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This couldn’t be true. Somebody had to be pulling Chuuya’s leg right? This had to be some kind of sick prank, because no way did he just return to Yokohama after an out-of-town mission, and suddenly the Port Mafia’s saying that Dazai’s back after four years?
There’s no way that Mackerel’s alive. The bastard went off the grid when both he and Chuuya were eighteen, and after so long of searching for him and turning up with nothing, Chuuya accepted the fact that he was probably dead in a ditch somewhere or hanging off a tree . . . Well, “accepted” is kind of a loose term, it was more like Chuuya repressed any and all emotions and memories of he and Dazai by drowning himself in one of the most expensive bottles in his wine collection, opting to forget that the bastard even existed rather than bear with the fact that he was probably dead.
But apparently not, actually, if these rumors were true. In fact, Chuuya was on his way to the basement where they were allegedly holding Dazai after “capturing him”—Chuuya doesn’t believe for a second that the slippery fish unwillingly got caught—and he felt his heart beating in his ears as he made his way down. If this were true, if Dazai was actually alive and actually here, then Chuuya would be seeing the man that had unfortunately captured his heart for the first time again in four years.
And if he wasn’t here and Chuuya just got his hopes up . . . Well, then there’s a possibility for a repeat of that dreadful night four years ago.
He walked down the steps to the basement at a regular pace, despite how much he wanted to fly down those stairs. Because as much as he wanted to see Dazai alive and well—at least as well as he could be from going through get captured by the Port Mafia—Chuuya also knew that he couldn’t mess this up. If he looked too desperate—like it’s clear he was worried about Dazai when he left—then with knowing the bastard, he’d just tease Chuuya to no oblivion and thus souring their reunion. This couldn’t be ruined, this has to be perfect. But honestly, if Chuuya’s seeing Dazai again after four years of thinking he was dead all this time, then it was already perfect.
He didn’t say anything when he got the bottom floor, even after he thought of the perfect quip to seeing his former, flawless partner chained up and “captured.” “This sight rivals a billion dollar masterpiece,” or something like that. But the words got caught in his throat as he merely stood at the bottom of the stairs, getting a look at the top of clearly Dazai’s mop of messy brown hair, the style the same as when he left. He had a completely different wardrobe however, ditching the black suit he used to always wear. Chuuya found the lighter colors of it flattering on him, even if it were hard to see clearly through the dim lighting of the basement.
Apparently hearing the footfall of Chuuya’s shoes stop, Dazai lifted his head, and Chuuya took notice in how his expression turned to being stunned slightly, so miniscule that anyone other than Chuuya wouldn’t even notice that anything changed at all.
The redhead himself felt the same, and not only was it because Dazai was actually alive, but also because he was no longer wearing those bandages that covered his eye. He showed both of them now, and even if Chuuya has seen Dazai without his bandages before, something about the implication that Dazai’s now comfortable with walking around with both eyes uncovered . . . It tugs at something in Chuuya’s heart. On one hand, he’s so glad that Dazai feels comfortable without them now, but on the other, it just further solidifies that Dazai has changed throughout the four years of their separation, and Chuuya doesn’t even know if this is the same Dazai he knew all those years ago.
“You’re still a chibi, I see,” Dazai remarked, relief and a bout of hope hidden behind an indifferent expression—Chuuya can tell. And despite the insult sent his way, Chuuya couldn’t help but let out a breath of relief he wasn’t even aware that he was holding. Dazai knew him all too well, the man knew that a tease like that was exactly what Chuuya needed to hear right now. He probably sensed Chuuya’s anxiety, and addressed it by showing how he hasn’t changed as much as Chuuya felt he did. Teasing Chuuya, calling him a “chibi,” a look of relief masked by faux annoyance on his face, it was all to show that he’s still the Dazai Chuuya knows without either of them having to directly acknowledge it.
And deep down, Chuuya knew that Dazai was hoping he hadn’t changed much either. That “bout of hope” he felt Dazai have, it was hope that Chuuya didn’t hate him, that they could go back to how they were all those years ago and that he still knew Chuuya as he did back then. And even if Chuuya hates playing into Dazai’s hand and hates indulging him, he felt that there was no way to deny him of this right now.
“And you’re still a lanky bastard yourself,” Chuuya taunted back, unable to hold back the grin that was spreading across his face—which only grew as he saw one of Dazai’s walls break down when he smirked back at Chuuya, realizing that the remark was to signal how his former partner hasn’t changed much either.
He walked forward, looking up at Dazai as he got closer—the man got taller during their time apart, and Chuuya doesn’t even know how that’s possible. He noted how age has graced him, and even if it were just four years, there’s still a visible change in Dazai’s demeanor and appearance, especially in his eyes that held a glimmer of light that was never there before. He also filled in more of his body, looking much healthier than when he was in the Port Mafia. It made Chuuya smile, seeing how Dazai worked on himself over their years apart. Even though Dazai leaving hurt him, at least Chuuya knows that Dazai A) didn’t die over those four years and B) that even though he was alive, those years weren’t spent with Dazai constantly searching for the bottoms of bottles.
“Are you still obsessing over suicide, you maniac?” Chuuya asked with a small tilt of his head, raking his eyes over Dazai’s features now that he was closer. They’ve certainly gotten sharper over the years, and the “showing two eyes” thing was highly attractive in Chuuya’s eyes, and he had to fight down the urge to kiss him then and there. Apparently that even after four years, he’s still captivated by Dazai’s entire being.
“Why of course,” Dazai said with a smirk of his own. Even being “captured” and chained to the wall right now in the Port Mafia’s basement—the very same basement Dazai himself had tortured people in years before—the brunet still exuded a commanding presence, yet way less threatening than before. “Although I have a new reason to live now . . .” Dazai started, before trailing off and leading Chuuya to look at him with a curious look. He smirked before he continued smugly. “My goal is to commit suicide with a beautiful woman! The epitome of love, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t take you for a romantic,” Chuuya remarked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.
“Chuuya didn’t take me for a lot of things,” Dazai stated, purposely ignoring Chuuya’s sarcasm. He proceeded to pout like a child, and Chuuya struggled to hold back the grin coming to his face as his heart felt like it skipped a beat.
“You still make that face,” Chuuya muttered absentmindedly, chuckling slightly to himself. Dazai just let out a confused hum, furrowing his eyebrows, and probably not because he didn’t hear what Chuuya said. No, Chuuya was sure he did, and instead he just reacted that way as if to say “What face?”
Although Dazai didn’t say anything more, and Chuuya took that opportunity to look down at the floor, hesitating on what to say to the man in front of him. Once he figured it out though, he looked back up at Dazai, his face more serious. “Y’know, I thought you died, right?” Chuuya admitted, watching as Dazai’s taunting expression faded into something akin to guilt. Chuuya had to suppress the feeling of a mix of rage and tears bubbling up in his chest at the memory of that night. He was angry, relieved, guilty, heartbroken, you name it, and Chuuya’s chest ached by just thinking of it. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
“I’m sorry,” Dazai uncharacteristically mumbled after a while, keeping his gaze locked with Chuuya’s. There was another sign that Dazai changed—he never used to apologize before. “I never wanted to leave you.”
“So don’t,” Chuuya insisted, catching Dazai off guard. He didn’t let the unnatural look of genuine shock on Dazai’s face deter him, instead he held his gaze with the taller man, ignoring the way his heart pounded in his ears. “Don’t leave me—again. At least don’t just disappear. Can you do that for me?”
Dazai was stunned for a moment, seemingly unsure of how to respond. Reasonable, considering Chuuya sprang this on him out of nowhere. But Chuuya kept his gaze and expression firm, conveying how serious this was to him. It was silly putting this all on some simple, spoken promise, as if that’ll prevent anything. But Chuuya wasn’t sure he’d believe anything if he didn’t hear it from Dazai’s mouth directly. Dazai has to tell him he wouldn’t vanish on him again, not just some hunch or blind trust. He was sure that eventually, their relationship will build back up to where they’d unhesitatingly, wholeheartedly, trust each other again, but until then, Chuuya needs this confirmation, for his own sake.
And luckily, Dazai was able to see that. “Of course,” he said, and for the second time that day, Chuuya let out a breath of relief. “That’s the one thing I’ve regretted in leaving—leaving Chuuya,” Dazai shook his head, looking guilty. “I’ll never disappear again . . . I’m sorry I didn’t—”
Chuuya didn’t let him finish his sentence, for he was unable to resist the urge as he tugged Dazai down by his lapels in order to press their lips together in a searing and needy kiss, one that Chuuya has been waiting for for years. He felt that he’d never get the chance to express how he really feels if he loses Dazai again, similar to his thoughts four years ago when he originally found out Dazai left.
Naturally, Dazai was shocked for a moment before he immediately melted into it, passionately kissing back before the two eventually broke away from each other. None of them said anything, instead, the pair just stared at each other for a moment before Chuuya broke the silence. “Don’t be sorry,” he said, out of breath. “I’m just glad you’re back and safe—”
Now it was Chuuya’s turn to get interrupted as Dazai unlocked his shackles with that little trick of his—Chuuya knew he was able to free himself this entire time—bringing his hands up to tangle in Chuuya’s hair as he leaned in again, reciprocating Chuuya’s kiss.
It was electrifying, and Dazai allowed Chuuya to back him into the wall, even if Chuuya had to stand on his tiptoes with Dazai still needing to squat down in order for their mouths to meet. With Dazai pressed up to the wall, Chuuya moved his hands from his clothes to the back of his neck, fingers toying with those fluffy brown locks he hasn’t touched in a long time. It was all so surreal, seeing, hearing, touching Dazai—an alive and well Dazai—for the first time in years after Chuuya thought he was a dead man. Never in his life, would he ever consider even merely getting the opportunity to kiss Dazai, hence why he took his chance now.
And as Dazai kissed him back with such fervor, Chuuya felt that he could not be happier that Dazai had came back after all this time.