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I. First Confession — The Rooftop Bar Incident
They are on top of the cheap rooftop bar the Agency dragged them to—neutral territory, Kunikida had insisted, as though that ever meant anything when it came to Dazai and Chuuya.
Chuuya is drunk. Not tipsy. Not “I can still walk.”
He is at the stage where gravity is optional and dignity is dead.
Dazai lounges beside him, long limbs draped over two chairs like a bored cat. The city breeze ruffles his hair, making him look softer than any living mafia executive should.
Chuuya takes a swig of whiskey, sways, then looks at Dazai like he’s solving a math equation he’s definitely going to fail.
“Hey… Dazai.”
“Hm?”
“You ever notice… your face?”
“My face?” Dazai repeats carefully.
“Yeah,” Chuuya says, squinting hard. “It’s… it’s stupid.”
He gestures vaguely. “Stupidly pretty.”
Dazai blinks. He actually blinks. “Pretty?”
“Mmm,” Chuuya nods enthusiastically, then pokes Dazai’s cheek. “Pretty. Beautiful. Like… like you’re carved outta moonlight.”
Dazai actually freezes. For once, the man who talks like breathing has no words.
Chuuya leans closer. “Dazai… you’re beautiful.”
And then—because the universe is cruel—Chuuya falls asleep mid-confession, head dropping onto Dazai’s shoulder.
The next morning?
Chuuya wakes up with a hangover from hell and declares:
“If any of you bastards let me drink cheap whiskey again, I’m murdering everyone in this room.”
He remembers nothing.
Dazai just watches him quietly, thumb brushing his shoulder where Chuuya had slept and murmured beautiful, and says nothing.
II. Second Confession — The Elevator Breakdown
They get stuck in an elevator.
Naturally.
Chuuya hits the emergency button with his heel while muttering curses colorful enough to peel paint. Meanwhile, Dazai sits on the floor, bored, twirling a lockpick between his fingers.
“Could you maybe not make this worse?” Dazai sighs.
“I’m claustrophobic!”
“You fought a dragon.”
“DRAGONS ARE OUTSIDE!”
They bicker. They pace. They insult.
And then, after an hour, Chuuya’s patience AND whiskey tolerance evaporate.
He slides down next to Dazai, cheeks flushed from the drink he’d had at the party they were coming from.
“Y’know…” he mutters, barely audible. “If I die in here… there’s somethin’ I gotta say.”
Dazai stills.
“What’s that?”
Chuuya stares straight ahead, eyes unfocused.
“You’re… beautiful.”
The word lands like a dropped stone.
Dazai turns slowly. “Chuuya.”
“To look at, I mean.” Chuuya waves a limp hand. “All symmetrical and big-eyed and tragic. Beautiful.”
He leans his head on Dazai’s knee.
Dazai sits there, frozen, unsure what to do with his hands or breath or heart.
The second the doors open?
Chuuya strides out, stretching.
“Finally! Hell no. I’m never riding elevators again.”
Dazai calls after him:
“You don’t remember what you said?”
“Remember what?” Chuuya frowns.
Dazai almost considers lying.
Almost.
“Nothing.”
III. Third Confession — The Rainstorm Reveal
It’s pouring rain outside the mission building, and they’re both soaked, exhausted, and running on adrenaline.
Chuuya’s drenched hair sticks to his cheeks; he looks younger when it’s not slicked back, softer, vulnerable in a way Dazai sees only in fleeting moments.
They duck under an awning to catch their breath.
Chuuya groans. “I can’t feel my legs.”
“You can lean on me,” Dazai offers lightly.
Chuuya snorts. “Oh yeah? You’d fall over.”
“I would not.”
“You would if I did this.”
Chuuya leans his entire body weight onto him.
Dazai… does not fall.
Chuuya looks up, water dripping down his eyelashes.
“Dazai,” he slurs—yes, slurs. He’d had sake earlier. “Has anyone ever told you… you’re beautiful in the rain?”
Dazai’s breath catches.
“Chuuya—”
“You look like an angel,” he continues sincerely. “Or maybe a ghost. But a pretty ghost.”
“You’re drunk.”
“So?” Chuuya challenges. “You stop being beautiful when I’m sober?”
Dazai’s heart skips.
But then Chuuya sneezes, swears loudly, and everything resets.
By morning?
Chuuya says:
“Why is my hair wet in this photo? Did it rain last night?”
Dazai quietly sets his phone face down.
IV. Fourth Confession — The Apartment Disaster
Chuuya shows up at Dazai’s door at 1:13 a.m.
Drunk.
Very drunk.
He smells like good wine and bad decisions.
Dazai opens the door with a sigh. “If you drunk-dialed me once, that’d be one thing. But you drunk-walked here.”
“Shut up,” Chuuya mumbles as he pushes past him. "I needed—something.”
“What? A babysitter?”
“A beautiful babysitter.”
Dazai chokes.
Chuuya turns, cheeks bright red, eyes glassy and earnest.
“You’re beautiful,” he says again. “Beautiful in a way that pisses me off.”
Dazai’s breath stutters. “Chuuya…”
“And I keep telling you that!” Chuuya throws his hands up. “But you never listen!”
“I listened every time,” Dazai whispers.
But Chuuya is already slumped on the couch, asleep, wine bottle rolling out of his hand.
When he wakes up?
He sees the blanket over him. The glass of water. The note on the table.
He frowns. “Why the hell does my head hurt?”
Dazai smiles tightly. “Long night.”
He does not mention the words Chuuya repeats in his sleep:
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
V. The Fifth Time — The Sober One
Chuuya shows up one afternoon—not drunk, not angry.
Just… tense.
Hands in pockets.
Jaw set.
Eyes fixed anywhere but Dazai’s face.
“Hey,” he mutters.
“Hey,” Dazai replies cautiously.
“Listen.” Chuuya rubs the back of his neck. “I… uh… Mori told me something yesterday.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He said I keep showing up at your place drunk. Confessing.”
Silence.
Dazai looks away.
Chuuya swallows. Hard.
“So I wanna clear something up.”
Dazai braces himself.
Chuuya steps closer.
Then closer.
Then so close Dazai can smell the faint scent of his cologne and see the way his eyelashes tremble.
“Dazai,” Chuuya says quietly. “I was sober when I said it last night.”
Dazai blinks. “Sober?”
“I remembered every word.”
A breath.
“And I meant it.”
Chuuya reaches up, brushing Dazai’s cheek with hesitant fingers.
“I think you’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “One of the most beautiful people in the world.”
Dazai swallows.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do.” Chuuya steps even closer. “You are very beautiful.”
Dazai’s eyes flick up, startled, vulnerable.
“I hate to interrupt,” he says weakly. “But have you maybe… ever looked in a mirror?”
Chuuya blinks. Then the realisation hits.
He bursts into loud, unrestrained laughter.
“Shut up,” he says, still laughing.
Dazai watches him, stunned and soft.
And then Chuuya’s laughter fades. He looks directly into Dazai’s eyes—no alcohol, no haze, no excuses.
“And I’m sober,” he says firmly. “So you’re not getting out of this one.”
Dazai’s breath trembles.
Chuuya leans in, whispering:
“So what’re you gonna do about it?”
Dazai kisses him.
Slow.
Deep.
Gentle.
Like he’s been waiting through four confessions and countless lifetimes.
When they finally break apart, Dazai murmurs:
“Chuuya.”
“Mhm?”
“Just so you know…”
He cups Chuuya’s jaw delicately.
“…I always remembered.”
Chuuya’s face heats. “Shut up.”
Dazai laughs quietly. “Make me.”
So Chuuya does.