Work Text:
Dazai Osamu had learned from a very young age that he wasn’t quite like anyone else.
Between his mother’s horrified expression and Mori’s cold gaze, he was used to people looking at him like some sort of monster. Like he was something that you’d only read about in literature. Like he wasn't even a person, but an imposter that has a too-wide smile and eyes that lead nowhere.
It’s not like he cared. His job became much easier when people looked at him in raw terror— people became sloppy when they were scared.
And when he met Chuuya? Well… he didn’t know what to think.
The boy was easily the closest thing to a human that Dazai had ever known, and yet…
He was raised in a lab. How could a 5’3 ginger firecracker with no memories prior to the age of 7 manage to somehow remain more human than him?
Truth be told, it all makes his brain hurt. He doesn’t care. Or maybe he does, and he just convinces himself that he doesn’t.
The subject of Dazai’s humanity is something that has never particularly concerned him. More often than not, he was content to be the monster that everyone else knew, to live up to the expectations set by those much older than him.
But sometimes, during nights that swallowed him whole, Dazai occasionally felt like he was drowning. To date, it was the most human he’d ever felt. His suffering was a subject of fascination that he studied the way a child might study a ladybug. He took care of it like a small flame that he hoped would turn into a fire.
And when the flame died out and he felt the nothingness once again, Dazai Osamu wanted to die. What a worthless existence.
As time went on, he began to chase his emotions elsewhere. To cultivate his pain, to feel real, he turned to his blades. The dripping blood and stinging pain made his aching heart feel something other than nothing, and this, he considered a win every single time. He deserved it, didn’t he? Besides, the bandages easily covered up his wounds and acted as a protective barrier between his skin and the outside world.
Dazai didn’t like touching things, nor people.
However, he soon was introduced to another emotion. Something new. Something he still can’t quite identify.
And it happens when he’s around Chuuya.
Chuuya made Dazai feel things that made him sick to his stomach. His bond with him felt simultaneously too strong and not nearly strong enough. He’d die for him in a heartbeat, but he would bleed for him too, and that was worth more.
Corruption.
He knew he was a goner the moment he first witnessed the redhead use his corrupted form. Dazai had smiled. A real, genuine smile. And that too, was not nothing.
Every time since the first time, it had been Dazai to save Chuuya. And that remains true for tonight.
The Port Mafia’s safehouses range from lavish to worn-down, and it’s a little bit embarrassing how much the two never care. Chuuya’s more picky than Dazai, but who’s keeping track?
It had been a long mission. A very, very long mission. Two weeks of stakeouts, sleepless nights, and too many cans of SpaghettiOs. One would think after a mission so long that the boys would be too exhausted to argue, but that had never been true for the both of them.
They stumble into the safehouse—one of the nicer ones, thank god— bickering like children.
“You’re such an asshole, I told you to nullify it faster this time!”
“Maybe if you’d done your job, I would’ve been able to get there quicker, Chuuya.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were incapable of taking out a few goons on your own. Go fuck yourself, Dazai.”
“Such foul language.”
Dazai dumps Chuuya onto the edge of the bed, earning a pained groan, and wanders into the bathroom to turn on the shower. He doesn’t bother turning on the fan, neither of them enjoy seeing their own reflection after a mission like this one.
Rifling through the dresser, Dazai chirps in pleasant surprise. “Look at that, they’ve left us clothes! Let’s make sure to give Mori a big kiss when we get back to HQ.”
Chuuya scoffs. “Shut the hell up, would you? Your voice is earsplitting.”
Grinning, Dazai can’t help himself. “My dearest Chuuya, you’re dramatic. There’s plenty of lovely women out there who enjoy my voice.”
Chuuya sends him a glare. “I can’t even describe how obnoxious you are. Help me up.”
“Terrible manners,” Dazai remarks, sliding an arm under Chuuya’s shoulders and helping him up with uncharacteristic gentleness.
When they get to the bathroom, they slip into the routine that they’ve done so many times before. Dazai helps Chuuya get rid of his torn clothes and helps him into the shower. If they weren’t so hostile on the regular, it would be terribly domestic.
“Hey,” Dazai murmurs after a few moments under the water. “The marks.”
“I know.” Chuuya’s expression softens a little bit. “They get worse every time and I know you know it too. Corruption’s gonna kill me someday.”
Dazai scrunches his nose. “That’s nonsense, I would never let that happen.”
Chuuya scoffs, but there’s no venom behind it. “Whatever you say, Dazai.”
When Chuuya’s all dried off, dressed, and in bed, he seems a little bit more lively. He stretches as he does after every corruption and for a ridiculous amount of time. Long enough for Dazai himself to shower and rewrap his bandages, pointedly avoiding looking in one place for too long.
He smells like shitty hotel shampoo, and he shakes his hair out like a dog without a care. He exits the bathroom and flops down on the bed, sighing heavily. Chuuya glances at him.
“The fuck’s your problem?”
This earns an eye roll from the brunette. “I”m tired, Chuuya. Aren’t I allowed to be tired?”
“Oh, shut up. Keep whining.”
“Keep barking.”
Chuuya considers strangling his partner and only narrowly decides against it. Dazai smiles and sits up beside him.
“There it is. The muzzle.”
With a scowl, Chuuya shoves at his chest before yanking his shirt forward for an angry kiss.
And there it is. Of the many emotions Dazai found in Chuuya, this one was maybe his favorite. The one that made him feel wanted. Chuuya was different from the girls Dazai took home on any given night after going to the bar. Chuuya was something Dazai actually valued, but he refused to say this aloud. If he admitted, even to himself, how much he cared, Chuuya would surely leave. The thing that has always been true is that Dazai loses things that he wants to keep.
So they don’t talk about it. Chuuya’s lips are warm, and his body even warmer, and Dazai’s freezing hands make the boy shiver.
“Asshole,” Chuuya mutters, too soft to be genuinely angry.
Dazai doesn’t protest when Chuuya rolls over and pins him beneath his weight, the brunette’s back hitting the mattress with a soft thud. His legs part for him practically on instinct, which would be embarrassing if either of them were thinking clearly enough to care. Dazai hums softly against his lips, his hands tangling in Chuuya’s damp, rust-colored hair.
Chuuya’s hands roam his body, his touch warm and firm and so good that Dazai’s heart rate skyrockets. Something that he loved about Chuuya is how he made every kiss feel like their last, like he would happily devour him for hours. He was deep and slow and passionate of all things, and Dazai has never been more addicted to anything in his life.
When Chuuya’s strong hands grip his thighs, his breath catches with a pained hitch. His stomach does a frustrated twist when Chuuya breaks the kiss, breathing heavily against his lips.
“What was that?”
Dazai blinks, dazed. “What?”
Chuuya sits back and slides Dazai’s sweatpants down his thighs. Dazai sighs heavily.
Chuuya’s eyes widen, gaze catching on the specks of red staining the bandages. He looks down at Dazai. “You heard me. What is this?”
With a frustrated groan, Dazai yanks his sweats back up and disentangles himself from Chuuya’s form. “It’s nothing, Chuuya. Drop it.”
Chuuya looks almost offended. “What the hell? You’re hurt, dimwit. Just let me see.”
“No.”
A scoff. Chuuya looks like he’s about to shoot back with a scathing comment before his face drops, those electric blue eyes trained on Dazai’s coffee-colored ones. “Hey.”
Dazai bites his cheek. “...what?”
Chuuya blinks, gaze flickering between Dazai’s face and his thighs. “Let me see.”
Dazai exhales through his nose, his eyes emotionless once more. If there’s one thing he doesn’t want Chuuya to see, it’s his pain. It’s too personal, and he needs him too much, and he just can’t-
“I said no, slug. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s nothing, okay?”
Dazai shifts to lay down on the mattress when Chuuya grips his jaw firmly. Shocked, Dazai looks up to find an angry Chuuya looking directly into his eyes. He looks upset.
“Look. I know that you’ve got a lot of fucked up shit going on, but I told you to come to me if it gets bad, because for better or for worse, you’re my partner, Dazai. I refuse to let you hide from me. I can see you, Osamu.”
Dazai completely freezes at that, breath catching. Did he just…? No one had ever called him that. Well, his mother had been the exception, but Dazai had buried the majority of his memories of her years ago. He swallows, mouth suddenly very, very dry.
Chuuya’s gaze is soft, too soft, and he places his hands on Dazai’s hips gently. “Let me, mackerel. Please.”
What the hell is wrong with him? There’s no way that Chuuya can possibly care about him enough for this, let alone trying to help. Dazai nods mutely before he realizes what he’s doing. His heart is pounding out of his chest in something akin to fear, but for some reason, he can’t look away.
Chuuya’s hands are steady as he slowly slides Dazai’s sweatpants off, eyes locked onto him the entire time. Dazai releases an unsteady breath.
Chuuya looks down to unravel the bandages, his care obvious in every motion. The boy’s mouth twitches when the bloodied bandages fall away. “You… oh.”
But he doesn’t look disgusted or revolted, only a little sad. His hands caress Dazai’s thighs gently, his eyes sharpening with that clinical focus he always gets when examining a wound. Dazai’s hands are clenched into tight fists at his sides.
“They’re… I… I can explain. It’s not what it looks like.”
Chuuya looks up, and his eyes are softer than Dazai ever would’ve expected from such a loud and angry person. Who would’ve known that his affection burns just as bright as his fury? “Yes it is, Dazai. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
They both move slowly, afraid to shatter the fragile atmosphere. Dazai feels more exposed than he ever has, the evidence of his pain open to the eyes of the only person he’d ever really cared about in this miserable excuse of a lifetime.
Dazai sits on the toilet lid, uncharacteristically quiet. Chuuya, on the other hand, works diligently as if it were just another Monday. He goes through the motions that Dazai had put off— wash, disinfect, moisturize, bandage. He does this for every angry cut, his touch overwhelmingly gentle.
But what distracts Dazai the most is that the redhead never stops talking. No, he talks about everything and nothing as if trying to give him something to focus on. He talks about some things they did well on the mission, the message he’d forgotten to give Hirotsu, the new choker he’d added to his ever-growing collection.
As much as he hated to say it, it was working. Dazai’s discomfort faded a little bit with every word and every fresh bandage. Not that he found the experience comfortable, but…
It was Chuuya.
Not Mori. Not Odasaku’s curious but unquestioning glance. Chuuya. The only boy who had ever looked Dazai’s misery in the face and forced him to accept his help whether he wanted it or not. It’s an entirely new crest of emotion that Dazai doesn’t currently have the time to unpack.
Chuuya doesn’t comment on Dazai’s silence, simply continuing to yap on about nothing until Dazai’s thighs are wrapped and cared for more properly than he’d ever done himself. Despite the complete gentleness, the sense of shame lingers.
With a start, Dazai realizes that Chuuya’s said something. He shakes his head. “Sorry, what?”
Chuuya’s looking at him, his expression tight with worry but affectionate. “I asked you to look at me.”
“Oh.” Dazai blinks once and looks into the other boy’s eyes.
It’s quiet for several moments, the silence stretching on. It feels like it’s been hours by the time Chuuya speaks in a low murmur. “Let’s go to bed.”
Dazai tilts his head a little, looking for the deceit. He always knows when Chuuya is lying– these are things someone should know about their dog. But he sees no deception in his blue eyes, only raw softness. His shoulders slump a little. “...Okay.”
With tenderness that he doesn’t deserve, Chuuya takes Dazai’s hands in his and helps him stand up as best as he can. They both shuffle to bed, exhausted and eerily quiet. The covers aren’t very soft, but they’re warm, and the two boys find their limbs entangled anyways.
Chuuya wraps his legs around Dazai’s torso and hugs his head to his chest, fingers carding through the brunette’s hair like he were something fragile. Dazai doesn’t put up a fight, simply looping his arms around Chuuya’s waist in return and taking a deep breath.
The moonlight keeps the room dim, and the only sounds are their soft breathing and the ticking of a clock in the next room over.
“Dazai?”
“Yeah.”
A pause. “Why’d you hide it from me?”
Dazai presses his face into Chuuya’s chest because… he doesn’t know. In his soul, he knows that Chuuya is the one person he can entrust with anything, but he can’t shake the fear that Chuuya will someday be disgusted in him. That Chuuya will see just how inhuman Dazai is and discard him like a rotten tomato. He sighs heavily.
“I… thought you’d be disgusted, I guess. Or worried. Worrying is worse.”
“Worse?”
Dazai nods. “Mm. I guess… It's sort of violent, isn’t it? Of course the demon prodigy plays with sharp things in his free time. I didn’t want you to know that I’m not in control all the time. I didn’t want you to see the scars. I’m a mistake.”
Chuuya presses a kiss to his hair. “For the smartest person I know, you’re such an idiot.”
A humorless chuckle. “I know.”
“You’re not a mistake, Osamu. Of course you’re not in control all the time, no one is. You think I punch shit all the time for fun? We all suck at coping. Especially us.”
“You don’t think I’m a monster?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you aren’t.” Chuuya huffs softly. “You’re human, just like me.”
Dazai scoffs. “I’m not a human. I never have been.”
Chuuya’s quiet for a moment before he speaks, quieter this time. “Well… if you’re not human, then neither am I. We’re the same, you see?”
There’s a long pause that makes Dazai contemplate bursting into tears before immediately deciding against it in horror. Instead, he tightens his grip on the redhead. “You’re stupid, Chuuya.”
Chuuya snorts quietly. “So are you, shitty Dazai. Let me bandage those from now on, yeah?”
With a quiet sigh, Dazai nods. “Yeah. Sure.”
He could hear Chuuya’s heartbeat. It was quiet but steady, and for now, it was more than enough. Despite the maelstrom of conflicting emotions within him, Dazai knew one thing: he didn’t want to be a monster. Not with Chuuya.
The thought itself was so desperate that his breath hitched gently. It ripped through him in a way that felt so real it caught him off guard. This world wasn’t meant for him– this was a fact he’d known since he’d known he could remember thinking anything at all.
And yet… he comes to realize that there must have been some part of him lying in wait this whole time. This small part of him dormant until he is given a reason to be real. Dazai feels like he could throw up. How disgusting, the beast come to life through the beauty
This realization alone doesn’t mean he loves Chuuya. Dazai knows that in his heart, there is indeed a part of him that loves and will always love Chuuya. But for now, there’s so much fear, too many unknowns. It’s too much.
So he doesn’t cry. He crushes himself to the boy, but he doesn’t cry. He finds himself relaxing when Chuuya whispers quiet reassurances in the darkness, trading their usual intimacy for another kind. The kind that’s genuine and can’t be brushed off as a moment of stupidity.
“Osamu.”
“Hm?”
“...Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For showing me.”
“Oh.” A small pause. “You’re welcome. It’s only fair; I’ve seen yours.”
“That’s different.”
“Same difference, chibi.”
“Goodnight, mackerel. Don’t regret this in the morning.”
“Goodnight, Chuuya. I won’t.”
Chuuya gently pulls Dazai’s face away from his chest and dips his head down for a breathtaking kiss. It’s nothing special, really, but it’s the first one that wasn’t born from a moment of hunger or need. It was achingly tender, just like Chuuya’s hand on Dazai’s face, and just like the circles that Dazai rubs into Chuuya’s back.
There’s a moment of warm eye contact before they settle in and fall asleep like little kids.
What they are doesn’t have a name, and there’s a good chance it never will. But Dazai falls asleep feeling like a boy and not a machine, and he desperately wants it to stay that way. Doomsday can wait, for his heart beats for Chuuya.
“...No witty commentary?”
“No… I’ll leave this one be.”