Archive of Our Own

It all started on a random, humid summer day. 

After a sleepless night, Dazai crawled to work an hour late, hating the way the bandages clung to his skin. Kunikida was immediately on his case, as usual. Yosano kept pestering him about his blood work, something about low sugar levels, but he really couldn't be bothered to listen. The Tanizakis were being gross, so he tuned them out… And just as he was about to manipulate Atsushi into shirking their tasks, somebody burst into the office with a plea for help on their lips. 

Something like that wasn't an unusual occurrence. After all, even though they were a great bunch of mystery solvers, there was quite a lot of fighting and field action involved in the job description. Nobody dared to dally, and a good half of the office was deployed to deal with the emergency.  

The case wasn't all that complicated, despite all the ruckus. If it weren't for the scorching heat, Dazai would even be glad for the opportunity to stretch his limbs. 

Two days ago, a 21 year old woman had disappeared mysteriously. Not only was she the daughter of a rich CEO, but also a bride-to-be, on the way to meet with her fiance for the very first time. Quite naturally, the main suspect came to be the man she was last seen with — the personal chauffeur of her father, tasked with taking the young lady to the place of the meeting. However, instead of doing so, he and her had vanished; for some time, the police waited for a ransom note, all the while questioning anyone who had any connection to the man, but it was all in vain.  

After breaking in and looking over the man's apartment, Dazai dug up some old documents indicating the perpetrator owned a log cabin, located just an hour away from the city. Though it seemed too obvious, Dazai had a hunch the victim would be taken there, and so, the agency moved without delay. Dazai’s hunches, though not as accurate as Ranpo’s, were nevertheless credible. And Atsushi was, as always, the most eager to help: not only did he pinpoint the cabin with his keen sense of smell, but he was also the one to confront the criminal, once the two had been found.

“Please, be reasonable!” the boy cried out, ever so naive. “Everything can be resolved if you just return Hayashi-san to her family. Her father is worried, and he is already on his way, so if you wish to negotiate with him—”

At the mention of the young bride's father, the kidnapper’s face twisted. Everything played out in a flash in front of Dazai's eyes: the man grabbing the victim unceremoniously, holding her close to his chest for just a few moments too long, and then mercilessly putting a gun to her head. In the next second, he was already on the ground, tackled by Atsushi with no hesitation whatsoever.  

The police arrived. Their sirens flared, overstimulating Dazai's naturally heightened senses, yet he played it off as being deep in thought. He didn't listen to whatever the poor bastard was crying about, sitting on the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back, all the while craning his neck to get one last look at the victim. The girl seemed shocked; last Dazai saw, she was being taken to the ambulance with an empty look on her face. She couldn’t speak much, but nevertheless managed to tell the authorities a few snippets that could be put together into her version of events. All in all, the crime scene resembled a film set for some sort of melodrama. It was a truly pathetic sight.

Some time later, the place had become quieter. The last few officers stayed behind for whatever purpose (maybe they wanted to observe the scenery?) but didn’t bother the detectives any longer. More relaxed now, Dazai sauntered over to Atsushi and put on an overly encouraging, borderline annoying, smile. Which was, of course, his specialty. 

"The man of the hour! Nice work there, Atsushi!" 

"Thank you, Dazai-san," the boy replied with a smile of his own, this one genuine. 

"Though I must admit, it's so unlike you to endanger a victim," Dazai hummed. "You didn't even consider it for a second. Don’t tell me my methods have rubbed off on you?" 

Atsushi looked confused, like there was something Dazai had missed. And that didn't happen, basically, ever.  

"But it was so obvious he wouldn't shoot her, Dazai-san." 

"Hm? How so?" Dazai perked up, actually curious.

What he hadn't expected was for both Kunikida and Kenji to turn their heads in his direction, almost in unison. Kunikida's face was full of suspicion, like there wasn't any possibility that the answer was something Dazai hadn't known, so he was no doubt wondering what kind of games he was playing. 

"He was clearly in love with her, though?" Atsushi said carefully. "Well… I know that everything is possible, but in this case, it seemed the perpetrator truly treasured Hayashi-san, so I deduced that was unlikely. Was my way of thinking faulty?" 

Though Dazai didn't show it, his brain was fully engaged. Usually, he was able to understand the line of thinking of any given person, be it a string of correct assumptions or conjecture. This time, however, he couldn't figure out what had possibly made Atsushi come to such a conclusion. 

"Would you be so kind as to explain further?" he drawled, making it impossible for both his student and Kunikida to gather whether he was serious or not. Kenji, however, took it literally, as he often did, and spoke up first. 

"Don’t you remember his journal? That man made notes almost every day, talking about Hayashi-san here and there. I noticed he was describing not only his life, but also how he thought she was doing. It’s so romantic! But sad, of course."

Atsushi smiled encouragingly.

“Right! Also, his apartment smelled just like the perfume she wore every day — Hayashi-san's father gave us some of his daughter’s personal belongings in order for me to pick up the scent. Looking back, there were other signs, like a painting of her favourite flowers framed on his wall. It really seemed like he took notice of many things, and kept her in his thoughts.”

Hearing both of them turn the case into pure sentiment made Dazai infinitely amused. 

"Sure, it was obvious at the first glance that he was thinking of her often. But don't you imagine such behavior is more akin to an unhealthy obsession, or a sign of nefarious plans? That's a stalker we've got on our hands! Tsk tsk, Atsushi-kun! Seems there's still more to learn," he shook his head, feeling Kunikida's temper boil up with his sixth sense. 

"Stop this nonsense already, Dazai! Do we really need to spell out things that you already know?" he screamed, waving that notebook of his around. “The kidnapping took place the day after the victim’s father tried to force her into a political marriage! According to the victim’s statement, she asked the chauffeur to take her away, and when they were found out, it's likely he bluffed to try and make it look like the escape was against her will. Besides the supposed kidnapping, we didn’t find any signs of stalking in his apartment. All of which points to a case of unrequited love, not any kind of plan to hurt the woman!”

“...Right,” Atsushi nodded, cautious. “It seems to me that the driver wasn’t really trying to force Hayashi-san into anything, and didn’t hold her captive. He also didn’t have anything stolen from her, and no pictures taken without her knowledge… He just had feelings for someone he couldn’t be with, is what I gathered.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Dazai concluded slowly, “you decided he was in love with her simply because he liked to think of her, and was gathering knowledge in his diary. How is that reasonable? One might remember others for all sorts of reasons. Many people think of their worst enemy all the time, since hatred is also a strong feeling! So how do you know he wasn’t looking for the easiest way to harm either Hayashi-san, or her father?”

Atsushi blinked. 

“Yes, but… nobody finds it enjoyable to think about their worst enemy, let alone being reminded of their scent.”

“Eh?” Dazai tilted his head. “Why not? If you really dislike someone, isn’t it fun to come up with ways to make them squirm, and what their face would look like in that moment?” 

“Well, I, um… I don’t know about that... But I suppose that even if I had an enemy, and enjoyed hurting that person, I would still be repulsed by the mere thought or image of them. People usually aren’t fond of remembering things or persons they don’t like. At least that’s how I see it.”

To Atsushi's words, Kenji nodded eagerly, his mouth full with the sandwich he’d started devouring. Though Dazai still didn’t understand why everyone automatically assumed something so illogical, he put on a fake smile and crinkled his eyes, patting his pupil on the head.

“Well done, Atsushi-kun! You’re getting so observant,” he praised, tousling the little tiger’s hair. 

By this point, Kunikida had long since been fed up with Dazai’s bullshit. A while ago, he left to retrieve the agency’s car, which had been left on the shoulder of the highway. And now, they could all hear the sound of its tires rolling on the dirt ground, followed by the detective’s annoyed yelling.

“If you’re done discussing useless matters, I suggest we all get in the car and return to the agency at once!” he instructed, leaning out of the driver’s seat window. “Let’s not forget we still have to make a full report to the President, and fill out the paperwork afterwards!”

Hearing that last part, Dazai immediately forgot his previous dilemmas, and tried to remember if there was a river nearby. Of course, nothing ever was easy with Kunikida, as he immediately recognized the scheming look on the brunette’s face, and dragged him into the passenger’s seat.

That night, Dazai managed to grab a few hours of sleep, but his treacherous brain decided to rouse him just before sunrise. 

Attempting to fall back into a comfortable slumber, or at least take a nap, he snuggled up and tried to recall something calming. Not all the blood and the deaths that crept in once he stayed in complete darkness for too long, but instead more pleasant things. Like a little slug’s enraged face as his hat was snatched away from him. Then, he wondered what it would look like if said hat was tossed into a river. Would he jump down to get it, or would he chuck Dazai in, yowling about how he tries to drown himself all the time, so he should succeed at least this once? 

Dazai stifled a giggle. The imagery alone was amusing, so he decided to save that idea for future use. Actually, for the past 7 years, he had been collecting different methods to terrorize Chuuya, and had a whole library of them in his brain. Some were a low-hanging fruit, like comparing Chuuya to a chihuahua if they ever met one on the street. And some were downright devilish, designed to make the little man feel as if he were going crazy. For example: 

“Sneak into his apartment, but don’t leave any signs of forced entry. Remove little things necessary for day-to-day life that don’t hold any value and aren’t noticeable at first glance. I.e. the microwave tray, the batteries from every remote, pillow covers, random toiletries, and all of the forks except 2. Proceed to repeat this every few weeks and make him out to be the lunatic if he ever blames you.”

There were so many masterpieces like that. Dazai’s head was capable of storing an incredible amount of information, and this was one of the best uses for his memory. Altogether, he’d gathered about 427 ways to drive Chuuya mad, but had sadly only used 112 of them so far. Which wasn’t that surprising, since he'd kept collecting them even during his 4 year absence. Well, now that they were in each other’s lives again, hopefully, there would arise an opportunity to settle the score.

The sun rose eventually, and Dazai readily admitted his defeat. Rising from the bed, he started getting ready for the day, though he still sported a shit-eating grin. This time, he pictired Chuuya’s flustered face after Dazai had joked he spent more money on hygiene products than a woman would. Or another time, back when they—

Wait.

All of a sudden, the line of thought got interrupted, and a weird feeling emerged in the back of Dazai's mind. Something was there, rolling at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Oh, right. The kidnapping case from yesterday. Why did he get reminded of it so out of the blue? What about Chuuya falling into (being discreetly pushed into) a pool during their mission tied into that?

“People usually aren’t fond of remembering things or persons they don’t like. At least that’s how I see it.”

Dazai paused for a second, then snickered to himself and continued to brush his teeth. What did Atsushi know? Or the rest of the agency, for that matter. They all believed thinking about your enemy wasn’t supposed to be enjoyable, but clearly, they were wrong, because it was plenty of fun. It was always the highlight of any sleepless night for Dazai, or else what would he keep a tally for? 

And he didn’t even do it as often as that weirdo slash stalker. He only did it… every time he couldn’t sleep, or was bored. So basically every day.

Huh.

He stopped again, knitting his eyebrows together. 

So okay, he did think about Chuuya often, and it was usually delightful, but surely, he wasn’t all that special. Because Dazai had lots of unpleasant acquaintances that sometimes popped in his thoughts.

For example, Mori. At the first mention of the man, cold goosebumps of disgust went up the brunette’s spine. He shaked them off physically, then turned on the shower and hopped under the ice-cold spray. After the initial shock brought by the freezing temperature, warm water started trickling in. It soothed Dazai’s little episode, but also got him pondering again.

He was clearly not in the habit of thinking about that person continuously, and especially not for many hours, like he did with Chuuya. Not to mention the stark contrast in the emotions that the two men brought along with the memories of them. Just to compare their smiles alone, Chuuya’s was so rare yet handsome, and Mori’s was… bone-chilling. 

He wondered what it was about the Slug that made him so entertaining, worlds apart from everyone else. Since he’d started juxtaposing Chuuya with other people in his life, enemies or not, he really couldn’t think of anyone else who evoked the same feelings as him, and who appeared in Dazai’s head as often. It wasn’t like Chuuya was important or anything… If Dazai really had to assign importance to people, Odasaku would undoubtedly get the number one place, because he was the reason Osamu was alive in the first place. Though Chuuya had also saved his life many times, but that was different.

It was different because, when he thought of Oda, there was the uncomfortable feeling of regret and guilt, but also a lot of ache. When he thought of Odasaku being close to him, hand on Dazai’s shoulder or even hugging his teenage self, it felt warm and right, because Sakunosuke had been his dearest friend. When he remembered Odasaku’s last words and his voice, he longed to hear it again, but it was bittersweet.

And if he compared that to Chuuya… Well, the first thought of him felt strangely warm, maybe because of the familiarity. Yet recalling his touch (for example, back when he used to rewrap his bandages on the regular) all of a sudden made Dazai feel hot. But then, if he looked back on some other memories, they also made him melancholic, angry, confused, jealous, and so many more. There were just too many emotions to count. And Chuuya’s voice, well, playing it in his head caused a tickling sensation somewhere in his belly, so that was the strangest phenomenon of all. 

None of it really made sense. The biggest mystery of all was for Dazai, a genius detective, the demon prodigy for god’s sake, to be completely in the dark about a single matter for two days in a row. Usually, when a puzzle entered his head, he was able to solve it fairly quickly, but now, despite not having been poisoned nor hit with an ability, he’d become stupid out of nowhere.

In any case, what did it matter? Whether Chuuya was special or not, or whether Dazai thought about him more than he should have, what did that change? The answer was: nothing.

So, Dazai stopped minding it entirely, getting out of the shower at once. He felt refreshed, and decided he'd stop by a café to flirt with the barista, since he’d gotten up so early this time.

Yet, for the next week, the little reminders kept materializing themselves in Dazai’s brain. It was like one of those things, where once noticed it, you couldn’t quit spotting it everywhere.

When he walked down the street and got a whiff of the smell of leather, he thought about Chuuya’s stupid jacket. When he saw a guy wearing a fedora, he naturally recalled Chibi’s tacky hats. When he met a woman with a little chihuahua on the leash… you guessed it.

It was everywhere, and no matter how hard Dazai tried to smother the echoes, the memories continued to float around his head. Worse still, these days he couldn’t think about Chuuya without catching himself on it. Before, he used to do it as easy as breathing — every time his mind wasn’t already occupied with something, he’d just imagine the stupid hat rack. It was easy, it was quick, it was free — so why wouldn’t he?!

Well now, as soon as he’d start doing it, he’d ask himself: “Wait, why am I doing this again, when I said I wouldn’t?” And the most frustrating part was that he never had the answer to that question. 

Take last night, for example. As was the standard, Dazai didn’t get much sleep; except these days, the reason was a bit different. Every time he was hovering on the edge, just about to doze off, Chuuya’s face would pop into his thoughts, and he’d sit up on the bed immediately, ripping his hair out and praying he’d die on the spot. Even though dying in his sleep would be the most mediocre way to go, he was almost ready to settle for that!  

What had started as a joke, wasn’t funny at all anymore. It was actually torture. Or even worse — it was something Dazai wasn’t able to control.

Nevertheless, in-between all that contemplating, Dazai’d arrived at the agency. Walking in, he reached his desk and plopped down on the chair like a sack of potatoes. From then on, the day went the same as any other, even though some of his coworkers took notice of the dark bags under his eyes. Atsushi was on a mission until several hours later, and during that time Dazai got close to nothing done. Luckily, when the boy came back, the atmosphere naturally lightened up around the office.

As soon as Atsushi was done talking about his exciting day of helping grandmas cross the road or whatever, Dazai faked a cute smile and called for him.

“Yes?” the weretiger blinked, turning into his direction.

“I’ve got a question. Do you remember, a week and a half ago, that case with the chauffeur and the woman he kidnapped?”

“The doomed lovers? Yes, I remember, but what about them?”

Dazai cringed, hard.  

Love. Right, that was what Atsushi had said. But what did that even mean, exactly? 

Dazai’s impression of love was that of a useless emotion that made one stupid and vulnerable. The way it was portrayed in all kinds of media always made him feel like a complete alien, because he couldn’t imagine himself doing any of those things at all. And most apparently, since love didn’t interest Dazai in the slightest, and since he didn’t engage with it, he was adamant it didn’t have any connection to him.

“That’s actually what I was wondering about,” he lied. “Why did you believe they were in love, again? Wait, no, actually… Just be a dear and define that word for me.”

“Is that why you’ve been staring into space since I came? Were you thinking of their tragic story?” Dazai nodded, even though in reality, he’d been thinking about the time he replaced Chuuya’s favourite wine with vinegar. God damn it. “Well, I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced love myself, but…”

Atsushi trailed off, and like on cue, Ranpo’s chair rolled around to face them both.

“What am I hearing? Dazai asking about love? What’s next, Yosano taking up ballet?”

“Don’t try me, dumbass,” her voice sounded from the other side of the room.

“Ranpo-san,” Dazai smiled politely, “if you happen to have any useful intel, do tell!”

“We’re obviously an office full of anti-social weirdos, so why do you expect us to know anything about love?” Ranpo smirked. “I thought you’d know more, since you keep chasing women left and right. Or at least you pretend you do, but it’s an act 90% of the time. Is that what happened, by the way? Did one of them finally catch your eye?”

“Something like that,” after a moment of consideration, Dazai decided to keep his answer vague. Though he was not even remotely considering the possibility of Chuuya being on his radar. 

“I see now! This is a sensitive issue,” Atsushi regarded him with sympathy. “Like I said, I don’t have much experience, but from what I’ve heard… if you feel comfortable around the person, and you miss them all the time, and you want to build a future with them… Then it must be true love!”

“Sure,” Dazai agreed sarcastically. “I feel comfortable around you too Atsushi, and I’d like us to continue being friends in the future, but I sure am not in love with you. Like I said before, when you were trying to flirt with me.”

Atsushi blushed at his teasing, but took it in stride. He hesitated, then said:

“Well, that’s true, but also, the person you love should have your heart racing. You should feel attracted to them, like, you know… Wanting to embrace them, for example.”

“You should’ve led with that, Atsushi!” Ranpo yelled from his desk, annoying as ever. “Dazai, love is essentially a cocktail of neurochemicals in your brain. If you feel your dopamine centers light up when you think about them, then yeah, you’re in love. It’s also worth taking into account your norepinephrine levels. But most importantly, let’s not forget it’s a natural instinct, so there should be some lust involved.”

“So helpful, Ranpo,” Dazai rolled his eyes.

“Thanks, I know I’m great!” the detective responded, and popped another piece of candy into his mouth.

As the sun crawled further away from the zenith, the city eventually cooled off. A warm, peaceful evening descended on Tokyo, and it was exactly the type of atmosphere Chuuya needed after a long day.

He took his motorcycle for a ride, revelling in the way the wind ruffled his hair. After an hour or so, he thought he could go for a drink; but since the wines in his apartment were too good to waste on a simple craving, it made more sense to grab a fresh change of clothes and pay a visit to his favourite restaurant.

It was a place Chuuya had started frequenting a few years ago. Back then, he'd needed something to fill his evenings... It stung to come home to an empty apartment, just as cold and unmoving as it was when he left. Surprisingly enough, he'd found spending his money on comfort was a great way to relieve stress.

That particular restaurant not only served excellent wine, but could also cook a mean steak. Not to mention they knew Chuuya, and were as professional as one would expect, considering the price. Back when he'd been a teenager, Nakahara used to shy away from using Mafia money for his own pleasure, but nowadays he figured there was no use in stashing it away. Chuuya wasn’t some pathetic excuse of an executive, living in a metal container and denying himself luxury that he could very well afford. 

However, he wasn’t given a chance to walk through the front doors, seeing as someone grabbed his hand and pulled him off the porch. The only reason Chuuya didn’t retaliate immediately was because they were in public; and the reason he didn’t do it a few seconds later was because he felt the familiar texture of bandages on the stranger’s palm.

“Well hi there, Slug! Fancy seeing you this fine evening,” Dazai beamed.

“What the hell? How do you know of this place? Who did you blackmail this time?” Chuuya sputtered, amusing Osamu with the honest expression on his befuddled face. 

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Dazai kept smiling. He also hadn’t let go of Chuuya’s hand yet, and that contributed to the excitement bubbling up in his chest. For whatever reason, it felt nice for their hands to keep touching, just like this… he’d dissect that later.

“Why do I feel like you’re up to no good… Maybe because you’re never up to any good,” Chuuya mumbled, regarding him suspiciously. But he didn’t seem angry at this point, so Dazai stayed hopeful.

“It’s nothing that nefarious,” he giggled. “I was just wondering something.”

He paused for a minute, wondering if he was meant to explain the situation to Chuuya, or create a false narrative. Obviously, telling the entire truth was out of the question, but then… How was he supposed to put it in a way that Chuuya would understand?

Maybe the best course of action was to throw some bait, something close to the truth, and see how Nakahara would react. Then see from there if it was worth being direct or not. Right, that was probably the safest option.

“Well, spit it out,” Chuuya urged him, expectant.

“The thing is...” Dazai began, elongating his words. "You've been on my mind lately. I used to think I wouldn't be able to stand the thought, but... Actually, it's not so bad. Do you ever do the same?”

Dazai directed his gaze at Nakahara, and was surprised to find him in a state of awe. Chuuya’s jaw became slack, and in his eyes gleamed with some emotion Osamu couldn’t begin to guess the name of. The man opened his mouth, probably intending to answer, but Dazai was suddenly afraid to hear it. So, he decided to soften the blow with humour.

“I mostly think about things like… You tripping and falling when we were supposed to move quietly, or you yelling at me after I handed you a bottle of vodka and told you it was water. Those are my fondest memories,” he added quickly, putting on a faker grin, this one somewhat devilish. He knew it would irritate Chuuya, but maybe just enough to distract him from the unusual and humiliating sincerety hidden in Dazai's words.

From Dazai’s perspective, this retelling of his dilemma was perfect. It wasn't much of a lie, so he could still swear to have been honest if need be, but hopefully, Chuuya wouldn’t focus too much on that.

“You bastard, are you pulling my leg?” unexpectedly, Nakahara’s face twisted in an instant. If before it had been open and taken aback, now there was only anger. In fact, whatever it was about Dazai’s gag that offended him, the grudge seemed to be deep-seated, and so the interaction was going off the rails fast . Dazai could tell that the resentment was about to boil over, but he really couldn’t have anticipated his usual sarcastic approach garnering such a strong reaction. 

“I… could be?” he hesitated, hoping to cover his ass and prolong the conversation by being vague. 

Well, that was definitely a fail, for after hearing that asnwer, Chuuya became downright enraged. He dropped Dazai’s hand, like it was something revolting, and gritted out:

“Whatever reason you have for showing up and ruining my night, don’t ever do it again. If I see you around here one more time, I’ll knock your lights out.”

As the promise started to set in for Dazai, Nakahara turned on his heel and walked into the building, clearly still fuming. Dazai was left standing there, wondering what exactly had gone wrong. It wasn’t that abnormal for their talks to turn sour, but this time, the brunette really wasn’t trying to mess it up. So, he was actively trying to discern what exactly had been the catalyst. 

But why did it seem that the problem was… Dazai’s presence itself? After all, Chuuya did say that seeing Osamu had ruined his entire day, and he did react to holding his hand like that concept was something egregious. 

Was Dazai really that disgusting in his eyes?

He had no idea, and he didn’t think the fancy establishment would let him in anyways, not after the ruckus he'd caused in front of the lobby, so he simply went home. He stuck to unlit streets and shady alleys, and didn't look up at the stars even once. His thoughts stayed empty — not blissfully, but eerily so.

That night, his nightmares were so bad he had to drink himself unconscious.

For some time after that, Dazai didn’t give any significance to everything that’d happened. Sure, their talk had been a disaster, but the whole history of his and Chuuya's relationship resembled a train wreck, if you examined it from a certain angle.

He was still thinking about Chuuya from time to time, but his brain had gotten quieter. At least for the first 2 weeks or so, it had been.

Then, something weird started happening to him. Like an illness of sorts, except it hit him harder than a fever would. He started imagining Chuuya again, not only their past, but also the possibilities of what he might've been doing, or what he might say to Dazai the next time they’d meet. 

He began wondering about the next time they’d meet a lot. Actually, he found he was sort of… craving it. Like an addict, Dazai got into the habit of daydreaming, wishing he’d run into his ex-partner randomly on the street, musing on what would happen then, would Chuuya be mad or happy to see him? Wait, what was he saying, Chuuya was never happy to see him. 

After a month had passed, he had to admit to himself that this state was akin to obsession. Later, it came to him that normal people would call this sickness… missing someone.

Dazai ignored it. Pushed the thought away, until he couldn’t anymore. 

That happened around the 2-month mark after the fateful kidnapping case. 

Missing Chuuya had become outright unbearable by that point, but worse still, it triggered some weird part of Dazai’s brain, the one that made him feel like shit for no reason at all. As a result, Dazai fell deep and fast into the abyss.

He would move around and function like everybody else around him, except he’d feel like there was a pit somewhere in his chest, and every minor inconvenience would disturb it, akin to a wound that refused to heal. He’d felt like this before, many times in his life, but he never imagined he’d suffer like this because he didn’t see Chuuya for a while. Because he missed him. How disgraceful.

One night in late August, Dazai couldn’t sleep as usual, and he’d gotten accustomed to keeping Chuuya at the back of his thoughts. Since it was just around 1 AM, he knew it was still too early for the man to be finished with executive work… And once he started imagining hearing Nakahara’s voice, it was impossible to shake off the impulse. So he took his phone and dialled the number he knew by heart. After 5 beeps, his hope was all but snuffed out, but then suddenly, there was a click, a brief pause, and...

“Nakahara speaking,” distorted and annoyed, it didn’t at all come off like the fond voice from Dazai’s memories, but it shook him all the same.

He took a few breaths. This was the first time his hands shook because someone had answered the phone.

“Who is this?” Chuuya repeated, that little impatient slug. Dazai smiled, genuinely, for the first time in a while.

“Hey Chuuya,” he said gleefully, but then paused, realizing he actually had no idea what to say next. It’s not like he had a plan or anything, he was just… wishing Chuuya would get reminded about him, too. 

“What do you want?” Slug barked into the phone. This was familiar. It didn’t bother Dazai, still happy to simply get a reaction.

“Just to talk. Whatcha doing?” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I was in the middle of a mission! If it’s not anything major, just piss off!”

Dazai’s smile slowly fell off his face.

Ending the conversation so quickly wasn't what he wanted, and it wasn't how this usually went. Weren't they supposed to start bickering for a while, the snide remarks and jokes coming with a comforting ease? Still, maybe Chuuya would come around, after all he'd always been fond of acting like a little baby about the smallest things. 

“Okay, then can I call you back or something?” Dazai asked, trying to chase the sense of wrongness and uncover the reason he was feeling this way.

“No, don’t call me if there’s nothing important. Actually, don’t call me at all, let your other, less annoying coworkers contact me,” Chuuya complained. Before, it wouldn’t have meant anything, but all of a sudden, the words stung like a prickle to the heart. 

“But Chibi!” Osamu whined, trying to mask that he was actually upset. “What if I just want to hear your cute little voice?”

“Gonna block this number, you creepy motherfucker.”

And then he hung up.

Left in the dark, Dazai stared at the glowing phone screen, trying to comprehend what had happened to them, and why it all mattered so much.

Since the tragic phone call, Dazai had spent another month in the same weird limbo. He missed Chuuya, he wanted to hear his voice or possibly even see him, but clearly, the guy didn’t like being disturbed. And now, it was already September, yet he still couldn’t sort his shit out. Still couldn’t sleep, still couldn’t stop replaying memories in his head — reminders of a person who was clearly not thinking of him as often.

By this point, it wasn’t that painful to Dazai’s pride anymore to admit that he was pining, and that the redhead held a weird sort of authority over his state of mind. How the Slug had managed to burrow himself into Osamu’s heart, he didn’t know; but it was undeniable.  

What he truly found odd was the fact that during the entire three months, Chuuya didn’t reach out even once, nor did he find it strange that they didn’t catch a glimpse of each other. After all, they used to meet a few times a month at least, usually when Dazai showed up to the same bar as the other man, or interrupted him during a mission, or broke into his apartment. 

Huh.

So, in all those months since their reunion… Chuuya had never taken the initiative to see him? 

But didn’t he appreciate the meetings, just as Dazai did? Or else, wouldn’t he make it known, seeing as he was always so direct?

But... did he?

Unwittingly, Dazai stepped on a dangerous path, remembering all of Chuuya's "tantrums" one by one. How every time they'd meet, it inevitably ended with Nakahara raising his tone. The enraged reactions, which he used to find hilarious, now gained a new meaning. Or rather, the real meaning behind Chuuya's hateful tirades was now revealing itself.

“God fucking damn it!” Nakahara had yelled back in June, after finding Dazai in the front seat of his car. “When is this going to end? Are you going to give me some peace or what?”

And even earlier, in spring…

“Jesus Christ, Dazai. I really don’t need your shit right now.”

Before that, too…

“You’re such a menace. Why does it have to be me?”

“Please just leave me alone.”

Like the true detective he was, once Dazai started plucking out specific clues from his memories, there was no shortage of them. Every time Chuuya told him outright that he did not wish to see him, Dazai had just chalked it up to their usual banter. Yet thinking about it in the new context, that didn’t exactly make sense, did it? Because there was none to speak of — the word “banter” implied the existence of a bond between them, and they… weren’t really anything.

A startling thought came to him. 

What if… All this time, Chuuya had actually hated him, like he claimed he did? At the end of the day, Dazai was always the one to disturb him, and the past three months were proof enough of the fact that Nakahara fared just fine without their meetings.

Did his former partner really despise him?

A sense of dread washed over Dazai’s entire body, like a bucket of ice-cold water being dumped on his head. The realization that Chuuya was never a willing participant in the little games Dazai played… was dizzying.

The ceiling of his bedroom blurred in front of Dazai's eyes as the full picture started to come together little by little. Looking back on it, why had he assumed otherwise? Was it because he didn't take Chuuya’s rage-filled rants seriously? Or because he selfishly hoped Chuuya would need him just the same, unable to move on for the rest of his life?

Clearly, that last part was a miscalculation. Dazai was a fool.

Chuuya had always been someone who yearned most for normalcy. And so, it was quite understandable that, at some point, he'd realize the toxicity and irregularity of their relationship. With time, he'd get tired of it, cutting Dazai out of his life completely. After ripping that band aid off, he'd probably become healthier and happier for it. Maybe he would get himself a house in the suburbs, and marry someone beautifully unproblematic — someone who wouldn't manipulate him, or lie to him, or make him resort to violence. Someone who'd never try to drag him into the pit of despair that Dazai could never hope to get out of. 

And in that pit, Dazai would be left alone, forever.

He could see it so clearly. If he didn't do something, anything, he'd be left behind.

He knew it was incredibly selfish of him to hold Chuuya back. Honestly, if it were him in Nakahara's position, he wouldn't want to be with himself, either.

He also knew that, in the first place, their arrangement had been built on deceit. By all means, if there existed a selfless bone in Dazai's body, he should've never inserted himself in Chuuya's life again. Yet like a child, he refused to let go, and denied the real state of things for this long. And now... Was he supposed to let go, blessing the man to work through all the shit Dazai had put on him? Could he?

Without realising he'd begun doing it, the brunette started to pace around his kitchen. 

"Fuck," he cursed, grabbing the counter for support, covering his mouth with the other hand. "I'm so stupid. This entire time..."

He mumbled to himself, both horrified and humiliated to the highest degree.

Back when they were partners, Dazai had been the one to notice Chuuya and think: “I want him. That wild, beautiful creature.” Through his dirty schemes, he did end up catching him in the web of lies; and in the next three years, he’d succeeded in conditioning his partner into caring for him. Time and time again, Chuuya saved Dazai, relied on him, tolerated him. He was ferociously loyal and disgustingly affectionate, behind the ruse of hatred. He was everything Dazai needed, and looking back, he’d probably been obsessed with Chuuya since the first time they met.

But then, Dazai had left. And stupidly, he'd thought that, if he didn't say goodbye, then maybe their relationship would stay frozen in time. 

Four years later, it was clear he’d overestimated the sturdiness of the leash. Because from the moment they reunited, he'd felt the change in his bones.

Where there used to be fond frustration, now was only bitter hatred, and this new version of Chuuya didn’t think twice before hurting Dazai. Sure, he protected him all the same, like during their fight with Lovecraft; yet it seemed to come not from a place of caring, but from the familiarity of a routine. A habit purely too automatic to unlearn. 

For a while, Dazai wrote the coldness off as Chuuya holding a grudge. But the evidence had been right in front of him since the start. 

The years of absence were seemingly enough for Chuuya to untangle himself from Dazai’s clutches. It wasn't that Chuuya was mad at him, or was waiting for an apology. He just… didn't need him anymore. 

The revelation made him violently sick, and suddenly, Dazai felt the walls of the room shrink, pressing on him from all sides. By the time he scrambled out of his apartment and found himself outside of the building, his heart had started pounding, beating up against his ribcage in a way that was painful. Most importantly, he couldn't inhale. 

More than once, he’d tried to take a deep breath, but was unable to expand his lungs. Everything around him was a blur, he was sweating, his chest hurt. He didn't know what to do, couldn’t think, couldn’t even call for help, and he just couldn't… couldn't—

“Dazai, breathe.”

Just when he thought he’d pass out, Dazai felt a firm hand on his back. Somehow, it grounded him, though the advice was useless. He was already trying to inhale the best he could, thank you very much!

“Just focus on breathing,” the voice guided, and after a minute of chasing after his slipping consciousness, Dazai could finally take a few small breaths. He blinked, still sweaty and in pain, but already much more aware.

Belatedly, he registered he’d been sitting on the stairs that led into the agency’s dorm. And in front of him was… Yosano’s worried face. Looking concerned, yet composed, she stood over him, trying her best not to lean into his personal space lest it made him feel more suffocated. 

“Thanks,” he got out raspily.

“You okay?” she asked, eyes searching his hunched frame for god knows what. Maybe some signs of injury, or anything to explain what she’d just witnessed.

“Yeah, I'm just… I don't know…” he stammered, embarrassed. He shouldn’t have run out like this, shouldn’t have let Yosano see him in this state. And it could have been much worse, if someone else had found him. 

“Alright, let’s get you inside. Can you stand up?” 

She grabbed his forearm and helped him up. Dazai’s legs had turned into jelly, yet just five minutes later, he was obediently entering Akiko's apartment.

Somewhat disoriented still, he sat down at the table, feeling empty, sweaty and a bit gross. Yosano didn’t ask any more questions, for now; with her back turned, she was fixing him something to eat, even though he never claimed to be hungry. In any case, Dazai didn’t have the energy to argue.

Some time later, she placed a plate in front of him, and sat down to eat her own portion. Dazai was grateful she joined him — it saved him the awkward feeling of eating while being watched. Towards Yosano, he was grateful for a lot of things. Perhaps not as much as he should’ve been, but grateful nonetheless.

They ate in comfortable silence. Dazai chewed slowly, staring into space. Since he had trouble detecting hunger in the first place, he rarely noticed when he needed to replenish his energy. And when he did eat, it was hard to know when to stop, since the sense of fullness was also unreachable. So, Dazai did his best at getting as much food into him as he could. Then, as soon as Yosano put down her chopsticks, he simply did the same, and assumed it was good enough.

“Does this kind of thing happen to you often?” she asked, tilting her head. 

“No. I don’t even know what that was,” he answered, completely honestly.

“Looked like a panic attack,” she stood up, taking their plates and placing them near the sink. “Anything set it off?”

Dazai thought about it. Then immediately regretted it.

The dread and anxiety came flooding back in. He’d been such a goddamn idiot, living in peace without knowing he could lose Chuuya at any moment. And now that he’d comprehended how much he needed the man in his life, he also knew it might be too late to get him back. 

“Promise it stays between us,” he requested.

“Always.”

“It’s a bit hard to explain, but I think I fucked up,” Dazai started after a beat. “I relied on someone way too much… or maybe I was obsessed. The point is, I think they hate me, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

If Yosano thought his explanation was ridiculous, she didn’t let it show.

“Is it because of something you did?” she asked, and damn, she really knew how to hit the nail on its head.

“Rather it’s because of everything I did. It’s also because they wish to be happy. And I guess I’m realizing just now, that I can’t let them be,” Dazai confessed, surprising himself with the level of frankness he was displaying.

“So basically, you’re saying you’re in love with this person,” Yosano concluded, making Dazai wince. “But you believe that your existence in their life is poison, and is holding them back from being happy. So you’re freaking out, because you want to keep them miserable?”

Even though Yosano’s phrasing made his conflict sound absurd, there was no part of what she said that Dazai could deny. 

“Basically, yeah,” he admitted. 

“Come on, Dazai,” Yosano sounded exasperated. 

“It’s not that I just think me being by their side is gonna make them miserable,” he hurried to explain. “Actually, I know that being around me has made them miserable, and that their dreams in life are the direct opposite of the best can provide. But also… I think I’d drag them down on purpose, so they could never leave. Or, to be precise… I was actually freaking out because I couldn’t come up with a way to drag them down anymore.”

Dazai kept his gaze down, wringing his hands, and the words poured out with frightening ease. He had half a mind to stop and play it off as a joke, but he never did.

After he was done talking, Yosano stayed silent for a minute; Dazai thought that if there was anyone in the world that could understand even a portion of what it was like to be him, it’d be her. In spite of the fact that they clearly processed what had happened to them differently, she could still see him for what he was.

“So they’re going to leave. You’re sure?” at last, she asked.

“...Yeah,” Dazai replied, voice as hollow as his chest felt. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking down also. Her eyes took on a tinge of sorrow, like she knew what he'd meant, and understood there was nothing to be done. “For what it’s worth, people tend to be unpredictable, and they don’t always choose what you think is best for them. So maybe they’ll surprise you, Dazai.”

“Thanks,” he said, though he didn’t mean it at all.

“And I know I can’t replace them, but I’ll always be here for you. As much as I can be.”

Dazai lifted his eyes up at her and felt an alien sense of warmth creep its way in. He smiled, a small, weak thing.

“Thank you, Akiko,” he repeated, this time genuinely. 

Despite how hard Yosano had tried to reassure him, Dazai couldn’t shake off the uneasiness eating him alive. As soon as the door of his apartment closed behind him, his brain began running on full mode.

If there existed a way to manipulate Chuuya into staying with him, he’d use it without hesitation. After all, Dazai never claimed to be a good person.

Odasaku wouldn’t be proud. But he was dead, so.

Even though Chuuya had many things, Dazai only really had Chuuya. So staying by Chuuya’s side, no matter how minor of a role he'd have to play, could be considered on par with saving his life.

The only problem was that Dazai had no leverage. Since Chuuya hadn’t reached him once, it was clear there was nothing he could offer that would be worth the trouble. Needless to say, he'd never been at such a disadvantage before.

Dazai knew that spending time with him was akin to a punishment for most, and for Chuuya doubly so. He also knew that Chuuya felt better when he wasn’t around, and would probably pay to never see him again. There was nothing he could say or do to change that, to overrule the past seven years. And as for material valuables, there was no use even considering it: Chuuya himself lived in a penthouse, with all his fancy wines and tacky hats that each cost more than a detective's salary. The ordeal seemed hopeless.

But now that Dazai was aware of his feelings, he was also painfully aware of how badly he desired Chuuya. So, he couldn’t give up, and he was stumped.

When midnight struck, Dazai laid in bed, staring at a crack in his ceiling and thinking about the past. 

Despite everything that had happened, it seemed some things never changed... His mind always wandered there, especially under the cover of darkness. Except now that he wasn’t oblivious of his predicament, every memory brought a dull ache.

Time dragged on, yet Dazai didn’t get a wink of rest. As soon as the first rays of sunlight broke through the cracks in the blinds, he sat up and lingered at the edge of the mattress. His eyes burned with a newfound conviction.

The detective's final decision was simple. Since there was no backhanded way to worm his way out of the dilemma, he was going to give it his all, and use every last recourse there was. He still had no idea if there was anything Chuuya would want from him, but that was just it: he could ask the man himself.

That’s right. He was going to negotiate with Chuuya goddamn Nakahara.

The goal of the negotiations would be to make Chuuya want to agree to be around Dazai. No matter how brief the meetings, no matter how unbalanced the deal — he had to succeed. Because he didn’t see a way to deceive Chuuya into continuing their relationship anymore, and was desperate for it, so he’d give almost anything for Chuuya to cooperate.

Spurred with all of the feelings that have been making him sick for months, Dazai got to work.

He brushed his teeth, took a shower, made himself look presentable, and even ate a light snack. His heart was palpitating; he forgot to control it, fully immersed in brainstorming the best way to present the agreement to Chuuya. In other words, make it appear to be more of a gain than a loss. 

The 40 minute trip to Chuuya’s apartment passed in a flash. Though the executive had only gotten the place some 6 months ago, Dazai had invited himself there a few times, and had long since figured out the security codes. 

In the fancy elevator, the clock read 8:54. Dazai fixed his collar, just in case, and stepped out, finally seeing the door to his ex-partner’s apartment. It was solid black, no doubt enforced and made specially to fend off intruders, but Dazai still knew exactly how to break the lock without setting off the alarm. Yet he did no such thing, instead taking a deep breath to calm his racing mind.

“Well, here goes nothing,” he thought to himself. Then, he knocked twice.

The silence stretched for longer than Dazai had anticipated. And just when his mind had started to spiral, a shuffling sound brought him back to reality.

The door creaked and opened. Chuuya stood in the doorway, wearing the most shocked look on his face, like he was sure Dazai had been replaced with a doppelganger. His hair was a bit disheveled, and his brown eyes stared at Dazai with distrust, invoking some emotion he couldn’t name. He pushed the thought away and licked his lips, thinking of the best approach. What did people usually say in these situations? 

“What the fuck?” 

Ever so eloquent, Chuuya beat him to it.

“Can I come in?” Dazai asked, as nicely and composedly as he could.

“Who are you, and what did you do to the real Dazai? You never… Wait. Did someone die? Are we under attack?” alas, it seemed Chuuya just wasn’t going to let it go.

Really, Dazai couldn’t blame him. In all the years they’ve known each other, Dazai had never knocked on Chuuya’s door this politely. He was more of a break-in kind of guy. Because he knew Chuuya was softer than he let show, and because he knew which buttons to push to get away with certain things, Dazai usually got what he wanted without having to ask for permission.

But that approach wouldn’t fly today. What Dazai wanted could not be given by Chuuya out of anger, frustration, or confusion. He also could not steal it, and could not lie to the other man to get his way. There didn’t exist a lie convoluted and believable enough to make Chuuya change his perception. Say what you want about the guy, but he wasn’t stupid. Just super annoying, and unstylish, and grossly crude.

So, the only weapon Dazai was left with was… honesty. 

Since Chuuya was so unused to the bare minimum, Dazai hoped his sudden respect and authenticity would make his ex-partner more amendable. 

“Everything’s fine,” he smiled amendably. “I just need to talk to you. Do you have time?”

At those words, Chuuya’s eyes widened even more, even though Dazai had thought it impossible.

“I mean… I was resting, but yeah, okay. Sure.”

He gestured for Dazai to come inside, trudging into the kitchen. Dazai thought about it for a second, then took off his shoes, leaving them in the genkan. The kitchen in Chuuya’s new apartment was combined with the living room, making the area quite spacious. On the other half of it stood a sizable couch, along with a plasma TV, and even an electric fireplace. The windows were huge, overlooking a big chunk of Tokyo’s central area. There was even some art on the walls, although he wasn’t sure if that was picked out by Chuuya himself. Everything looked tasteful, yet barely lived in; so typical.

The man himself was leaning on the counter, still boring into Dazai with his inquisitive stare. Next to him stood a half-empty glass of wine, which he guessed Chuuya was probably savouring before his peace got disturbed.

Despite the staring, he kept quiet — most likely a silent invitation for Dazai to start speaking.

“Look,” he sighed. “There’s no emergency. I came here because I wanted to negotiate a deal with you.”

“Negotiate?” Chuuya parroted, seeming genuinely confused. “You’ve never negotiated anything with me in your life.”

“Yes, well, I was hoping we could change that,” Dazai explained, complaisantly.

“Hah. Whatever it is, you must need it very badly,” Chuuya snickered, crossing his arms. He really had no idea how close to the truth he was. “Alright. Shoot. What is it that you want?”

Dazai took a breath, looking elsewhere. He’d thought again and again about this moment, wondering how to phrase his request without giving away too much, and at the same time keep a certain level of honestly. On top of that, the main goal was to make the ordeal seem less unappealing.

Terrible as it seemed, he'd decided the situation could still be saved. There was no need to let Chuuya deduce everything right away; he just needed a small victory, something to get his leg in the door. And later, if they started to meet, he'd surely be able to placate the mafioso, and maybe even make Chuuya tolerate his presence, eventually.

“You see,” he started, reciting the excuse he’d come up with, “that day, in front of the restaurant, I wasn't lying. I just made a stupid joke, and I'm sorry for making you mad."

Dazai took a quick glance in Chuuya's direction, but the man only raised an eyebrow, signalling for him to continue. So, he did.

"The truth is, I’ve been feeling awfully nostalgic. We used to be quite close as kids, weren’t we?”

“Uh, yeah. Before you betrayed the Mafia, we were,” Chuuya scoffed, completely unamused and unreceptive to Dazai’s bullshit, as usual. Nevertheless, the brunette didn't get discouraged.

“Right. I wasn’t fair to you, back then. And I didn’t pay much attention to you, either. So I thought it would be good to reminisce, talk about the past, and maybe eventually… let bygones be bygones?” 

Chuuya shook his head, arms crossed on his chest.

“That’s a tall order. How are you proposing we do that?”

Dazai raised his chin bravely, holding up two fingers on his left hand. 

“How about this: I ask for 2 hours of your time each week. We’ll meet wherever you want, spend time doing whatever you want, but the point is, we’ll try to work out our differences. If you get tired of that arrangement at any point, we’ll stop.”

If before, Chuuya seemed to not believe he was being serious, then now he was positively dumbfounded. Sometime during Dazai’s little speech, his face morphed into an expression of something akin to bewilderment. Dazai took it for a good sign. At least this way, it was clear Nakahara saw the change in his usual approach, and so their negotiations also had a chance to not end with Dazai flying out of the apartment. 

“My only question is — is there anything you’d like from me? I dared to think ahead, and I figured there’s nothing material I have that you’d need. So I wonder if…” Dazai continued, only to be stopped by Chuuya.

“Dazai, wait a second,” the man interrupted, sounding like he was scandalized, by god knows what. “All that fake shit you just tried to feed me aside, let’s get one thing straight. The favour you want is… spending time with me?”

Dazai cringed. Chuuya had an annoying knack for phrasing things in the most embarrassing way.

“It’s just because I have a guilty conscience. Don’t misunderstand,” he grimaced.

“What would I be misunderstanding?” once again, Chuuya lifted a brow skeptically. “You want to spend time with me, and get closer to me, supposedly. And that’s going to make you feel better?”

“Yes,” Dazai admitted, but didn’t bother to explain anymore, simply staring back.

“And why is it that you’re even asking for my opinion? Before, you used to just show up whenever you needed something. Why are you going so far as to… make an appointment with me?” Chuuya asked, letting out a little disbelieving giggle, and gesturing around as if Dazai wasn't getting something outrageously obvious.

“Since I need you to come willingly, obviously,” Dazai shrugged. 

“Because I wouldn’t spend time with you willingly?” 

Now, Chuuya was looking at Dazai like he was trying to figure him out. But really, Dazai didn’t understand the confusion. He thought they both agreed that Dazai was a menace, exhausting to be around, suicidal maniac, yada yada. Chuuya had told him so himself, tons of times. Weren’t they on the same page about that?

“Well, yeah?” Dazai looked at Chuuya like he was an idiot, then remembered he was supposed to play nice, and schooled his expression into something more agreeable. “I know I used to force you to give up your time. But I thought, maybe us meeting on your terms would make it less of an inconvenience. Yet obviously, it would still be a favour to me, so feel free to take anything in return, as long as it's within my power and doesn't require me to betray the agency.”

Even though he was being as approachable as he physically could, Dazai still felt the other man get more distant, instead of slowly opening up to the idea. What the problem was, he really couldn’t guess. Why was it that no matter what he said or how he acted, Chuuya would still get pissed? Did he really hate him that much?

When Dazai was done speaking, Chuuya didn’t answer, scrutinizing him with a scowl. Like he was waiting for something, or planning where to strike to take him out more efficiently. Dazai racked his brain, wondering if there was something he could add to pacify Chuuya’s temper, but how could he, when he didn’t even know what had made him annoyed in the first place?

So, Dazai simply placed his nervous hands behind his back, giving Chuuya a brittle smile. And finally, after half a minute of silence, his intuition told him Chuuya was reaching his limit.

“You’re bullshitting me,” finally, he declared.

“What? Wait, no, that’s not it,” Dazai scrambled, but Nakahara cut in again.

“Shut up. You’ve never once felt bad about leaving the mafia. I know that, if you were to go back, you’d do the same thing all over again. You don’t have a ‘guilty conscience,’ you’re just saying what you think I want to hear. Now try and tell me I’m wrong.”

“You are,” Dazai protested weakly, even though, to be fair, Chuuya was totally on the right track. It was true that Dazai didn’t, couldn’t feel bad about leaving the Mafia, since it had been Odasaku’s last wish. And he did think Chuuya would like hearing him apologize for it, even if he didn’t mean it, but was that really so bad? Besides, he was trying to cover up the much more embarrassing truth.

Chuuya barked out a cruel laugh.

“You have the audacity to show up here, make it seem like you want to hang with me or whatever, and then lie through your teeth. Make it seem like you care. I should’ve known you’d never change. And that compliant act of yours, just another way to manipulate me, isn’t it? What are you playing at here, exactly?”

No, no, this couldn’t be happening. Never in a million years could Dazai have anticipated that being friendly towards Chuuya would make the situation worse.

“Chuuya, you’ve got it all wrong, I promise. I really only wanted to spend time with you,” he raised his voice to match Nakahara’s tone, but it sounded like a lame excuse even to his own ears.

“Spend time with me? What for? Every time you show up, you just need something from me. Either my power or entertainment. You've treated me like a fucking dog for years, and I'm supposed to believe you've changed overnight, and suddenly feel bad about all of it? So either tell me what your real goal is, or this conversation is over.”

In the silence that fell over them, Chuuya’s breathing was frantic. He was clearly offended and hurt, waiting for Dazai to assure him this entire ordeal hadn’t been a plan to manipulate and use him. 

But in reality, hadn’t it been?

Dazai knew Chuuya didn’t want to be around him, yet he tried to cover up his reasons, in hopes he’d agree to a dishonest deal. He wished for Chuuya to still be tied to him, even though he understood full well it wouldn’t bring his ex-partner any good. His intentions were selfish and twisted in nature. And now that his lies had been uncovered, he couldn’t even begin to confess the truth.

Besides, how laughable would the actual explanation even sound?

"Hey Chuuya, I know I've tormented you for years, but it was actually because I've been obsessed with you and your attention, and I kinda assumed you felt the same. But clearly you don't, what a bummer! So anyways, how about you don't try to get a normal life and instead keep humouring me because I miss you and I need you like a pathetic fucking loser?"

Dazai opened his mouth to say something, but he was so scared, so terrified of letting Chuuya know, that no words came out. 

“Get out,” with a finality, said Nakahara, and strode up to him. Dazai readied himself for the hit.

Yet instead of striking him, all Chuuya did was take Dazai by the collar, and lead him back to where he came from. Like he was some stupid creature, a little runt unworthy of his regard. Like he was done with Dazai. 

His grip wasn’t violent, by all means it could be called gentle, but to Dazai, it felt like the air being choked out of his lungs. He suddenly realized: Chuuya was really doing this. Once he was out of here, Dazai would never be let in again, and then he’d be left utterly and hopelessly alone. 

All the emotions he'd tried to push down, all of the heartbreak he’d gone through in the past three months gushed out of him in that moment, and he couldn’t control anything he did or said anymore.

To Chuuya’s surprise, Dazai actually grasped him back, latching on as if his life depended on it. Most likely reminding Nakahara of an angry, clumsy kid, and confusing him to no end, he fought back furiously, doing everything in his power short of biting. There was a brief struggle, but of course, Dazai had no hope of ever overpowering the stronger man.

Still, the feeble attempt bought Dazai a few moments of time; Chuuya didnt try to pull him out the door again, but he'd surely find a way to get rid of Dazai soon, if not by force, then by some other means. Osamu backed himself into a corner, acting like a wounded animal, and clenched his fists, gaze trained on the floor. The frenzied beating of his heart boomed in his ears.

In that second, Dazai felt helpless like he hadn't since escaping Mori’s clutches. The desperation and the hurt came to a boiling point, threatening to overflow, leave nothing but scorched earth in the place where bits of hope used to hide. And still, despite all that, he could do nothing but wait for Chuuya to kick him out. He hated to be so powerless.

The only thing he could think to do was to shut his eyes tightly and scream the first thing that came to mind, voice watery and hysterical.

“Chuuya, I’ll do anything!”

The words rung in the air, and everything stilled. Most likely, Chuuya had never heard Dazai take on a pathetic tone like that before. Whether he was disgusted or stupefied, there was no stopping the debacle anymore.

Dazai choked on a sob.

“Please, Chuuya, don’t leave me like this. I think, if you do, I’ll die,” he pleaded, finding himself on the verge of tears. 

“What?” Chuuya asked, grabbing Dazai by the wrist. He looked awestricken, all signs of anger gone from his demeanor. His eyes kept darting around, seeking answers, but Dazai’s expression was covered with his tousled hair. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how you moved on without me!" he snivelled, shaking with pure bitterness. "You used to care about me, and now you hate to be in the same room with me! You find me so appalling, that you throw me out like I’m worthless, all because I asked to see you!”

Dazai knew full well he was spitting nonsense. Still, he couldn’t hold back at al, despite all attempts to get himself under control. Instead, his treaturous voice came out unstable, and something seemed to have gotten stuck in his throat.

Attempting to assess the position he was in, Dazai thought it really couldn't go any worse, even though he'd given it his very best. He really, really did.

"What else did you expect? Did you seriously think there was someone masochistic enough out there, to see what you really are and still stand to keep you around? What a joke," his mind supplied. 

It was fair. Of course it was, no matter how resentful he felt about it. An avalanche of dejection came down on him, crushing his spirit. Now Dazai knew for sure he was done for. There was no way Chuuya would agree to anything, not after this deplorable display. Not after he'd just admitted how selfish and stupid his real desires were.

“I hate you. I hate that you don’t need me at all, and I can’t be like you…” he whispered, feeling all hope and strength drain from his body. This was really the end of them.

Chuuya's grip tightened, to the point where it could've hurt, if Dazai weren't so numb. 

“How can you say that? After you left me?!” Nakahara snarled. “You’re the one who doesn’t give a shit about me, that’s why I was trying to move on!”

“Fuck you,” Dazai said, because he didn’t have the energy to explain just how wrong that statement was, and he knew Chuuya wouldn’t believe him, anyways. He was just so, so hurt and tired. 

He was actually taking in just how tired he'd been all along — not just in that moment, but for a long time. Inside of his body, everything had shrivelled up, an awful, cold sensation. There was no way he could stand it any longer — feeling so disgusting, pathetic, and ultimately hopeless. He should have never come here.

Dazai tried to rip his arm out of Chuuya’s hold, turning for the door, but was surprised by the force he was yanked back with. If the guy really didn’t care about him, and wanted to move on, why was he so set on torturing Dazai? 

“Go on, try to tell me it’s not true. You brought me into the Mafia on a whim, then you left me there just as easily, and for what reason? Because from the start, I was just a plaything to you, nothing more. And I still am. That’s why you came here, lying to my face and trying to gain something from me,” Chuuya was just refusing to let him keep even a shred of dignity, going on and on about some stupid bullshit that he probably didn’t even believe and was saying purely out of anger. 

Dazai felt a tear slide down his cheek.

He hadn't cried since before joining the Mafia. In retrospect, he should’ve been mortified by this, but Dazai found he really didn’t give a shit anymore. Fuck it, Chuuya would never understand.

“I’m in love with you, you fucking asshole!” he shouted, voice cracking, and pushed Chuuya away with all the force he could muster. Nakahara released him, hitting the wall with a dull thud and staying there. The two men locked eyes. 

Chuuya was gaping at him, face astonished for the umpteenth time that day. To him, hearing those words and seeing Dazai’s puffy red mug must’ve been eye-opening. But Dazai was done. 

He didn’t believe there was anything he could gain by staying, and most of all, he simply wanted to go home. All he wanted was to cry by himself, instead of doing it in front of Chuuya; he wanted to sit with himself, and figure out what to do with his life now that he was on his own. 

So, Dazai grabbed his shoes, figuring he’d slip them on in the lobby, and gripped the door handle with the same conviction he’d felt when he entered this place. What a fool he was, to try and save a relationship that only ever meant something to him.

Yet as soon as Dazai tried to open the door, Chuuya’s palm slammed it shut beside his head. With both of his hands, he was pressing on the door, preventing Dazai from leaving and effectively caging him in. He could feel Nakahara’s frenzied breathing near the back of his neck, and it made his damaged heart skip a beat.

“Don’t go,” Chuuya said frantically, like he was beside himself. It seemed that this time, it was his turn to plead. “Dazai, wait a second.”

“No, I want to leave,” he replied, stubbornly refusing to move or even let go of the handle.

“Did you mean what you said?” Chuuya’s own voice rang raspy, raw with emotion. It made something in Dazai’s stomach squirm.

In lieu of answering, he stayed quiet. Still, Chuuya seemed to understand. For a solid minute, the silence stretched. The man gulped, sounding strained and weirdly timid from somewhere behind Dazai's back.

“Dazai, can you please turn around and look at me? Please?” Chuuya begged, softly and desperately, rendering Dazai weak. After the intense argument they’d just had, hearing Chuuya ask so kindly disarmed him entirely.

He took a few breaths, then turned around slowly, pressing his back against the solid surface. Chuuya was still caging him in, but he wasn’t angry anymore. Instead, something settled in the air, an atmosphere Dazai couldn’t give a name to; yet it affected him terribly and made him light-headed, especially because he was completely wrung out. 

Another minute passed. He finally looked at Chuuya. The man’s cheeks were red, and his eyes were so earnest and remorseful. 

“I’m sorry I yelled at you. I don’t know what came over me. I should’ve listened to you, it's just that... I was so hurt when you came back, and you acted like you hadn’t missed me at all. You left me in that forest, and I just thought… I thought you didn’t care,” he explained, then swallowed, as if he was also trying not to give in to emotion. “I’m really sorry.”

“I did miss you,” Dazai whispered, turning his head to the side. The aftershocks of the breakdown were making him sluggish. “And I’m sorry, too.”

“Can you tell me what happened? Why did you really come here?” Chuuya searched for Dazai’s eyes, like he couldn’t bear to let him look away. 

“I was sure that… Chuuya hated me,” Dazai could only comply. Being so close to Chuuya now, he could feel the redhead's breath, and his fast heartbeat in the space between them. With Nakahara being so attentive, this was just like his wildest dreams. “I thought you were going to leave me behind, and be happier without me, but I was so upset, because I missed you every day. You were angry at me, you didn’t like me anymore, and I didn’t know if I could live without seeing you at least from time to time. And if you really hated me, then who else could put up with me?”

After saying the last part, Dazai felt a sense of finality: for sure now, the last of his emotions had been stripped bare in front of Chuuya. So much for not embarrassing himself. He scrunched his face, trying to stop the persistent tears, but failed again. Another couple slid down, seemingly on a mission to thoroughly fluster him and show all his ugliest sides to the man he had feelings for.

What an outrageous thing. Dazai having feelings. However, ever since the words had come out, he'd known this to be nothing but an undeniable fact.

Except instead of laughing at him, Chuuya raised a hand, wiping Dazai’s tears gently. And after doing that, he didn’t take it away, caressing Dazai’s cheek with his thumb in a gesture so tender it made his knees buckle. He had no idea he was even capable of displaying such a wide range of reactions within half an hour, yet now all of his insides had turned into a mushy mess. 

“Come on,” Chuuya interlaced their fingers and pulled him back into the apartment. “I think we both need to calm down, and talk some more.”

Talk some more? Was he kidding? The last thing Dazai wanted was to talk more, especially in a state where all of his walls were down, and Chuuya could read his every expression.

Nevertheless, he was sat down on that huge sofa that stood in the living room. The fabric was smooth to the touch, and the pillows were surprisingly soft, so Dazai all but sank down between them.

After a few minutes of breathing steadily and sniffling occasionally, he more or less came to his senses. Chuuya returned with a cup of warm herbal tea, sitting down beside him. This time, he didn’t wait to start speaking.

“What you said, about me not liking to be around you. You know that’s complete nonsense, right?” he assured, yet it didn’t sound all that convincing to Dazai’s ears. “I mean, how could I ever hate you, when I’ve been in love with you since we were teens?”

“You what?” it was Dazai’s turn to gape. “Then why did you scream at me, and shoo me away each time like the plague?”

“Because you were always making a fool of me, Dazai. Every time you showed up, it seemed to me like you found my feelings hilarious. Like you knew I wouldn't be able to say no, so you kept mocking me to your heart's content. Like I was just another toy to you.”

Dazai looked down at his hands, cosy and snug now that he was nursing the cup in his lap.

“If you were just another toy, then did you ever see me cling to anyone else like I clung to you? I mean, maybe I did with Odasaku, but… Still, how could you not notice how dear you were to me?”

“Guess you’re right, I should have noticed,” Chuuya’s eye on him was so warm, it ignited little embers in Dazai’s chest. But even so, Chuuya hesitated, like he was afraid of saying the next part. “Then why… Did you leave me there?”

Dazai winced in pain, trying to find the words. But Chuuya continued.

“I don't even really blame you for leaving the Mafia. I eventually figured out what happened, more or less. And I know you hated that place, and hated Mori… I know you were suffering there, too. But why didn’t you ask me to follow you?”

Chuuya held his breath, waiting for the answer, and Dazai… was so tired of being selfish, wearing an indifferent mask, having Chuuya believing he meant nothing when in reality, he meant everything. So, after all the ways in which he’d screwed Chuuya over, the only thing he could offer him in consolation was the truth. The same one he'd been terrified to give up.

“I was afraid,” he confessed after a beat. “I was scared that you wouldn’t want to follow me, that you’d resent me, and we’d be over forever. And I thought, if I didn’t say anything, then maybe we’d stay the same…”

Dazai trailed off, finding it painful to continue speaking. He breathed in, then willed himself to keep going.

“But at the same time, I was even more scared that you’d say yes."

He couldn’t believe he was finally hearing himself say the truth that had been hidden for so many years. Him and Chuuya, in that moment they were so close. Between them, there was nothing but the raw reality of what they were.

"Because, if you’d followed me, I was afraid I’d ruin you. You’ve always wanted to be happy, to be loved. To have a family. I can’t… I’m not sure if I can give you those things. And I know that we’re not good for each other, but I still… I still…”

He stammered, not knowing if he had the strength to finish, and all of a sudden, the couch dipped. Dazai turned his head to see Chuuya move closer, pressing their sides together. Before he could react, Nakahara had already taken the cup from his hands and placed it on the coffee table. Then, with his other hand, he pushed himself up on the backrest, observing Dazai’s open, clueless expression.

“You’re such an idiot, Osamu,” Chuuya declared with a sad smile, leaning over him, face impossibly close to Dazai’s. “I’m already loved by you, am I not? That’s all I need to be happy. And I don’t want a family at all if it’s not with you.”

Finally, he cupped Dazai’s face with his palm, tilted his chin up, and kissed him soundly.

Though he probably should have expected that to happen, Dazai’s breath still hitched, his heart stilled, and he didn’t react for a few seconds. Yet Chuuya didn’t stop, drinking up the startled little sound from his mouth, and so, Dazai had to try and catch up. Still not fully registering what was happening, he helplessly grabbed a handful of Chuuya’s shirt and responded to the kiss, but that only made the other man embrace him harder. 

After a minute of kissing like they’d die if they didn’t melt into each other, Chuuya shifted, and Dazai opened one eye, realizing he was now looking at the ceiling.

Before, he knew he remembered sitting upright, but now suddenly, his head was resting on the pillow just beneath the armrest. Instinctively, Dazai lifted his legs up onto the couch, and felt Nakahara’s knees settle on either side of his hips. He had no idea how Chuuya had managed to manhandle him into laying down without ever breaking the kiss. But the important thing was that he was currently being ravaged mercilessly, yet his treacherous body laid relaxed and pliant like a doll with all of its strings cut.

Chuuya’s lips were so soft, he kissed so well, and he tasted so good. Dazai’s head was spinning. Swimming in pure ecstasy, he kept falling deeper and deeper, drowning in Chuuya’s musky smell and his hot touch that he’d craved for so long.

Even the tickle of Chuuya’s hair on his face was heavenly. The press of his body on top of Dazai’s felt so good he was afraid it would end any second, but luckily, it went on and on. 

The moment Dazai opened his mouth in a low groan he couldn't hold back, Chuuya took the opportunity to lap at his tongue. It was for just a moment, hesitant, as if checking if Dazai was okay with that. However, as soon as Osamu gave him the green light, the redhead went in eagerly. The kiss became sloppier, and simultaneously just that much more enjoyable, bringing about wet sounds that made Dazai’s face burn. 

By that point, he didn't bother to stifle most of the embarrassing sighs and whimpers he'd produce. Full-on moaning into Chuuya’s mouth, he gasped as Nakahara's hands on his body got even bolder. Which was definitely unfair, considering he could only wrap his arms around the man's shoulders, effectively offering himself up to be explored as he saw fit.

It was embarrassing to admit, but everything Nakahara did turned him on impossibly. Every exhale, every touch and every move of his skilled lips sent hot sparks right to the bottom of Dazai’s stomach. Most maddening was the simple thought that it was Chuuya, the man he loved, who was holding him like he was the only one he’d ever want.

The pressure grew, and so did Dazai’s need to be devoured. He gripped Chuuya's shirt until his knuckles turned while, trying to anchor himself, or maybe asking for something, anything, he didn't know. Yet in response, Nakahara sighed contentedly, and sucked on Dazai's lower lip. The sweet devil was simply driving Osamu crazy, and he clearly enjoyed every second of it.

They kissed some more, and the splendid torture continued. Dazai’s head, which had been filled with anguish and anxiety for so long, became blissfully free of worries; now, there was only warmth and pleasure, given to him by Chuuya. In his arms, Dazai felt safe and peaceful for the first time in months.

Everything else faded away, except for the exquisite feeling of being embraced by the person he’d pictured all along.

“Didn’t you have enough already?”

Dazai lifted his eyes. Chuuya was sitting across the table from him, hand propping up a cheek, watching him eat. The table they chose to occupy was littered with empty ice cream cups, only one of which had belonged to the shorter of the two. 

“You know, Chuuya… this ice cream is almost as cold as you were to me,” Dazai pouted, then proceeded to stuff his face with another mouthful.

“Oh shu— I mean hush. I’ll go get more, which flavour this time?” Chuuya corrected himself hurriedly, and his tone was that same fond exasperation that Dazai had longed to hear. Nowadays, he'd hear it all the time, but he still couldn't seem to get enough of it. So, when Chuuya stood up from the table, Dazai hid a content smile. 

Two weeks had passed since the morning when he'd showed up to his now-boyfriend’s apartment and cried his eyes out, ultimately confessing his feelings in the most dramatic fashion. They ended up making out for god knows how long, which was a pleasant memory, to say the least. If you had told Dazai this just a few weeks ago, he’d never believe that he could act so needy, refusing to let Chuuya go after he'd declared they "needed to cool off." It made Dazai's ears hot just thinking about it. 

Though ultimately, the whole thing was Chuuya’s fault — he was the one who took down all of his defences, fondled him and whispered words of praise, and then promptly said that “They shouldn’t have sex, because it was too soon.”

Well, to be entirely truthful, Dazai thought he’d been right. If he were sitting here after not only telling the love of his life that he’d die if he left, but also having sex with him for the first time, Dazai was sure he wouldn’t be able to recover.

But in any case... After that intense talk, even though they didn’t have sex, they still fell asleep in each other’s arms. It turned out that having a massive meltdown had drained Dazai's energy quite a bit, and on top of that Chuuya's caress was especially lulling, after the heat had passed. Both of them hadn't slept the night before, so as soon as he stood up from the couch, Dazai knew he was on the verge of passing out. Chuuya'd noticed it, too, easily leading him into the bedroom, and letting the drowsy detective get in his ridiculously huge soft bed. The covers were thick, the material felt and smelled amazing, but the cherry on top was that soon afterwards, Nakahara climbed in next to Dazai, and put his arms around him. It was no wonder he'd went out like a light, sleeping through the entire afternoon.

That early evening, Dazai woke up in a warm embrace and held his breath, waiting for the illusion to disperse. This was just like a distant teenage dream he'd suppressed long ago, except this was his reality, now. Who would've thought, that to have Chuuya tolerate him, all he needed was to subject himself to utter mysery for months?

Well, Dazai certainly wouldn't. In all seriousness, he couldn't have ever imagined that it was possible for such honesty and tenderness to bloom between them.

Before, Osamu was never able to connect the dots and call them “lovers,” because he refused to compare them to those couples on TV, acting all lovey-dovey with their conventional courting rituals. But since the confession, he'd began to see so clearly that he and Chuuya were just different from them, not doomed to fail. Even though they were broken people, incomplete in some ways, even dysfunctional here and there… They could still be madly in love, show affection, keep each other out of harm's way, and bicker to their heart's content. Just as they always have. Despite what he'd feared in the past months, the connection between their souls held strong.

For the first time in many years, Dazai got eight-something hours of rest. In the first place, he only woke to Chuuya shaking him gently, then whined about not getting enough shut-eye, and made Chuuya bring him breakfast to bed. 

But even after all that, he could tell Chuuya still felt immensely bad about the way he’d treated him. Dazai guessed that Chuuya’s guilt wouldn’t pass completely for at least a few weeks. Still, he was sure of his ability to gradually annoy him back into being that snappy, hot-tempered, stubborn, lovable version of himself. For now, his every wish would be fulfilled, and that wasn’t so terrible, either. 

Today, he'd told Chuuya he wanted ice cream, and that’s how they ended up at this fancy gelato place that served it in little containers. To be fair, it was really good. And luckily, his boyfriend was already coming back with another portion.

“This is your last one, Dazai. Or your stomach’s gonna hurt,” Chuuya concluded, pushing it in his direction.

“Jeez, alright.”

Dazai ate in silence for a while, then paused, biting the spoon and looking out the window. Even in that moment, everything still felt unreal, and he knew it would take much longer to fully process all that’s transpired. But nothing could snuff out the fluffy little ball of happiness in his chest, now that he knew he’d never be alone again. 

Chuuya sat there, like before, just staring at his face. If it were anybody else, that would've been awkward, but in that moment, a strange coziness settled in the air, and no words were needed to define it. 

Maybe Chuuya had been silently observing Dazai for longer than he'd known. The look in his hooded eyes was hard to describe, yet it felt like something quietly adoring, as if he saw something in Dazai that calmed the voices in his head. Funny, considering he was all that filled Dazai's mind. 

“Are you eating it, or waiting for it to turn into sludge?” Chuuya mumbled with no actual bite to his tone, after Dazai’s ice cream had all but melted.

“You tired of staring at my neck yet?” he replied, tilting his head with a smug grin. 

Dazai was fully aware that the few hickeys left by Chuuya the night before had been drawing his attention. Nakahara couldn’t seem to stop admiring the product of his work, drawn in by the sight of those purple marks. And Dazai had noticed it early in the morning, then kept acting oblivious the whole date — from time to time, he’d turn to give Chuuya a better view, like he didn’t know exactly what he was doing. 

Nakahara bristled and blushed. Dazai laughed. They stumbled out of the store, being greeted with warm afternoon sun. 

Chuuya drove Dazai to the dorms and walked him to the main entrance. After they'd already said their goodbyes, Dazai acted on impulse, reaching out and yanking the man by the collar to draw him into a kiss. Without missing a beat, Nakahara reciprocated; his lips tasted like strawberry ice cream, and his hands naturally found their place on Dazai’s waist. His soft laughter sounded like a promise.

Dazai was well aware that not everything was right with the world. It was clear to him that they wouldn't be perfect and effortless forever, that someday they would have to make choices. 

However, he was also sure that, as long as they remained together, they’d be just fine. Because he could finally believe in the future that was always meant for them.

Do you picture me like I picture you?

Am I in the frame from your point of view?

Do you feel the same? I'm too scared to say

Half of the things I do when I picture you