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The unmistakable scent of weed wafted through the air surrounding Dazai and Chuuya, clinging to their clothes and their fingers. Chuuya spared a glance down, from the three-story building they were perched on, the objects below looked like insects.
Originally, the two were meant to be on a stakeout – an insultingly easy task assigned to the two by Mori. At first, Chuuya had been reluctant when Dazai had pulled out a blunt and a lighter with a mischievous smile pointed at Chuuya. Not because he was a pussy, or because he had never smoked before – hell, he was in the Mafia, of course he’d smoked before.
Instead, he had been reluctant because he already loathed dealing with Dazai. But a high Dazai? All hell would break loose. Unfortunately, Dazai was intimidatingly skilled with pestering Chuuya, so a bit of prodding and eventually, Chuuya had relented. That landed them here: distracted, on a stakeout, on top of a building, and high.
Chuuya inhaled deeply, letting the bitter smoke fester in his lungs before releasing it in a long cloud into the night air, the gray smoke catching the light and glinting under the moon. Dazai watched him with fascination, cheek resting in his palm. Their knees bumped with every small shift and, as hard as Chuuya tried to ignore it, it was getting on his nerves.
The contact felt alive somehow, the warmth bleeding through layers of fabric even with just a simple bump. He told himself it was the weed making everything feel closer, heavier — the air, the cold, even Dazai. Especially Dazai.
Dazai’s visible eye was half-lidded and amused, causing something undefineable to curl inside Chuuya. To avoid the feeling, his gaze averted downwards, over the edge of the building. His head felt lighter, dizzier, the floor felt miles away instead of mere feet.
“Stop fucking looking at me like that,” he muttered under his breath, not glancing up to check if Dazai was still looking at him. The barely contained chortle that escaped from Dazai gave him his answer.
The drug blurred the edges of Chuuya’s consciousness, making the harsh lighting of nearby apartments smudge into a hazy, golden glow. A fleeting thought that smoking on a mission wasn’t the brightest idea crossed his mind, but he wafted it away like the transient smoke. The haze made everything softer — the city lights, Dazai’s grin, even the edges of his own thoughts. Maybe that was the point of nights like this: everything looked better when you couldn’t see too clearly.
Lazily, Chuuya passed the joint to Dazai, their knuckles brushing in the process. The contact ignited something on his skin that had never been there before, something warm, something that made the hairs on his arm stand straight. Chuuya preferred to chalk the feeling up to distaste. Willfully, he ignored the fact that, technically, he and Dazai were indirectly touching lips.
The sky was midnight black, painted in constellations of beautiful, twinkling stars that Chuuya had never had the privilege of studying the meaning of. Dark clouds partially obscured the reflective moon, most of the light came from the stars and streetlamps that stood below the building they were settled on.
Due to the late October weather, harsh wind and frost bit at Chuuya’s exposed skin. Contrary to popular opinion, Chuuya much preferred the early nights of fall to the stuffy humidity of summer, and he was grateful that summer was over. He enjoyed it when he could briefly escape the stifling expectations of the mafia and wander along dark streets painted with cinematic oranges and reds.
The silence that surrounded Dazai was unusual, Chuuya noted. Where the tranquility would usually be packed with nicknames and jabs at Chuuya’s height, instead it just lingered, filled by the sound of slow exhales and the wind whipping past the two’s heads. The low hum of the city rose up from below and buzzed in Chuuya’s brain.
The slow, comfortable quiet stretched before inevitably being broken by the irritating sound of Dazai’s voice. “Hey, Chuuya?” He began after exhaling a puff of smoke into the wind. Chuuya hummed in response, barely shifting to look at the other. “I was wondering… Have you ever kissed anyone?”
What. Chuuya’s breath caught in his throat, a lump forming when he attempted to respond. Had he been sober, he probably would’ve kicked his idiot partner in the ribs before storming off and leaving him on his own. Unluckily — well, luckily for Dazai — he wasn’t. Chuuya’s own limbs weighed him down and he couldn’t bring himself to move from where he sat. Instead, he furrowed his eyebrows and scowled.
The question hung unanswered in the moment for a beat too long, a beat long enough that Dazai tilted his head and his fingers twitched like he already knew the answer. Chuuya’s heartbeat was practically halfway up his esophagus.
“Don’t.” Chuuya gritted out, turning his head so Dazai couldn’t see his expression, couldn’t try and pick him apart and analyse him like always. The lack of response on Dazai’s end just proved that he was planning ahead, or that he already had.
A chuckle came from Dazai, “don’t what?” He teased, the tone of his voice giving away that the question was useless, and he knew exactly what he was doing. That bastard.
“Say that,” Chuuya elaborated sharply, “you know what you’re doing.” The grin that spread across Dazai’s lips made Chuuya regret ever twisting his head to face Dazai again — curious and knowing at the same time. The same grin that fueled Chuuya’s ever growing hatred, getting under his skin in the way only his partner could.
“And what exactly am I doing, Slug? Where’s the harm in such a simple question?” Dazai asked with feigned innocence, flicking ash from the joint over the rooftop. Chuuya rolled his eyes and sighed, his breath coming out in white puffs.
“What kinda question is that?” Chuuya mumbled, blinking away the lingering surprise slowly, smoke curling between the two’s faces. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was the weed or Dazai’s agitating presence that made Chuuya’s pulse thrum like a drum set in his ears.
The silence stretched and Dazai assumed the topic was dropped, passing the joint to Chuuya with practiced ease. Making an effort to avoid their fingers brushing again, Chuuya accepted it.
He let it sit between his fingers for a few moments before bringing it up to his lips and inhaling the smoke deep into his lungs. After holding it there until his lungs burned, Chuuya exhaled slowly, eyes heavy. The bottle of cologne he had brought just in case weighed heavy in his pocket. He had seen Dazai tucking a plastic bag into his pocket earlier that day and figured it was better safe than sorry, knowing him.
Chuuya tried not to dwell on it too much, tried not to think too hard, which in turn, made him think even harder. Glancing down at his fingers where the joint rested, he realised his knuckles had taken on a red hue from the biting cold and he subtly shuddered. He had taken off his gloves in case they would catch fire — anything was possible with Dazai around.
Chuuya was grateful for the shadows. It meant Dazai couldn’t see the undeniable, unexplainable heat crawling up his neck, or how his hands wouldn’t stay still. The dark made it easier to pretend he didn’t care, that he wasn’t thinking about the way their fingers had brushed, or the bitter taste that lingered on his tongue.
Risking a glance at Dazai, Chuuya’s shoulders relaxed when he realised the other was no longer looking at him. He took the opportunity to study his partner’s appearance.
Dazai’s hair was a mess, sticking up at odd angles from where he’d carded his fingers through it during the stakeout, his bandages glowed pale under the moonlight. He looked nothing like the cold, efficient partner Chuuya dealt with on missions — more like some feisty, annoying stray cat that refused to leave him alone. The light distorted, hiding half of Dazai’s face.
“No,” Chuuya blurted out, tucking one leg up so his heel rested on the rooftop, his other foot dangling off the edge and knocking clumsily against red brick. Even though he had turned away, Chuuya noticed Dazai tilting his head in his peripheral vision.
Chuuya sighed in annoyance at his partner’s obliviousness. “I haven’t… had my first kiss.” It was an embarrassing thing to admit, considering most normal teenagers his age would have had their first kiss by now.
Instead of laughter erupting from Dazai like he had expected, he just let out a contemplative hum and nodded. Chuuya noted that Dazai appeared to be deep in thought, his teeth gently chewing on his bottom lip, a habit that Chuuya had picked up on. Chuuya turned his attention back to the secluded alleyway they were meant to be observing, suddenly remembering they were supposed to be on a mission.
They sat like that for minutes that seemed to stretch into hours, abnormally quiet and passing the joint back and forth. Chuuya almost thought that Dazai had forgotten about the conversation. Almost. Because Dazai didn’t give up that easily.
Dazai broke the silence by clearing his throat, effectively gaining Chuuya’s attention. “Me too,” he said, looking off somewhere in the starry distance, causing Chuuya to hum. “I’ve never kissed anyone either,” he specified.
Huh. Chuuya half expected Dazai to try and lie to him, maybe brag about the amount of girls he’d kissed to appear better than him. Obviously Chuuya would know it was a lie — after all, to his knowledge Dazai hadn’t had an opportunity to kiss anyone either — but it was uncharacteristic, seeing Dazai admit something like that.
Chuuya nodded, fidgeting with a stray rock he had picked up from the rooftop. The alleyway was practically desolate, save for the occasional stray animal, or so Chuuya hoped. He hadn’t been paying as much attention as he had planned.
His attention was drawn to Dazai as he languidly flicked the lighter on and off, the sparks emitting an orange glow on his face, glimmering in his brown eye. Frustratedly, Chuuya snapped his focus elsewhere. “Stop it with that,” he complained, which earned a glare from Dazai. Dazai’s lighter died with a final spark, leaving only the dark between them. Fortunately, he did tuck it away into his coat pocket.
The street lamps flickered uselessly, and two of the golden apartment windows were concealed by curtains being pulled. Only the moon could illuminate them now. Chuuya preferred it like that: dark, hidden. He didn’t have to observe too closely, he could just feel.
An owl hooted obnoxiously somewhere in the distance, the occasional car steadily drove past, and yet, still no sign of any other people. Chuuya heard the distinct sound of Dazai extinguishing the joint they had been sharing and he turned to watch him flick it off the edge of the building.
Dazai swallowed, the sound audible in the quiet space between them. From what Chuuya could see with the little light, he looked… hesitant? That was bizarre, Dazai never acted like that unless he was faking.
When Dazai finally looked up, the smirk was gone. “...Would you wanna try it?” He asked quietly, as if any louder would shatter the unusually pleasant atmosphere between them. When the question registered in Chuuya’s mind with the context, he blinked uselessly, spluttering for words. For a second, he thought he had heard it wrong.
“What the fuck?!”
Dazai snickered at his reaction and Chuuya half expected him to admit it was a joke, one of his familiar teases. What he didn’t expect was for Dazai to double down.
“C’mon, Chuuya! Don’t you wanna know what it feels like?” He said excitedly, any trace of nervousness expertly concealed, “I mean, Mori did send us together to bond… If you hate it, we can just blame it on the fact we aren’t in our right minds!” Dazai tried to reason.
Unexplainably, Chuuya found himself pondering over it, fingers idly fidgeting with his sleeve. He already had shared many things with Dazai. Who knows if he’ll ever be able to get his first kiss otherwise?
Clearly, Dazai picked up on his inner turmoil because he shuffled closer to Chuuya, placing a soft hand on his knee. Chuuya should’ve, could’ve, shoved Dazai’s hand off, told him to go die and stormed away. Something held him in place, forced him to stay exactly where he was, goosebumps raising on his leg. “So?” Dazai mumbled, voice dropping.
Chuuya must’ve gone insane at some point during the uneventful stakeout because he ended up tilting his head down in a short, almost imperceptible nod. His eyes were trained on Dazai’s bloodshot, caramel-brown one. Dazai’s gaze drifted down to Chuuya’s lips, which he subconsciously licked as he leaned closer.
Chuuya’s heart thumped against his chest, like it was trying to escape his ribcage. Slowly, he leaned in and closed the distance by pressing his lips to Dazai’s. It didn’t feel like the stories he had heard whispered around — there were no fireworks or deafening violin tunes. Rather, there was a tingling warmth beneath his skin, boiling his blood, but not in familiar anger.
The lips against his own were soft to the touch, tasting faintly of weed, although Chuuya was aware he probably wasn’t much different. By all means, the kiss wasn’t anything special; their lips didn’t move, they simply just pressed together, noses brushing.
The taste of smoke and cheap mint clung between them. Chuuya could feel Dazai’s breath tremble against his skin — faint, but not quite steady. The city hummed somewhere far below, a nearby streetlamp buzzed just loud enough for Chuuya to hear over the ringing in his ears.
After a few moments, Chuuya disconnected the kiss, not straying far from his partner’s face as he gauged the other’s reaction. However, there was no guilt or mocking like he had expected. In fact, a pink blush tinged his cheeks and Chuuya distantly hoped that he didn’t look as silly as that. Dazai’s gentle breath fanned across Chuuya’s mouth from his parted lips.
Their foreheads almost touched, and for a second, the dark seemed to fold in closer around them. The soft sound of Dazai clearing his throat regained Chuuya’s attention, snapping him out of the dreamy haze he had gotten lost in.
“See?” Dazai murmured, almost to himself. “Not so bad.” Chuuya would’ve argued, he always did, but his words got lost somewhere between the lump in his throat and the sound of his heartbeat.
The wind cut through the haze, cold against Chuuya’s skin. Somewhere, the beaming moon partially slipped behind a patch of clouds and Chuuya released a breath. It was easier to pretend what they had done was just a dream when he couldn’t see properly.
They sat in silence for seconds that stretched into almost a whole minute, but still, they didn’t shift away from each other. Eventually, Dazai leaned forward and pressed his lips back to Chuuya’s in a second kiss. Chuuya hardly processed it, eyes wide and stomach tying in knots. In a moment of realisation, Chuuya let his eyes flutter closed this time, his eyelashes brushing against his skin.
Chuuya had seen couples kissing on the streets before, that was the only thing he was using as a guide. That revelation made an unfamiliar feeling coil in his stomach, he was doing something couples did. With Dazai. For some reason, the thought wasn’t nearly as revolting as it should’ve been.
Their lips eventually moved against each other, slow. Chuuya had half expected Dazai to kiss him roughly, maybe giggle when Chuuya got pissed and shoved him off. It was nothing like that. A hand left Chuuya’s knee and came to rest on his waist, the feeling wasn’t half as unpleasant as he anticipated.
What the hell was he doing? Dazai’s lips were too soft, too sure, and Chuuya’s mind was still stuck somewhere two floors below, trying to catch up. If Dazai laughed about this later, or — God forbid — told someone, Chuuya would kill him. Maybe after another kiss.
Chuuya’s fried mind barely remembered they were on a mission, on top of a very public rooftop, almost one hundred percent visible from three floors below. He was torn between pulling away and saving dignity and indulging in his guilty desire, hoping no one passed.
When Dazai hummed gently against Chuuya’s lips, he gave in, moving to cup Dazai’s cheek with his hand, the skin soft under his palm. The only other time Chuuya had felt Dazai’s skin under his hand was when he’d hit him before Chuuya began to wear gloves almost all of the time. This was different. This was better.
Chuuya knew that the kiss wasn’t at all experienced or objectively good, but it felt euphoric. Maybe that was just the weed talking. Chuuya’s thumb brushed over his partner’s cheek, who shivered in response.
A stray breeze tugged at Chuuya’s hair, cool against his overheated face. The aroma smelled faintly of smoke, which was slowly dissipating with the dark, and diesel from a blaring truck that sped by below them.
Much to Chuuya’s — surprising — dismay, Dazai broke the kiss again, tugging insistently at the fabric of Chuuya’s jacket, attempting to bring him closer. Chuuya eventually got the message, breath heavy and laboured as he brought both of his legs up from where they dangled off the edge and ungracefully toppled onto Dazai’s lap, knees resting either side of Dazai’s thighs.
Yet again, Dazai leaned in. Unfortunately, he managed to miss Chuuya’s mouth, presumably because his eyes were closed, and he ended up pressing a small kiss to his cheek.
“You missed, dumbass,” Chuuya muttered, stating the obvious as Dazai slowly moved back, and the two both opened their eyes. Dazai was gazing up at him, an unfamiliar glint in his eye as a smile tugged at his lips.
“Did I?” Dazai whispered back, his smile lazy and smug. “Didn’t feel like it.” He leaned in to punctuate his sentence with another kiss to the corner of Chuuya’s mouth. God, what were they even doing?
Chuuya scoffed without much bite behind it — as if he was reading from a script — and closed his eyes, pressing his mouth to Dazai’s.
The other hummed, gripping at Chuuya’s jacket and feeling the muscle beneath the fabric. Chuuya’s own numb and reddened hands came up to the back of Dazai’s neck, making the other jump in shock. Unable to keep his amusement in, Chuuya chuckled lazily against Dazai’s lips.
“Sorry,” he apologised insincerely under his breath and Dazai huffed, pulling him closer and kissing him again to shut him up. Chuuya wasn’t complaining.
The only way Chuuya could describe the environment was that it felt underwater — hazy, heavy, like time halted just for them, the world tilted and swayed. They were both a little too high to be doing this, every movement was too clumsy, every breath was too heavy. They moved like they were learning gravity for the first time.
If Dazai brought it up in the morning, Chuuya could say that he wasn’t thinking straight. One thing was for certain: he would never smoke with Dazai again.
The wind nipped at Chuuya’s cheeks but the only thing he could feel was the warmth prickling throughout his whole body. His eyes were heavy, not only from tiredness. If he opened his eyes, that meant he’d have to face Dazai, maybe they’d have to actually talk about what happened. The thought made Chuuya’s stomach churn in protest. That was the trick of the dark night: it made everything seem easier.
After they kissed for minutes that felt like an eternity, Dazai pulled back. His lips disconnected from Chuuya’s as the latter subconsciously chased after them, chased after the unfamiliar thrill. Maybe Chuuya understood why people were so obsessed with kissing now.
When they finally parted and Chuuya opened his eyes, he couldn’t tell if his chest ached from the lingering smoke and lack of air, or from the kiss. Maybe both. He internally shook it off, thinking about it meant realising there was a reason beyond experimentation that he agreed to kiss Dazai in the first place.
Dazai’s hair blew with the wind and Chuuya couldn’t tell if the red on his face came from the biting chill or from the kiss. He preferred not to. They stayed just close enough that they could exchange slow, spaced-out, short kisses easily. Chuuya’s shoulders relaxed and the tension in his jaw released.
Chuuya felt Dazai’s thumbs begin to rub soft, repeated circles into his waist, and he subconsciously mirrored the action. In the dark, Chuuya could admit Dazai was… okay looking. He quickly shook that thought off, trying his hardest to look anywhere but Dazai, because since when did he think about his, frankly infuriating, partner that way?
Dazai hooked his chin over Chuuya’s shoulder, seemingly observing the long-forgotten alleyway that was covered by his body. Sinking into the touch, Chuuya moved his hands to rest on his partner’s arms that were now wrapped around his waist.
Chuuya hated how he could never truly tell what Dazai was thinking. He would never be able to know the reason Dazai did this. Chuuya wanted to think it was just because he wasn’t sober.
He wanted to try and pretend it wasn’t Dazai he had just kissed; Dazai that he allowed to touch him so freely. But the familiar scent of his partner, the breathing he had memorised after a mere year of working with him told Chuuya otherwise. Maybe he didn’t hate Dazai as much as he wanted to.
The clouds parted around the moon, the space around the two boys illuminating with the light that came from it, and Chuuya forced his eyes shut. If the night could stay this soft, maybe Chuuya could just pretend it was all a very vivid dream.
“Chuuya’s such a good dog.” Dazai teased, voice unusually hoarse and quiet.
With a scowl, Chuuya retaliated, “shut up, shitty Dazai.” He ignored the fact that his voice didn’t hold as much anger as he was going for. Chuuya tightened his hands on Dazai’s arms and cleared his throat.
Chuuya wondered if they were sent on the mission for any particular reason, considering the fact that they had been waiting for at least two hours and nothing had come from it. The pair had arrived at the location at 11PM, it must’ve been the early hours of the morning by now.
They weren’t wearing their normal work clothes; the stakeout was a last minute plan — Chuuya barely had time to throw on his shoes. As a result, Chuuya ended up making his way to the mission in simple jeans, a black shirt and a jacket. Not very appropriate for the weather, he now realised. Dazai was wearing a baggy shirt and pants, it was a wonder he wasn’t freezing to death.
Everything still buzzed: the air, the ground beneath them, even Dazai’s touch. It was like being suspended somewhere between whatever the hell they were doing and sleep.
They stayed like that for longer than Chuuya would like to admit, his forehead resting on his partner’s shoulder, Dazai’s thumbs rubbing over Chuuya’s clothes. Slowly, Chuuya’s body had warmed up under the uncharacteristically gentle touch.
Dazai patted Chuuya twice on the back and pulled away from him, the rush of cold washing over Chuuya bitterly. A scowl formed on his face as he followed Dazai’s movements, raising an eyebrow. The other brushed a fleeting kiss on Chuuya’s cheek, who sighed.
“You don’t have to keep doing that,” Chuuya complained, his body leaning into the touch traitorously. That idiot was acting like they were dating or something, gross.
“We’ve been here long enough, nothing’s happened,” Dazai stated, switching the subject, “come on, let’s go grab something to eat, I’m starving!” How could Dazai act so casually after they did something like that? Dazai perplexed Chuuya more and more each day. However, Chuuya’s own stomach growled at the idea of food.
Eventually, Chuuya pushed himself off of Dazai with a grunt, shuddering at the sudden lack of body heat. With more force than necessary, he tugged his gloves back on and lazily brushed any dust off his pants. A dramatic yawn came from Dazai as he stood up and stretched, complaining about how Chuuya had made his legs go dead. Leave it to Dazai to ruin a moment like that with his childish complaints.
And if Dazai snuck a kiss or two whilst they were eating on a random bench outside? Well, Chuuya could just blame that on the weed, too.