Work Text:
Chuuya is half dead on his feet when the helicopter finally lands.
In the last few hours, Chuuya’s endured cheap contact lenses that irritated his eyes, fake fangs that made his teeth ache, nearly drowning, dragging corpses left and right without his ability, Dazai’s shitty speeches… And now he has to waste his ability carrying around some unconscious guy with mop hair.
At least they’re being rescued now.
Beside him, Dazai keeps complaining about one thing or another; Chuuya stopped listening after it went from childish demands to be picked up like a toddler to a rant about low quality prison food and the uncomfortable bed in his cell.
From the helicopter emerges Adam, looking just as Chuuya remembered. Despite his bone deep exhaustion, he smiles.
“Thanks for coming, Adam,” he says, once his friend is close enough to hear him.
Adam offers a smile of his own as he offers assistance for Dazai; of course, said offer is rejected, despite the obvious limping. He may be an obnoxious brat to Chuuya, but he’s prideful to everyone else.
“Always, Chuuya-sama,” Adam replies, as they get as comfortable as they can on the helicopter and he gets on the pilot seat. “I’d been looking forward to seeing you again.”
“How sweet,” Dazai deadpans. Chuuya would punch him if that didn’t mean deactivating his ability and possibly dropping their stowaway into the sea. “My leg is killing me, do you happen to have painkillers, buddy?”
“Can’t you wait? We’ll be back home soon.” Nevermind that Chuuya’s head hurts like a bitch and the noise from the helicopter isn’t helping at all.
“There’s a first-aid kit under your seat, Dazai-san,” Adam offers. “About your going home…” Chuuya doesn’t like that tone. “From what I’ve heard, the situation in Yokohama is not the best. The airport is inaccessible, and the Armed Detective Agency is still considered a terrorist organization. Besides that, news of the Meursault jailbreak spread quickly; the Interpol has already put a bounty on your heads.”
Chuuya drops his face in his hands and barely resists the urge to scream.
“So we’re not going home?” Dazai asks. Chuuya takes satisfaction in the fact that he sounds dejected too.
This may be a shitty situation, but he has to admit that he’s glad that at least he’s not going through it alone; even if the company he does have isn’t the best.
“Not yet, I’m afraid.”
“Where are we going, then?” Chuuya asks, muffled between his fingers.
Adam understands the question anyway. “Marseille.”
Chuuya raises his head to look at Dazai, only to find he’s already looking at him. Their eyes meet for a beat, but both of their faces remain completely blank.
If only the mop was awake, they could maybe ask him, but he may be useless too.
Both of them look at Adam and ask: “What’s in Marseille?”
“When we land, we’ll be welcomed by Alexandre Dumas, an acquaintance of mine,” Adam explains. Dazai grabs the first-aid kit under the seat and zeroes on the painkillers in an instant. “His ability allows him to create fake identities for anyone. It will work on you as well, Dazai-san, as his ability manipulates the world, not people.”
“Handy,” Dazai comments, before popping two pills in his mouth and swallowing them dry.
“Do you have water?” Chuuya asks, because he’s not a savage. Adam hands him a water bottle from the front seat, and he downs one pill. “Thanks. How do you know this guy?”
“Oh, he’s a fugitive of the Interpol as well,” Adam explains. “He’s assisted several prisoners escape and create new identities that make it impossible to capture them.”
Chuuya freezes, with the water bottle just a hair away from his lips. Dazai takes advantage of his shock to snatch the bottle and drink the whole thing in one go.
Dodging the kicks thrown his way, Dazai whistles. “You have a thing for helping out criminals?”
Adam shakes his head, sheepish. “My purpose is to help humans, regardless of the labels imposed on them by other humans. Alexandre Dumas, much like Chuuya-sama, is just a good person doing the best he can with the cards he was handed. Besides, doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?”
Before he can think better of it, Chuuya glances over at Dazai.
As he should’ve expected, his ex-partner avoids his eyes. He goes as far as to turn his back to Chuuya to act like he’s captivated by the sights underneath them, even though it’s dark and all there is to see is the ocean.
Maybe it’s for the better; the pill hasn’t killed his headache yet.
They land only a couple of hours later, and the sky is still dark.
Chuuya would’ve loved to get some shut-eye on the way here, but he couldn’t get comfortable enough for that no matter how much he tried. He’s gotten spoiled; he used to be able to fall asleep anywhere.
Dazai pretended to sleep the whole way, but Chuuya could tell from his breathing alone that he was faking it.
When they step out of the helicopter, Chuuya squints to take a look at his surroundings; though he quickly realizes that there’s not a lot to see. They’re in a field, somewhere just outside a forest. The only interesting thing is the van parked a few meters away, and the person emerging from it.
“Frankenstein,” the man says as he approaches them. “Long time no see, how have you been?”
From up close, Chuuya can get a better look at the guy. He seems to be older than them, although the ridiculous goatee could be misleading. His dark hair reaches his shoulders, and he’s wearing an all black outfit –pique shirt, velvet waistcoat and tailcoat, dress pants and boots–. Too formal for a midnight meeting at a field, but to each their own.
Even so, the guy is objectively handsome; though Chuuya would never say that part out loud.
“Hello, Alexandre,” Adam greets him, cheerfully. He shakes his friend’s hand, then gestures towards them. “Allow me to introduce you to my friends. Nakahara Chuuya, and his partner Dazai Osamu.”
Alexandre’s eyes take a certain look as he glances between the two of them, and Chuuya realizes, with burning cheeks, that there’s been a misunderstanding.
“It’s not like-”
“Is that one alive?” he asks, pointing to the mop currently floating a few steps behind the group.
Dazai’s eyes follow Alexandre’s finger, as if he’d forgotten the little souvenir they had to take from Meursault, and he hums. “Good question.”
“That one is Sigma, I believe,” Adam explains. He waits for Dazai to confirm before he continues. “He’s currently unconscious, but he should wake up… someday, perhaps.”
“Do you need just two identities, then?”
“If you’d be so kind.”
“Alright. Nakahara-san, Dazai-san, come here.” They do as told, and Alexandre stares at them for a long beat that has Chuuya shifting in place uncomfortably. Then… A burst of blue light, as bright as it was brief, and he clasps his hands together. “All done! Congratulations, Shuuji and Kensuke, you two just got married and are visiting Marseille for your honeymoon.”
“AH?!”
Ignoring their indignant shrieks, Alexandre turns around and begins making his way back to his car. Adam pats Chuuya in the back as he walks past him to follow him.
“Come on, then,” Alexandre calls, once he realizes that Chuuya and Dazai are still stunned in place. “Allow me to take you to your residence for the next month.”
“Let’s go, slug,” Dazai murmurs. He, too, pats Chuuya’s back as he starts walking.
Distantly, Chuuya hears the sound of a body dropping to the ground as a result of Dazai’s ability, and he sighs.
“Welcome to Monte Cristo!”
Chuuya studies the place in front of him once he’s exited the van, which he notes have plates that read ‘Pharaon’ . He would be curious about that little detail, but he’s more interested in the sight ahead.
Because it seems like this place –Monte Cristo, was it?– is a castle , but Chuuya thinks he’d remember if Adam had mentioned that his friend happened to be a prince.
“A castle?” Dazai asks, like he’d read Chuuya’s mind.
“Ah, not quite. A winery,” Alexandre corrects him. “My ability can’t do all the heavy lifting; we have to make the story believable. Besides, what’s more romantic than a summer at a French winery?”
He says it like he’s doing them a favor, but in reality, Chuuya is starting to feel sick to his stomach.
“Being electrocuted.”
Dazai pushes him, once again making Sigma fall to the ground.
“Being shot in the head while you’re trying to give a romantic speech to the love of your life.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Chuuya growls, as he pushes Dazai back. Admittedly, he could’ve pushed him harder, but he has a broken leg, okay? It’s not fair if the other person can’t fight back.
Ignoring them, Alexandre begins making his way to the entrance of the castle he calls a winery. To be fair, there is a big sign near the door that reads ‘Monte Cristo Winery’ , but that hardly means anything to Chuuya until he sees a vineyard and endless rows of wine.
(He does see a vast field not too far from the driveway, and it can only be a vineyard, but still.)
Alexandre takes a keyring, heavy with over a dozen of keys, from his pocket and shows them which is the right one to the entrance. Opening the door, he ushers them in. “After you.”
Compared to the outside, the inside of this castle is significantly less flashy. If Chuuya had to choose a word to describe it, he’d go with homey.
The chandelier above their heads, while luxurious, emits a warm and welcoming light; the space in front of them is wide and bright –even at night– thanks to the large windows, and there are red rugs on the floor, beautiful paintings on the walls, and plants in every corner.
Even the staircase, wide and imposing, seems to be tastefully humbled with the emerald green rug that covers it.
Chuuya has to admit that he likes this place; what he’s seen of it so far, anyway. His own apartment may be minimalistic and functional, but he’d love to redecorate and make it look like this if he ever had the time.
After they’ve taken in the room, Alexandre guides them through the rest of the first floor. The kitchen –spacious and functional yet inviting and comfortable–, the living room –with red couches and a big fireplace–, the dining room –with a type of table that Chuuya had only seen in movies set in the renaissance–.
Eventually, Chuuya gets tired of dragging around deadweight, so as much as he’s enjoying the tour, he has to bring it to a halt.
“Where do I drop this?” he asks, pointing at the stowaway that floats above his head.
“Oh, I’ll show you to the bedrooms,” Alexandre says, apologetically. They make their way upstairs quickly, and he opens the first door on the hallway. “You can leave your friend in here; this is one of the guest rooms.”
“Thanks,” Chuuya says, as he unceremoniously drops Sigma on the bed. He falls face first, which probably makes it a little hard for him to breathe, but who cares.
Without the strain of using his ability for such a prolonged period of time, Chuuya can relax and appreciate the fine details, like the evidently luxurious bedding. If this is a guest room, he can only imagine what awaits in the master bedroom.
They exit the guest room and continue making their way down the hallway until they reach the very end.
“Now, I present to you: the master bedroom,” Alexandre announces, like this is some sort of game. He opens the door. “Ta-da!”
It is even better than Chuuya imagined.
The bed is twice as big as that of the guest room, with double the pillows and red bedding that looks fancier than anything Chuuya owns; and he knows that he’s grown to enjoy the little luxuries. Not only that, but the room also has a big red couch, much like the ones in the living room, a big vanity –accompanied with a large mirror–, and a balcony.
Chuuya is drawn to the latter like a moth to the flame. He opens the doors and steps outside. Now he can see the vineyard, as well as the empty fields around the winery and the mountains that surround it. If this is the sight he gets at night, what awaits him when the sun rises?
He hears someone clear their throat –who is he kidding, he knows that was Dazai–, so he reluctantly walks back inside.
His eyes meet Dazai’s, and his mood instantly sours. “I’ll take the bed, you take the couch.”
“But Chuuya!” Dazai whines in protest. “The couch is tiny, I won’t fit! And my leg is broken!” It is a big couch, and there’s no reason why a noodle of 181 centimeters couldn’t fit, but Chuuya knows that there’s no reasoning with this manchild. “You should sleep 0n the couch!”
“No, the bed is mine,” Chuuya insists. “If you don’t fit on the couch, sleep on the floor.”
“So cruel.”
“I thought you said they were partners,” Alexandre says, turning to Adam.
“Not like that!” Chuuya protests.
Dazai, like the asshole he is, sighs. He even commits to the act and makes himself appear forlorn. “It’s complicated.”
“It really isn’t,” Chuuya refutes, and he makes sure to stare Dazai dead in the eye as he does. “Show us the rest.”
Alexandre nods, awkwardly. “Of course.”
The rest of the second floor isn’t as interesting; it’s nothing but bedrooms. Well, there is one walk-in closet, but there aren’t any clothes in it, so there’s not much to see apart from empty drawers.
Chuuya’s interest dies down when they go up to the third floor, full of offices, and the fourth floor, which appears to be nothing but a wide ball room.
His eyes are beginning to droop when they go down to the basement, and in there-
“This is Monte Cristo’s cellar,” Alexandre announces, looking proud. It makes sense, considering that the whole purpose of this place is to produce wine, even if there are some deviations to said purpose. “Feel free to drink as many bottles as you want; these are all for my personal use.”
Chuuya’s jaw drops to the floor. “You have a whole winery just to produce your own wine?”
“Jealous?” Dazai presses, wiggling his eyebrows.
“Shut up.”
“You don’t have to worry about taking care of the vineyard, by the way,” continues Alexandre, as they walk down the endless rows of wine. “My workers will come in regularly to deal with it, but they won’t bother you. You have this place all to yourselves.”
He says it like it’s something good , but Chuuya isn’t so sure that he will survive being stuck with no one but the man who’s been getting on his nerves since they were fifteen as company. Well, he may survive, but he can’t guarantee that he’ll let Dazai come out of here alive.
“… Great.”
With a smile, Alexandre turns to the row to his left and searches the shelves. When he finds what he was looking for, he grabs the bottle and offers it to Chuuya. “To celebrate your freedom, I would recommend this magnificent wine.”
While still irritated by the entire situation, Chuuya’s interest is piqued by the offer. He takes the wine and reads the label. “‘ Abbe Faria’ ?”
“Named after an old friend.” Is all Alexandre offers as an explanation. “That concludes our tour, gentlemen. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Chuuya wonders if there’s a casual, unsuspicious way to ask if the castle they find themselves in happens to have a cell where one could throw a hypothetical prisoner in during a month, hypothetically; just to hypothetically make him feel like home.
Said hypothetical prisoner speaks up before he can ask: “Can you let my fake identity be a supermodel? I’ve always thought I have the looks for it.”
“Sure,” Alexandre agrees with a laugh. At least someone is having fun.
Without another word, Alexandre turns around and walks out of the cellar. And there goes Chuuya’s only hope of keeping Dazai far away from him for the next month.
“I have to leave as well,” Adam announces, with a remorseful grimace, “but you can contact me anytime, Chuuya-sama.”
Chuuya hands Dazai the wine and rushes to hug Adam before he can go too far. Sure, they should see each other again in a month, and they’ve talked over the phone fairly often over the years; but he’s missed him anyway.
Adam must share the sentiment, because he returns the gesture just as fiercely.
“Thank you for your help, Adam.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he replies, as he rubs circles on Chuuya’s back.
Once Alexandre and Adam leave, Chuuya wants to…
Well, there are so many things he wants to do he doesn’t even know where to begin.
He wants to shower, because his hair feels weird thanks to the nasty water in Meursault; but he also wants to sleep, because he’s exhausted and his whole body is sore; but then he’s so hungry that his stomach hurts, and it would be so nice to have a home cooked meal accompanied by some wine.
That settles it.
Chuuya takes the wine bottle from Dazai, leaves the cellar, and makes a beeline to the kitchen. It takes him a few guesses, but he manages to find the corkscrew in one of the many drawers and open the wine in record time.
He has to remind himself that drinking wine straight out of the bottle is not very civilized, and so he searches for a glass. Luckily, it’s not tough to find one.
His glass gets filled to the brim, and he takes a long sip; downing over half of the drink without pausing to catch his breath.
Drinking so quickly on an empty stomach is not the best idea, and it must be around four in the morning; but fuck it, he deserves it. He saved his asshole ex partner and nearly died a few times in the process —again—; if he wants to get a damn drink, he’ll have a damn drink.
Energized from the wine, Chuuya turns to the pantry in search of something to eat; only to find Dazai standing there, with his back resting against the pantry and his eyes fixed on Chuuya.
He flinches.
“What’s cooking, good looking?”
“Shit...”
Dazai wrinkles his nose. “Not very nutritious.”
Chuuya places his glass on the counter and pushes Dazai away from the pantry to find something to eat. There’s little to work with aside from a variety of pastas, spices, and flours; but that will do. He isn’t in the mood to actually cook .
“Make yourself useful and look for the pans,” he orders, settling on fettuccine. He places it on the counter, then searches the fridge.
“But Chuuya, I’m injured!” Dazai protests.
“And you lifted a helicopter to check out a corpse like three hours ago; find the damn pans.”
“Okay, okay, I’m finding them.”
Luckily, there’s parmesan cheese in the fridge. There’s also a lone apple, which Chuuya promptly takes a bite of. He’s never been a fan of apples, but after this, he thinks they may be his favorite fruit.
“Aha!”
Chuuya flinches again, thinking that Dazai will be an asshole about the fact that he was starving —a feeling he’d grown unused to many years after the Sheep—, but no. That’s just the idiot with two pans on his hands and smiling like he won some sort of contest.
Chuuya places the rest of his ingredients on the counter, takes another bite of the apple, and goes to take his glass.
Dazai snatches it before he can even touch it and makes sure to look Chuuya right in the eye as he drinks what little wine was left.
Fuck being civilized.
Chuuya takes the wine bottle and drinks from it for a long beat, challenging Dazai to be an asshole about that too.
He could’ve drank the whole bottle like that, but his stomach rumbles, reminding him just how hungry he is, so he has no choice but to set it aside and get started on his improvised meal.
“Chuuya?”
“What now?” he asks, as he takes one of the pans and fills it with water.
“Are you okay?”
With a frown, Chuuya turns to Dazai. At a first glance, he doesn’t seem to be mocking him, or asking in a way that could be seen as condescending; but still, there’s no way the question is sincere.
“Since when do you care?” Chuuya scoffs. He turns on the stove, and there’s nothing to do but wait for the water to boil.
Dazai has the nerve to appear offended by Chuuya’s very valid question. “I’ve always cared.”
Bullshit.
Even so… Chuuya would blame it on the exhaustion, or the lingering fear that his life was so close to ending in that prison, or the fact that they still have no idea what their people in Yokohama are up against; whatever the case may be, he feels like he has to get something off his chest, or he will collapse.
“…Meursault was awful,” he starts, carefully; testing the waters.
Dazai nods. His face shows no malice or humor. Chuuya would even dare to say he seems empathetic. “Believe me, I know.”
He chews on his lip, debating how much more he can say before Dazai stops playing nice. He supposes that it doesn’t make a difference if he says it all now or later; he knows that he won’t be able to stay quiet for an entire month.
“I didn’t like playing a mindless beast for Fyodor.”
Next thing he knows, Dazai’s lanky arms are wrapped around his middle from behind. His heart skips a beat, and he has to think very carefully if he wants to roundhouse kick this asshole or let himself be hugged by him. It’s the least he can do for Chuuya after the Hell he put him through.
“Thank you for coming, slug.”
Okay, he supposes he can let Dazai hug him for a little while; even if he smells like shit.
“Well, I can’t let anyone else beat me to killing you, can I?” Chuuya tries. It’s a weak attempt at bringing back their normal dynamic, but at least he tried.
Dazau hums with his face hidden in the strawberry-blond hair. “Dying by Chuuya’s hands doesn’t sound so bad.”
Okay, that’s too weird to ignore. Chuuya turns around and pushes Dazai away. If they’re going to have some weird heart to heart conversation, they should at least be facing each other, in his opinion.
“What’s up with you? You got a concussion?”
Dazai laughs; not mockingly, but genuine. Chuuya’s starting to think that he’s so hungry and so tired that he’s growing delirious. Or maybe it’s Dazai who’s acting off because of the hunger and exhaustion? Could it be the wine? Shit, was it the wine? What if this was a trap? Adam wouldn’t betray him, but he doesn’t know that Alexandre guy, and who’s to say-
“You’re my husband for the next month, remember?”
Chuuya’s racing heart and mind screech to a halt. He glares at Dazai and his damn relaxed posture.
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s not.”
If Chuuya didn’t know better, he’d think that Dazai sounded almost excited at the idea of being —fake— married to him for a little while; but that can’t be, because this asshole is allergic to commitment, especially if it’s commitment of any kind to Chuuya .
He would know. They had a whole conversation about it after they met again at that damn dungeon what feels like a lifetime ago.
“You were the one who said we can’t be actual partners-”
“I know what I-”
“-because we’re not good for each other and it would put both of us in danger.”
“But there’s no one better for us! We work!” Dazai refutes. He’s angry, as if he hadn’t been the one to put a stop to their relationship before it could develop. “And we’re in danger anyway. Both of us could’ve died in Meursault; you could’ve died.”
Chuuya scoffs. “So what?”
Dazai reaches out for Chuuya’s hands, and he lets him. He’s always found it hard to tell his ex partner no; that’s how he ended up in this situation in the first place.
“It made me think that I don’t want you to die before I can give you everything you want.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Chuuya asks, harshly.
Dazai brings his hands up to his lips and kisses the knuckles, one by one, while brown eyes burn deep into blue ones. It’s like he’s trying to make Chuuya squirm.
“It means we make this thing official.”
“This thing,” Chuuya repeats, dumbfounded, while his heart rebels and pounds against his chest like a traitor.
“Us.”
“Are you asking me to make Dumas’ bullshit a reality?”
He says it as a joke, a way to highlight just how ridiculous Dazai’s proposal is, but his words don’t have the desired effect.
No, Dazai shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “If that’s what you want.”
Chuuya snatches his hands away from Dazai’s hold and turns around so he doesn’t have to keep looking at this jerk for a second longer.
“Go take a nap.”
“I mean it.”
“You’re exhausted, and we just had some shitty near-death experiences,” Chuuya states, simply. He ignores how badly his hands shake as he puts the pasta into the boiling water. “You’ll regret everything you’re saying once you clear your head.”
“I won’t,” Dazai declares, so sure of himself that Chuuya almost feels inclined to believe him. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
“Yeah, right.”
Dazai grabs his arm and pulls to turn him around. Chuuya looks up to his face, waiting to see a glint that betrays his true intentions.
He isn’t expecting to see so much sincerity.
“Being stuck in Meursault was Hell, but you know what made it bearable?” Chuuya shakes his head, feeling strangely chastised. “ You . Any time I wondered why I even put myself through that, I thought about you-”
Chuuya tries to turn around or walk away, but Dazai’s hold on his arm remains strong.
“Stop.”
“-and all the things I’ve been too scared to tell you. I’ve not been fair to you, and I’m sorry.”
How fucked is it that hearing Dazai say ‘I’m sorry’ sounds like something he’d say to alert Chuuya that he’s being mind controlled or blackmailed rather than something sincere? Does it speak worse about Dazai for building that reputation, or Chuuya for having that little faith in his ex partner?
To be fair, Dazai is his ex partner for a reason.
Chuuya feels Dazai’s eyes on him, and he squirms uncomfortably. If this jerk expects him to just roll with it and take his pathetic excuse for an apology, he’s got another thing coming.
(Nevermind that a very small but treacherous part of Chuuya wants to give in.)
“If you’re sorry, you’ll shut up.”
“We can be partners, real partners,” Dazai insists, acting like those words mean anything to him. “We’ve always been, unofficially, if you think about it.”
Yeah, they have, but Dazai refused to acknowledge it up until now, and that was the problem. That’s why Chuuya was so reluctant to have this conversation; if Dazai hadn’t changed his mind in the seven years they’ve known each other, it’s a little hard to believe that he would change now.
But if he says that Meursault gave him time to think about them… What can it hurt?
(A lot, Chuuya’s aware. He’d like to give it a try anyway.)
“Is that really what you want?” he asks, cautiously.
“Yes.” Is Dazai’s immediate response. He lets go of Chuuya’s arm to take a hold of his hips and pull him closer. “Look, I know you have every reason not to trust me, but at least give me a chance? Please? ”
That simple word knocks the wind out of Chuuya’s lungs. He gulps, and he wills himself to make eye contact with Dazai again.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes,” he insists. He pulls Chuuya closer, until their bodies are pressed together and he can wrap his arms around him. “We have a month to ourselves, so why don’t we take the chance to test the waters and see how we like this marriage thing?”
That sounds like a dream , which is exactly why Chuuya is still reluctant to accept. Dazai keeps hugging him closer, but he keeps a stubborn distance by pushing against his chest and leaning back.
“You’re not just saying that to sleep on the bed?” he asks, fully aware that it sounds like a lame and pathetic excuse to resist. “Because I wouldn’t actually make you take the couch, you know that.”
Dazai laughs, just a little. “Oh, I know.”
Chuuya, with burning cheeks, punches him on the chest; soft not to hurt, but strong enough to make a point. “Don’t laugh at me, asshole!”
That only makes Dazai laugh harder.
“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters, once he’s done making a joke out of Chuuya. He leans down to headbut him gently, like a cat. “You’re just ridiculous.”
“Asshole.”
Dazai hums. They stand like that for only a second longer before the maniac grows impatient.
“So…?”
As if he didn’t already know the answer. Dazai must’ve figured out what he would say before Chuuya even realized it himself.
“If that was a marriage proposal, it was very shitty.”
Dazai gasps. “I did my best!”
“You don’t even have a ring.”
Feeling appropriately called out, Dazai pouts. That won’t get him anywhere, and he knows it. Chuuya was in charge of the jewel trade for a long while after joining the mafia; he likes shiny things, materialistic as it may sound.
Besides, you only get married once, right? May as well go all out.
“I’ll get you a ring when we go back to Yokohama.”
Chuuya pats his chest and pries his hands away from him. “Good. I’ll give you my answer when you give me a ring.”
He turns around to check on the pasta, but that doesn’t stop Dazai from clinging onto him from behind like the leech he is.
“Chuuya is so mean.”
“Yeah, yeah. Let me focus, or would you rather starve?”
By the time they finally lay in bed —after eating and showering as fast as they could— the sun is out, and the birds are singing. Chuuya would appreciate the fairytale-like setting if he wasn’t so fucking exhausted.
“You’re smothering me,” he groans, buried underneath Dazai.
“With my love?”
“With your body. Get off of me.”
Dazai obeys, miraculously, though he makes it a point to pout and whine about his ‘cruel chibi’ the whole way. He keeps moving around until he finds a comfortable position: laying right next to Chuuya, sharing the same pillow, and hugging him close while their legs intertwine.
It’s too cheesy for someone as avoidant as Dazai to cuddle like that, but it drives the butterflies in Chuuya’s stomach crazy, so he doesn’t mention it.
“Better?” Dazai asks. Chuuya hums, subtly snuggling closer. “So… are we living together when we go back?”
Chuuya yawns right to Dazai’s face, but he hears no complaints.
“Yup. Isn’t that what couples do?”
For a second, it looks like Dazai is taken aback by how easily he replied, but that trace of surprise is gone almost as soon as it appeared. “Well, my dorm room isn’t luxurious enough for my Chuuya-”
“So we’ll go house hunting.”
“I thought we’d live in your apartment,” Dazai comments, as he leans even closer to Chuuya.
“No, I want a backyard,” Chuuya manages to mumble, though he’s half asleep already.
“Why?”
“For my dog.”
Dazai makes no effort to hide his disgust as he asks: “You have a dog?”
“No, you’re getting me a dog.”
“I am?”
Chuuya nods. He shifts in place to get more comfortable. It ends with his face hidden in Dazai’s neck and the arms around him hugging him tighter. He smiles.
“It’s one of my conditions.”
He doesn’t have to look at Dazai’s face to know that he’s scowling. He may not be happy about the fine print, but he knows that there’s no escaping his fate.
“I’m getting you a chihuahua.”
Chuuya shakes his head, even though he’d love any dog that Dazai ends up getting for him. It’s about the principle. “I want a shiba inu, or an akita.”
“You can’t be picky, what if they don’t have any of those fancy dogs at the shelter?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
Met with silence, Chuuya relaxes.
After a meal, a shower, and a heart to heart, the exhaustion of the day has begun to settle deep in his bones again. It was easy to ignore the ache of his whole body before, when he was distracted thinking of ways to get Dazai to shut up; but now his body is begging him to sleep. For a change, he’s happy to listen.
Just when he can start to feel the magnetic pull of sleep making it hard to open his eyes, Dazai speaks again.
“You’re lucky I love you.”
Chuuya huffs, and his breath raises goosebumps in Dazai’s neck. “Do you?”
“I do,” Dazai replies. He sounds sincere enough to startle Chuuya wide awake again. He feels the same way, of-fucking-course he does; but he gets choked up just thinking about saying it out loud. “What do we say when someone says ‘I love you’, Chuuya? Did no one teach you manners?”
Well, now Chuuya wishes the feeling wasn’t mutual. “I’ll say it back when you earn it.”
Dazai humphs and squeezes Chuuya tighter. It earns him a punch to the gut, and his hold loosens up. Just a little. “Fine. I have one month to earn it, you just wait. I’ll earn it so hard.”
“I bet,” Chuuya mumbles. “Start by letting me sleep.”
“…’Kay.”
Unexpectedly, Dazai actually shuts up and moves a little to get comfortable. Chuuya observes, suspicious, as his eyes close and his breath begins to even out.
Chuuya knows, from their many years of partnership back when they were kids, that it takes Dazai a very long time to fall asleep. That is, unless he’s completely drained. Was Meursault enough to drain him? It looks like it. Chuuya memorized his different breathing patterns —out of necessity, okay?!—, and by all means, it looks like Dazai managed to fall asleep in record time.
He would be jealous of how fast that was if his heart wasn’t pounding so wildly against his ribcage.
He takes a deep breath and whispers, just for him to hear: “I love you too, idiot.”
A beat. Nothing happens.
Chuuya relaxes, somewhere between disappointed and relieved.
Then, Dazai’s eyes burst right open, and the twinkle of mischief in them tells Chuuya —currently blushing bright red— that this asshole was never asleep.
“Ha! I heard that!”
“Want me to break your other leg?!”