupin's entrance he noticed his footsteps echoed in a way they hadn't before. The walls seemed to bend away from him and the alley stretched off into the distance, carrying Lupin farther away from him. In a way, Dazai was almost glad, the longer it took for him to reach that door, the longer he could pretend Oda was waiting for him at the bar.
Where he should be.
Where they all should have been.
He reached the door and placed his hand on the handle. Perhaps it wouldn't open, he thought. Maybe Lupin only existed in the past now, in a world were Oda still breathed, a world he was locked away from forever now.
The thought scared him, so to prolong finding out whether it was true or not Dazai glanced back down the alley. Perched on his bike with two helmets hanging off it's handles was Chuuya. Those inquisitive stormy eyes had followed him all the way through this alley, like some pestering guardian angel that doesn't know it's supposed to be secretive. Dazai hadn't expected anyone to be with him today, he certainly hadn't asked Chuuya to do this.
And yet there he was anyway.
Before today, Dazai had never brought Chuuya to Lupin, he'd never planned on doing it at all. Lupin was his, Oda and Ango's place. To introduce someone else, even now, felt like an obtrusion. So Dazai had asked Chuuya to wait outside, and with the same delicate attention Chuuya had been paying him all day, he'd agreed.
Dazai waved to Chuuya to signal he was fine, which they both knew he wasn't, before sucking in a breath and opening the door.
Oda wasn't there.
Obviously he wasn't, Dazai had known that from the start, yet somehow, his heart still sank farther seeing the empty bar stools. He stopped halfway down the stairs, his eyes sweeping over the sad empty state of the bar. The few patrons that were here spread across the booths as if they were purposely trying to put distance between themselves and the rest of the world. The barkeep didn't even acknowledge the ghost of a boy stood frozen the stairs, he just continued with his chores.
Once the seclusion of this bar was a comfort. The fact that they could say anything and everything to each other whilst sat at that bar and nobody would bat an eyelid was what drew them here. Now it was rejection. His friends were gone and everyone here was a stranger who didn't want him. Dazai didn't belong to Lupin anymore.
Still, he trod down the rest of the steps and fell onto his usual seat, letting his body carry him through the routine of it all.
"The usual." Dazai spoke with an obvious strain, his throat sore from swallowing away his grief. It had to be showing on his face too, the way the muscles of Chuuya's face flinched every time he looked at Dazai told him that much.
Yet the barkeep acknowledged none of this and took out three glasses.
"No." Dazai interrupted him, holding up his hand to halt the barkeep's actions. "Just my drink."
The words tore at his wounded heart to say. It was an admittance of what had happened and that nothing would ever be the same again. He hated the barkeep for forcing it out of him.
"Oh, your friends not coming today?" The barkeep asked, like it wouldn't kill Dazai to answer that.
All he could manage was to shake his head.
Dazai shouldered his way out the door and stumbled into the alleyway. His crushed lungs gasped for air that, no matter how hard he breathed, he couldn't provide. Blindly, he fumbled forward with his arms stretched out until he came to the wall opposite and collapsed into it.
He was too hot, too confined. His hands clutched at the collar of his shirt, pulling it apart and desperately struggling to loosen the bandages around his neck. Still, the air evaded him, his vision doubling. Dazai pressed his clammy forehead to the cool concrete of the wall in front of him. No matter how hard he wanted it, there was no escaping the frantic shaking of his body.
"Dazai!" Chuuya called to him, his voice almost completely drowned out by Dazai's own gasping. He sounded a million miles away and Dazai might have preferred that. This wasn't a state he wanted anyone to see him in.
That's why he'd run out of Lupin.
Just one drink. That's all he'd wanted. One glass of whisky in the bar the he used to share with his friends, one final dream that he was back with them.
And it was all going fine.
Until he'd felt it. A hand on his shoulder, warm and familiar. Two pats on his right shoulder, the hand lingering just long enough on the second pat to feel the person walk behind him and take up the chair next to him. Except when Dazai looked, nobody was sat there, nobody had passed behind him. Oda was still gone.
The crushing weight of that realisation hitting him all over again, sent him spiralling. The stagnant air of Lupin choked him of his very breath and Dazai ran.
"Dazai?" Chuuya's voice was softer now, but so much closer than before, his hand was on Dazai back massaging small circles between his shoulder blades. "Hey, you hear me?"
At some point, Dazai had crouched down and pressed his head between his hands, curling his body over his knees like his was trying to cram himself into the smallest position possible. His lungs burned from lack of air and the muscles in his face ached from the tension. He tried to say something in response, but his jaw was locked open so all that left him was an agonised wail.
"Come on, you need to straighten out." Chuuya spoke as Dazai heard shuffling from beside him, Chuuya's hands moved to his shoulders, gently guiding them back and is spine straighter.
It tipped Dazai off-balance, he tumbled backwards, his back slamming into Chuuya who only stumbled a little to catch him.
"That's it. Deep breaths now. Slower." Untangling Dazai's hands from their grip on his hair, Chuuya took them in his own. "Squeeze my hands when you breath in, then let it all go when you breath out, okay?"
Dazai wasn't sure he had that much control over his body but he nodded anyways.
"Alright, breath in."
The breath he sucked in was shaky and his lips quivered fighting the actions. He squeezed Chuuya's hands so hard he thought he might brake his fingers. If he had Chuuya didn't complain, he just told him to breath out.
They repeated this a few more times, before the adrenaline finally drained from Dazai's body and he exhaustively melted into Chuuya's hold. Dazai limbs felt like they were made of led, his hands and back held up solely through Chuuya's support. He didn't care that they were on the floor of an alleyway, he could have slept right there.
Chuuya must have been able to see how exhausted he was because they sat there for a good few minutes before he made any suggestion of getting up.
It felt like an eternity passed before he was lifted to his feet and yet, somehow it wasn't long enough. Dazai had no energy to fight it, so he allowed himself to guided back out the alley with Chuuya's arm around his middle, tucking him close. A numbness crept over his limbs, they moved solely because an external force was making them, Dazai's mind was elsewhere.
Perhaps it was still on floor, or trapped inside Lupin. Perhaps it had never left that building Oda had died in, their souls still clinging together in the darkness, despite the material world splitting them apart.
"Yeah, I need a vehicle switch." Chuuya's voice pulled his focus. They stood at the opening of the alley, his arm still firmly around Dazai's waist as he spoke on the on the phone. "Bring my car around, and make sure the guy who drops it off can drive a bike."
His skin felt fuzzy and foreign, Dazai was half convinced if he rubbed at his face it come away completely. The mask he wore over his husk of a soul finally too worn to maintain the facade any longer.
"Where are we going?" He heard himself ask, though he didn't remember having any thought that told his mouth to move.
Chuuya shifted them around, so he could let Dazai lean against the wall rather than keeping hold of him longer than necessary. "My place."
Something inside Dazai sank hearing that. He wanted to be alone, to find some miserable pit, crawl inside it and never get back up again. The idea of returning to his container and sealing it up from within was deliciously tempting to him right now. All thoughts he knew Chuuya wouldn't approve of or even entertain jokingly.
"I wanna go home."
He wasn't sure why he'd chosen that word. The shipping container had never really been a home, no matter how much he'd insisted on it. Home for Dazai came the shape of his friends, the familiarity of their tired smiles, eyes that mellowed with fondness upon seeing him. It came in the warmth of a cream blazer placed around his shoulders when he'd misplaced his own, of calloused hands ruffling his hair. It was the clink of glasses as Ango chided Oda for indulging him time and time again.
His home had forever been torn asunder by betrayal and death. There was no going back there.
Chuuya hesitated before replying, the crease between his brows deepening as his eyes scrutinised Dazai. "Like hell am I takin' you back to that hovel."
There was nothing in him to fight back with, so Dazai simply sighed in defeat, letting his body deflate as he did so. Were it not for the wall he'd been propped up against he might have ended up on the floor again.
"We're goin' back to mine." Chuuya reaffirmed, his voice softer this time. He'd stepped forward, closing the space between them, yet his hands remained at his sides, fingers twitching with the want to reach out to Dazai but unsure whether they had the permission to.
Dazai eyed those hands. They were bare, Chuuya wasn't in his usual dress, he was in a plain, smart black suit, dressed for the occasion. He wanted to clasp them in his own again, feel the warmth of something alive and remind him he was too. Instead Dazai just just nodded in response to Chuuya's words.
The drive to Chuuya's apartment was passed in quiet as Dazai was still regathering his faculties from his attack in the alley. He watched the streets of Yokohama fly by them with contempt.
Out there the world continued. People went about their lives laughing and smiling, not caring in the slightest that Oda was gone. Somewhere amongst the callously ignorant people of Yokohama was Ango. Did he even know that Oda was buried today, did he care? Dazai hoped he knew, and he hoped with everything he had that it was eating Ango alive to not have been able to attend.
Arriving at the apartment complex they entered still in silence. The way to Chuuya's apartment so known to him, Dazai could have walked it blind. There was no need to talk and Chuuya seemed to understand Dazai had no wish to right now.
They left their blazers and shoes in the entrance way, Dazai tossing his aside haphazardly and Chuuya taking the time to put them in their proper place. Normally, he would have demanded Dazai not be a slob and do it himself. There was something irritating to how delicate Chuuya was being with him right now, Dazai wanted to fight it. Push back against the tenderness extended to him and crush it, prove that he wasn't so weak in nature as to need it.
He stood in the middle of Chuuya's front room contemplating how to go about this instinct. He could brake something, that would be a simple way to do it, but there was no subtly to that, no grace, no fun.
His eyes landed on the fancy wine rack, the latest version Chuuya had installed as his wine collection grew. It's wood was stained a deep red, almost the exact shade of the wines it was made to hold and it was nearly as tall as the ceiling. There was meant to be an air of age to it without actually looking old and dusty, like it could have been moved here from the cellar of an ancient western mansion. To Dazai, it just looked out of place in Chuuya's modern apartment.
He moved over to it, scanning over the wines housed there. Where would Chuuya place the rarest of wines, that was the question. At the top and out of reach, perhaps? Or hidden near the bottom and out of sight. Maybe, in anticipation of Dazai's meddling instincts Chuuya had hidden them in the middle, in hopes that he'd discredit that section without much thought.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Chuuya standing next to him and was distracted from his mischief when Chuuya pulled out a vintage himself. Dazai watched him examine the label briefly before nodding to himself and walking off in the direction of the kitchenette.
"Want a glass?" The question came from behind Dazai, drawing him away from the rack.
He followed Chuuya to the breakfast bar and took up a stool. As far as choices of drinks go, red wine wasn't high on Dazai's choice of alcohol, but he could at least trust the ones Chuuya served to be good.
"I thought you only opened these for special occasions?" He asked, bitterly.
Today wasn't special. It was abysmal. It didn't warrant celebrating with wines. Though Dazai supposed if anyone was entitled to celebrate in his misery, it was Chuuya. Was that really why he'd insisted on bringing Dazai to his apartment?
Chuuya hopped on the stool next to Dazai, it usually amused Dazai that even in his own apartment the stools were too tall for him. The humour of it fell short this time. Chuuya placed down the wine bottle along with two fancy looking glasses. The kind that looked like crystal fishbowls on stilts that fancy waiters only ever filled a tenth of the way.
"Do you know who introduced me to wine collecting?"
"No." He tried to sound uninterested, he wanted to be uninterested in everything today that wasn't Oda, but Dazai couldn't help his curiosity from piquing.
"Pianoman." As Chuuya spoke he poured a more than generous amount of wine into their glasses. "We mostly drank cheap booze at the bar, but Pianoman had a secret passion for red wines. He'd host tastings when he acquired a particularly good vintage. They all tasted the same to Albatross," He couldn't help the smirk pulling at his lips as he spoke that part. "at the time I agreed with him, but…"
Chuuya swallowed, finishing pouring their drinks and placing the bottle aside. It took him a moment to gather himself before he spoke again. "After they were gone, I put more effort in to understandin' what the hell Pianoman was talkin' about. This vintage, I save for rememberin' them."
Dazai didn't have a reply, a familiar ache crawled up his throat hearing Chuuya's words. A reminder that Chuuya knew exactly how Dazai felt today and why he'd been so insistent on not leaving Dazai alone. He picked up his glass, swirling the deep red liquid around ashamed of his own suspicions.
Taking his own glass Chuuya held it up between them in a toast. "To remembering."
"To remembering." Dazai uttering, clinking their glasses together before drinking deeply of the wine.
After their toast they switched to something harder, something that would burn away the ache of grief in Dazai's throat. They also moved to the sofa as Chuuya swiftly became too unstable to continue sitting on the stools. Not as he'd admit it, but he swayed dangerously every time he gesticulated as he talked.
Extra cushions and blankets were brought out as the day turned to evening. Though the air was still a sombre one, it was at least one they were sharing together and the weight of his loss was a little lighter on Dazai's shoulders.
Dazai poured himself another glass of whisky from the extravagant decanter that looked like it belonged in a wizard's tower and far too expensive for Dazai's drunken grasp. His face and vision were fuzzy by this point but he was still doing better than Chuuya. Who was wrapped up in a blanket at the opposite end of the sofa, bleary eyed and red faced, grumbling under his breath about nothing as he was wont to do when he was drunk.
It almost made Dazai smile to see, but every time the muscles of his lips dared to pull up a stabbing pain in his heart reminded him he wasn't allowed that luxury today. Perhaps not ever again.
He'd pushed all thoughts of his future plans away today, yet as the night was creeping in and he spent more time in Chuuya's company he couldn't keep it from resurfacing. He was going to leave the mafia. Which meant leaving everyone who came with the mafia too.
Leaving Chuuya, his partner, the nuisance of a boy who'd decided it was his obligation to watch over Dazai today, despite him never being asked to. Despite Dazai never doing the same when it was Chuuya's friends who died. Sure, he'd tried to be sensitive about it, he'd understood it had been difficult for Chuuya, but he never attended the funerals, never held his hand through the ceremony, never held him tight when everything was too much and he couldn't remember how to breathe.
"What're you lookin' at?" Chuuya asked through squinted eyes, nudging Dazai's leg with his own socked foot.
"A little munchkin who can't hold his liquor." Dazai snipped, playfully shoving Chuuya's leg away. Which only led to Chuuya trying to prod Dazai again.
"I hold it jus' fine. Watch!" Wobbling greatly, Chuuya sat up and snatched the decanter from the coffee table, he shook it smugly in his hand. "See."
He had to stifle his laugh at Chuuya's misunderstanding. "Maybe you've had enough."
"Nu-uh. I know my limits, Mr Know-It-All."
If there was one thing Chuuya never understood, it was his limits. Especially when it came to alcohol.
He didn't argue the point further though, instead he downed his whisky in one as he'd done all day, the burn almost becoming too much for his throat, before he placed the glass down again. He sat back, the room spinning as he did. The drunker he was, the less real the world felt and he was glad of that. It had his mind wandering to places he hadn't allowed it go when sober.
"We should run away." He stated.
Chuuya scrunched up his face in confusion, before remembering this was a game they played. He grinned curiously, "Where would we go?"
"Anywhere we want." Usually this is where Dazai would start listing cities or countries, tourist destinations so cliche it was painful and Chuuya would either shoot them down or agree. Instead he simply said. "Somewhere we can't be found."
"Tha's cheatin'!" Chuuya wriggled closer to Dazai so he could jab a finger at him. "Ya haf'ta say some place. 'Sides, no place we won't be found, won't be fun."
Dazai shrugged in defeat. "Yeah. You're right."
He wanted to disagree, to say that they would make it fun, that as long as they stuck together even the most dismal of places could be fun. But he was too bitter for such optimisms. The mafia had once been fun, his friends had made it that way and once he believed they'd always be together. Now, he knew what a paltry lie that belief was.
He couldn't drag Chuuya away from his life here simply because he didn't want to face the world without Oda alone. His promise to Oda was only his to bear, Dazai wouldn't force it onto Chuuya as well.
"Antarctica." Chuuya's voice broke Dazai from his thoughts.
"What?"
"We could go Antarctica, befriend the penguins, make a penguin army!" As Chuuya spoke he became more roused by his own suggestion, sitting up excitedly on the sofa. "And polar bears too, we'll ride them!"
Dazai almost choked on his laugh. "There aren't any polar bears in Antarctica!"
A look of dumbfound shock briefly crossed Chuuya's face before he grinned and clumsily grabbed Dazai's shoulders. "Not yet, there aren't!"
The pair stumbled into Chuuya's bedroom at some point past 2am, using each other for support. They barely made it to the bottom of the bed before one of them lost their footing and they fell onto the sheets with drunken laughter.
They rolled onto their backs, their calves still hanging off the bottom of the bed. Only Dazai's toes touched the floor, Chuuya's didn't reach that far. Their laughter petered out and for a long moment the boys settled into quiet.
Dazai had been dreading this moment. He'd felt it creeping upon on him for he last hour, the moment they'd run out of distractions and his grief would come crashing back down on him. His breath caught in his throat as the familiar ache rapidly built in his chest again. Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, Dazai flung his arm over his eyes feeling the prickle of tears welling in them.
Anything but this, he pleaded with himself, he'd managed to keep the tears contained all day. He refused to let himself cry like a child over this, he was better than that. Feel the hurt, yes, he deserved the pain for not being able to stop Oda's death from happening, but crying? He had no right to such a human reaction.
"Dazai?" Once more, Chuuya's voice was a distant whisper, the bed dipped on the side he was lying, sheets rustled as Chuuya moved. Dazai kept his arm over his face, pressing it harder against the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes tight.
Hot liquid pooled around his lids regardless of his wants.
"Hey," A hand tentatively rested on his elbow, it made the barest attempt to pull Dazai's arm back, but when he tensed, it stopped.
Dazai rolled away from Chuuya, his body instinctively curling smaller as every muscle in his body tensed.
Again, Chuuya shuffled closer. This time Dazai did take his arm away from his face, to throw it back at Chuuya as he yelled, "Go away!"
"Fuck that." Chuuya replied and when Dazai went to hit him again he caught Dazai's arm.
Frustration gave way to rage, at himself for being this pathetic, at Chuuya for seeing it, at Oda for leaving, at Mori for using them all like pawns. But Chuuya was right here, so he was the easiest target to blame.
Dazai spun around, not caring about Chuuya seeing the tears anymore, curling his free hand and into a fist and trying to slam it down onto Chuuya's head. He was blocked by Chuuya shielding his head, but it meant the other boy was pinned down.
"I didn't ask you to be here! I didn't want you here!" Dazai spat, his legs going to kick at Chuuya and trying break free of the hold, but they were quickly tangled up and immobilised by Chuuya's stronger legs. "You're just a dumb dog that doesn't know when he's not wanted, we're not friends! You don't have friends! Do I have to throw rocks at you to get you to leave? Is that it?"
"That's enough!" Chuuya growled, even when drunk he was lethal in a fight, before Dazai could process what had happened, Chuuya had grappled him and rolled their positions so he was on top of Dazai. "You don't get to fucking talk to me like that!"
"You don't get-"
"Shut it!"
Dazai went to yell again but Chuuya warned him with a raised fist, so he closed his mouth.
Chuuya sighed, his shoulders sagging with the action, he ran his fingers through his hair pushing it away from his face. The action caused just enough light to fall on his face for Dazai to see how red and watery Chuuya's eyes also were. A sharp pang of guilt hit Dazai's chest.
"You wanna yell, fine yell. Get fucking angry if it helps, but you don't do it at me." Chuuya mumbled, he wiped at his face before folding forwards and pressing his forehead into Dazai's shoulder.
It didn't make any sense to Dazai. How Chuuya could stand to be this close to him right now, why he'd even bothered with Dazai at all today? None of it. He'd never asked for such kindnesses, he couldn't, he didn't think he'd ever done anything worthy of them. Yet here they were, together despite it all. His arms came around Chuuya's shoulders and as soon as they did he felt Chuuya's arms snake under his back, pulling them closer together.
"I'm sorry." Dazai's whispered, his voice trembling as he spoke. With a shaky breath, hot tears streamed down his temples as the sobs finally broke free from within in. He pressed his face into Chuuya's hair in an attempt to hide from the sound of his own agonised cries.
Chuuya pulled them onto their sides again, keeping Dazai close as he reached back for the end of the cover and cocooned them in it. "Let it out. I got you." He breathed against the skin of Dazai's forehead, his thumb stroking away the tears from Dazai's cheek.
Later, when Dazai remembered that night, he could have sworn he felt Chuuya's lips press a kiss more than once to his forehead, though he never questioned it. In the morning- the last morning he saw Chuuya before he defected- he believed fully he'd felt them and returned the kiss to Chuuya's forehead as he slept. It was the last thing he did before he snuck out of the apartment.