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It wasn’t his fault.
It really wasn’t.
Ryuunosuke hadn’t done anything wrong. He knew it. Osamu knew it. Osamu knew that he knew this.
But Osamu’s whims were strange. His emotions a mystery, even to him at times. Especially to Ryuunosuke.
Most of the time, the brunette remained calm. Blank. Logical. Cold. Unfeeling. He disliked those words– yet ‘dislike’ was a far too emotional description for whatever he felt. It was odd. Sometimes, though, he seemed to have random bouts of quiet intensity.
Like now.
The dining room felt too bright.
The chandelier above the table clinked softly, like a thousand cups of glasses dangling right above their heads. Ready to crush the table’s occupants at any moment.
Silence hung heavy in the room. In the entire penthouse. No one existed there in that moment except Ryuunosuke and Osamu. The latter had sent any maids home earlier that day. He was always unpredictable at this particular action, and often excused the servants randomly, even when he was in a neutral mood.
It hadn’t rung any alarm bells in Ryuunosuke’s head in the morning. It should have.
The dining table was in a similar state to the rest of the residence. Empty except for the two men. They sat close to each other, a feat far more doable due to the table’s round shape. Osamu had insisted on replacing their original traditional, bigger rectangular table when Ryuunosuke had off-handedly commented that he liked the shape and coziness of this one better.
A red velvet cake sat in the centre of the polished wood. Its white frosting glistened, oozing and overwhelming. In front of Ryuunosuke, a single plate was placed, as well as a single fork. The only cutlery in the vicinity.
And a knife. In Osamu’s hand.
“Happy birthday,” Osamu said, voice as smooth as honey. To anyone unfamiliar with him, they may even guess his mood to be something positive. It wasn’t. It was far from that.
Even if he was smiling. Even if he slowly cut a slice of cake as if nothing was amiss, carefully using the fork to place it onto the plate. Even if. Even if.
Even if he seemed perfectly content and calm, the faint glaze in his eyes was apparent only to Ryuunosuke. The slight tremor in his otherwise perfectly poised hands. The way his back was too straight. The way his hair was dishevelled just a tiny bit. The slight, uncharacteristic behaviors that amounted to something more. Something emotional.
No, emotional was not a neutral enough word.
Something laced with emotion.
“Go on. I made this specially for you.” The older man continued, pushing the plate even closer to the other.
Lie.
He was a liar. Osamu never baked himself. Unless it was with Ryuunosuke or at his behest. He could do it, of course, Osamu could do anything, but he usually stuck to cooking unless there was a situation that’d benefit him with his baking prowess.
Perhaps the acknowledgment of the deceit was apparent in the way Ryuunosuke stared at his partner.
“Mmm, fine. I got this made specially for you. Happy? It's your favourite.” Osamu sighed, leaning back. Yet, his tone remained the exact same, level, and without any seeping sentiment. Unbearably patient. His face, likewise, retained a smile.
However, his gaze turned sharper. Ever so slightly.
Ryuunosuke almost forgot how to breathe.
It felt like glue filled his throat, and his tongue had been numbed.
He nodded mutely. He wanted to say thank you. He did. He would have in any other situation. It was one of his favourite flavours. It was a nice gesture.
But the previous few days swam through his mind. The different moments that could’ve invoked this cold fury.
Perhaps it was the friend who had gotten far too close, wishing him an early happy birthday.
But Osamu hadn’t even been there.
Perhaps it was his recent frequent visits to his younger sister and mother.
But Osamu never commented on them.
Perhaps it was because he didn’t text Osamu when he went to the grocery store Sunday morning.
But he picked up Osamu’s call immediately once it came, apologising over and over till he was assured that he was forgiven.
There were so many possible reasons for his frustrating behavior, yet not one that could be singled out specifically.
Osamu continued to stare.
Slowly, Ryuunosuke reached over to the fork, cutting a small piece of the slice and bringing it to his mouth. A moment of hesitation passed– he wasn’t afraid of the cake itself, Osamu would never really poison him, but there was still some fear present– before he took a bite and choked it down after a few chews.
The creamy goodness melted in his mouth, the red powder coating his throat and exploding in sweetness.
Quiet continued.
Without glancing up, Ryuunosuke took another bite. Then another. Till the slice was finished.
He set the fork down.
“Good?”
Osamu’s sweet voice cut through the clinking of the fork getting in contact with the plate. The tone had shifted now. The edge was subtle, but far more noticeable.
Ryuunosuke forced a nod.
For a few seconds, it was quiet. A part of the younger man was relaxing. Maybe Osamu had calmed down. Maybe, just maybe, this was going to be it.
Of course, hope shouldn’t exist when in the vicinity of that demonic human.
Osamu leaned forward, scooting his chair over until he was pressed against Ryuunosuke’s side. The latter didn’t move.
Then, the brunette reached both hands into the cake, flattening it with a disgusting squelch while still keeping his gaze trained on his partner, covering his entire hand in white frosting and red insides. Crimson crumbs stuck to his skin like meat. He didn’t even glance at the mess for a moment.
Ryuunosuke couldn’t breathe. He could only watch as Osamu moved his hands agonizingly slow, reaching out to wrap around his throat. The pressure was light, but the way he dragged his hands across the base of the neck and upwards made the younger man want to resort to violence.
Cold frosting smeared against pale skin, and the red goodness stained the already-covered-with-cream area, spreading like a parasite ready to feast. Dripping like a disease ready to destroy.
For the briefest moment, it wasn’t frosting at all. It was blood. Hot, oozing blood trailing down Ryuunosuke’s neck.
Bile rose up his throat. His stomach churned, nausea building up.
Osamu cocked his head to the side, a facial expression that seemed almost… pitying? Ryuunosuke wanted to scoff. What a mockery of human emotions that he couldn’t experience.
“Look at you. What a magnificent birthday, right?” Osamu cooed sarcastically, one thumb brushing over Ryuunosuke’s tense jaw.
Ryuunosuke didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t make a noise.
And then, Osamu’s hands went up. Past the black-haired man’s jaw. Past his mouth. Two thumbs slipped past his lips, further and further, till they almost painfully tugged at the corners of his mouth. The sugary taste of the cream diffused quickly across his tongue in a viscous and thick contaminated mixture. It was sickly sweet, causing Ryuunosuke’s jaw to tense further.
Despite the clear discomfort, Osamu’s hands remained steady. As if they had no other purpose.
Ryuunosuke wanted to scream. Shout. Push him away. But he knew that he’d never do this. Not in the moment. Likely later. But never when Osamu was showing his true self. Never.
“Mmm. Interesting.” Osamu hummed, his gaze a tad bit… clinical. His head remained tilted. His voice quieter.
Ryuunosuke sat stiffly as Osamu retracted his hand, licking his fingers clean while never breaking eye contact. No hurry. Like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Then, he pulled the cake plate closer and pushed the empty plate out of the way.
“Go on. Eat.”
Ryuunosuke tried not to swallow. He needed to speak. He had to.
“Osamu–” He started.
“Ah ah ah.” Osamu interrupted, pressing a finger up to Ryuunosuke’s lips. “You’ve lost the right to first names. Okay? A-ku-ta-ga-wa-kun? Now eat up.” He smiled. Cruel. So cruel.
The formality hurt more than any poison or knives ever could. The disguised venom of the action seeped through his body, spreading through every vein and inflicting burns in every corner.
Akutagawa’s heart twisted, but he obeyed. He always did. No. Not always. But the end result was always the same. No matter what he did, it circled back to a chilling confrontation. It was always better to give in sooner, rather than later.
So, he ate. Shovelling the cake into his mouth with the fork he held a death-grip on. Gagging at the clear taste of contamination– Dazai’s hand– yet not relenting. The thick sludge forced its way down his throat, over and over, over and over, till finally, after a couple of speed-eating, he was done.
Only crumbs remained, as well as a small amount that the man was still chewing.
For a moment, everything was silent. Only broken by Akutagawa’s sudden hiccup due to the aforementioned rapid influx of food.
He didn’t look up. He didn’t want to look up. He didn’t want to see Dazai smiling.
At last, he attempted to swallow the last bite.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t any longer. The dread, the taste, the situation, the tension–
Akutagawa stood up with so much force that the chair behind him clambered to the floor, and took off.
Dazai didn’t follow.
The black-haired man booked it to the bathroom, pushing into the door and punching at the light switch to turn it on before his knees buckled in front of the toilet and he started expelling his entire stomach.
The vile vomit was red. So red. Blood. It felt like Akutagawa was throwing up blood.
This image made him gag and retch once more while his hands fumbled around for anything to hold onto in this agony. Even in this situation, he remained a stickler for hygiene, refusing to touch the toilet seat or bathroom floor. His throat burned, his head ached, his body screamed. The one thing he could do was squeeze his eyes shut tightly while his body shook and pray that this was the last time he was going to hurl.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed onto one of his, and another hand started rubbing circles on his back.
His eyes flew wide open, and his head whipped around to find the owner of the hands.
Dazai. Kneeling beside him.
There had been no sound of footsteps. No soft pitter-patter of his feet that Dazai usually gave into making audible so as to not unnerve his partner so much. It reminded Akutagawa: If Dazai wanted to remain unnoticed, he would never be seen.
Dazai’s face was unreadable as he gently cooed little affirmations. As usual, yes, but this time, it caused Akutagawa more mental torture. The brunette’s face was neutral, eyes widened just slightly, eyebrows raised sympathetically, yet like a marionette pretending to be sad. Like an actor playing a character of someone concerned.
Akutagawa dry-heaved, and Dazai slowly raised his hands to angle his face back towards the toilet. Bastard. Didn’t want himself to get dirty. Probably. Akutagawa ignored how Dazai likely wouldn’t care even if Akutagawa vomited on all his clothing. He’d just clean it up like normal. It was just one more thing to hold against the younger man whenever the older one was bored.
Instead of yet another surge of regurgitation at the confusing touch, a renewed sense of red-hot anger suddenly began coursing through Akutagawa’s veins.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
He hissed, swatting away Dazai’s hands, preventing a collapse by rooting his hands on the tiled floor, no matter how much it made him cringe.
Dazai’s expression changed. Ever so slightly. Akutagawa couldn’t even tell that it had changed, just that it was different.
Without waiting, the younger man hoisted himself up into a standing position, stumbling outside of the bathroom while wiping the corner of his mouth with his sleeve.
“I’m leaving.” He announced once he reached the living room– he knew Dazai was right behind him. His words slightly slurred due to the bubble of spit still coating his throat, and the taste of filth on his tongue made him want to puke his entire guts out, but he knew there was no time left. No time for what? He didn’t know.
He just wanted to leave.
But of course, there was no way he was going to be able to.
“Ryuu.” Came the expected sigh from behind him. Like Dazai actually cared. Like he felt something.
He did. He did feel. Both of them knew that. But neither of them could figure out what it was.
A bubble of exasperated laughter left Ryuunosuke’s chapped lips.
“Really? Are ‘first name privileges’ back now, Dazai-san?” He scoffed, weakly raising one hand to make air quotations while grabbing his phone from the other. His words were laced with the same mocking tone he was often subjected to.
As he attempted to move towards the door, he stumbled.
Dazai linked their arms together, preventing a fall as he propped the other man up. “You’re frail right now. Stay.” He hummed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Ryuunosuke’s heart and mind were battling each other.
He hated how he wanted to give in to those deceptively warm and logical words. No. There was no deception this time. Both of them were aware of what he was attempting to convey. There was no need for lies.
“As if it isn’t your fault– Get off me–” Ryuunosuke snapped back, finally wriggling his way out of Dazai’s grip and shoving him away.
Unfortunately, this caused the younger man to stumble as well, barely rooting himself firmly in his place after slamming his palm down onto a table.
And that’s when he looked up. Looked up and saw Dazai’s face.
At least internally, Ryuunosuke had assumed that this was just like their other arguments. When he'd listen for a bit out of sheer necessity and fear. After which, he’d blow up and spout who knows what, hurling insults that had never been uttered before. After which, he’d be coaxed back into Dazai’s arms once again, the whole ordeal being forgotten after a few hours.
Yet, this was different.
Oh, it was so different.
Dazai’s expression was…
Terrifying.
His lips were so utterly neutral. In such a perfect balance between a frown and a smile that you’d assume he was simply a mimicry of a human, meant to portray the state of nothingness.
Meanwhile, his eyes were open a tad wider than usual. Simply a tad. Nothing worth noting.
On the other hand, it was his eyebrows doing all the talking. Raised so high that his forehead creased.
He looked unimpressed and annoyed at the same time. Perplexed yet boiling with rage at the same time. If he were capable of such emotions.
Ryuunosuke backed away.
And that’s when the tutting began.
Ryuunosuke could only stand there, his blood running cold, as Dazai approached him, a glint of something… not meant to be in this world in his eyes.
The younger man’s throat was dry. He couldn’t speak. Even if he could, how could he with Dazai paying attention to every single breath he was exhaling?
An almost unnoticeable warmth bloomed in his chest at the prospect of his boyfriend’s attention, but the small fire was soon put out when–
Ryuunosuke was on the ground. He hadn’t even noticed the sudden arm on his shoulder that pushed him down with such ease, yet so much precise force that he was down in an instant.
His stomach curdled. Bile rose up his throat, which wasn’t such an insignificant reaction, knowing how he was two moves away from throwing up any second anyway.
He had to speak. He had to. He didn’t know what Dazai would do. This was new. Too new. Too new for someone like Dazai. A new side of him was almost inconceivable yet perfectly understandable due to his mysterious yet unpredictable nature.
“...Osamu—” He finally wet his throat enough to utter a croak.
“Shut up.”
Oh
So he was in that kind of mood. What kind of mood? No idea. Though it was clearly one that would require everyone in the vicinity to evacuate.
Dazai’s words were like a slap to Ryuunosuke’s face.
The brunette’s words stung worse than a thousand bees. Especially because his tone made it seem like he was shushing someone who was wrong, someone who was hysterical for no reason, someone who didn’t deserve his conversation.
Fuck. Fuck, it was scary.
Ryuunosuke tried to scoot away. Key word: Tried. An attempt was made. Yes.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t an action Dazai wanted. Hence, it wouldn’t occur.
Of course it wouldn’t.
With lightning speed, a kick to his shoulder caused Ryuunosuke’s back to hit the ground. He spluttered at the sudden force, eyes widening at the realisation that he didn’t know what would happen next.
He wanted to speak. To scream. To shout. To yell about how unfair this was.
But he didn’t.
He never did, did he?
He just lay there, dazed, as he watched Dazai rummage through something in his pocket.
On instinct, his body rose up into a sitting position once again when he caught a glimpse of what Dazai was holding.
It was a vial. A drug. Well, medicine. Sleeping medication that Dazai took as often as one would water.
It always knocked him out within a few minutes. It always knocked Ryuunosuke out within a couple of seconds. A worse immune system, Dazai had casually answered, after the younger man awoke from the effects of consuming the concoction and had been terribly confused at why he had been out in such a minuscule amount of time.
No. His body screamed at him to run. No. Not again.
Ryuunosuke wasn’t really afraid of what’d happen to him if he went unconscious– Dazai would never do anything that’d cause true burning resentment– but he was extremely uncomfortable with the idea of being that vulnerable while he wanted to leave.
But what Dazai wants, Dazai has. For the most part.
Almost gently– the almost being in emphasis because Dazai could never be truly gentle in this state, but he could pretend– Dazai knelt down and popped the vial open, wordlessly grabbing Ryuunosuke’s chin and putting the vial to his lips.
“Open.” Dazai drawled, as if this were a chore.
Ryuunosuke didn’t obey.
Dazai raised an eyebrow. Nothing more was needed.
Ryuunosuke’s lips parted. Just a tad.
Dazai took that chance to tip the whole vial inside his mouth, patting his cheek once it was all inside. “Now swallow.”
Ryuunosuke hesitated for a moment– just a moment– before he swallowed.
Seconds passed.
Nothing.
A sliver of hope crawled up Ryuunosuke’s chest–
His arms fell to his sides. Incredibly heavy.
His head lolled to the side, and he barely registered the pair of arms breaking his fall before it all went dark.
He was out cold. What a horrible birthday.
Dazai sighed.