Work Text:
Chuuya knows that drinking like this isn’t good, but it’s hard to have the will to do anything when the very material of his life has been permanently altered. Dazai’s body is to be lowered into the ground, his life taken not by Chuuya’s own hands, but by the hands of another. A fucking rat who he never even got to kill with his own hands because Dazai gave his life to kill the Russian fucker!
The stem of the wine glass he’s holding shatters, sending the base into his lap and the bowl turning in the air, spilling the red wine on anyone too close. Chuuya disregards the red liquid that stains his grey vest and white shirt, the past of getting blood and other grime worse than wine on it numbing him to stainage, until he does that is.
Because he realises with a daunting clarity that everytime his clothes have been stained from wine, it was never him who cleaned it. It was Osamu. When he had first joined, having the actual chance to have proper alcohol with consideration for taste, not the cheap cans of beer and sake the other kids like Shirase and Yuan would insist on occasionally stealing to experiment, he had never known how to handle himself. Whenever he had gotten drunk, back then up until his very last breath, Osamu would gently take his hand and take care of him. Would make sure he was in more comfortable clothes, operate the washing machine and wash his clothes, ensuring no stains remained. Even when he had defected, the first morning after Chuuya had found out and drank until he passed out at his kitchen table, he found himself in his bed with the clothes he had drunk himself sick in drying clean as usual and a glass of water ready in the kitchen as if he would ever be that pre-prepared, as if Osamu wanted to be kind without revealing his presence too much.
So now, when his presence can’t even be subtle because it will never exist, Chuuya still feels the shadow of the man who believed himself a demon instead of human looming over his shoulder, imagines the gloved hand of a man whose close to retirement and riddled with the maturity of a veteran in their gruesome line of work to be the bandaged hand of one who had a maturity boundless and terrifying hidden behind the facade of a childish nature he never truly had in his youth. Imagines the hand that places itself on his shoulder, for a second, is his sworn partner’s and not the man who saw their love story rise and fall in real time with the realest and most unbiased perspective of them all. Hirotsu doesn’t say anything as he takes the seat next to Chuuya that had been vacated, brushing any small remaining shards of glass off of Chuuya’s clothes, and Chuuya realises that in his somewhat catatonic state as his mind had crescendoed, the bar keeper had cleaned up the space around him.
“Chuuya-san. I would like to take you to my home tonight, I would like to ensure your care is adequately handled as I am well aware how incredibly disquieting this can be.” Chuuya doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move, doesn’t even move his eyes to look at Hirotsu through his peripheral vision. He rationally knows that this isn’t pity, nor is there any malicious intent from Hirotsu, but emotion flares in his mind with more impulsivity than Arahabaki. He doesn’t lash out though, because the glacial set of ice that Osamy had always lysed his cells with seems to settle in his blood, tranquilising Arahabaki and the mere feeling of it seems to be Osamu’s way of placating him beyond the grave. And it reminds him that Hirotsu isn’t entirely doing this out of selflessness, it’s also his way of mourning Dazai. He had always sworn that the day Osamu died, he would destroy the world with him, or at least let himself die too by Arahabaki. But somewhere along the line, Osamu had made a plan to ensure he never could commit such an act such as lover’s suicide.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
The battlefield was bloody, maybe not quite as bloody as most others but any bit of hardness and composure that Chuuya had gained over the years had been ripped out because the bloody corpses weren’t nameless and faceless enemies, the enemies were people who did matter in his life, who he knew the names and faces of, even if they were still enemies. And every person he loves was bleeding. And as he got into fighting, no time to rush over and check on others, he found himself engulfed with the winding spindles that wrapped themselves around his skin as the familiar searing heat of corruption took over his consciousness.
And he doesn’t know when, but when he’s back in his body, it’s with Osamu’s crumpled body at his feet, his skull cracked and blood gushing from his head, and yet even in this state he’s more focused on keeping his hand on the skin of Chuuya’s he had exposed as to not permit him. And even as Chuuya fell to his knees, ripping the ribbon off of his hat and using it to try and stifle the bleeding, disregarding any sentimentality for the hat’s design as he focuses on trying to save the one man who’s shown him the beauty of true, genuine love that even he can experience.
“Chuuya.” Osamu’s voice had spoken up, weak and everything not him, he looks up with a smile.
“No, Osamu! Stay awake!” Chuuya rushes out in panic, his breathing quick and ragged from the adrenaline in his body spiked in his panic.
“Chuuya, say you’ll live for me, won’t you?” He pleads quietly, and Chuuya’s body freezes over with a mix of glaciers and molten lava.
“No, don’t ask that of me, you’re not dying here Osamu.” He urges, pleads, but he knows that his begging isn’t changing the fact that Osamu has lost a dreadful amount of blood and even as a stressed out Yosano has been trying to save him.
“Please, promise me you will.” Osamu begs, the light in his eyes fading and Chuuya can hear as his heart slows. And so he surrenders, reluctantly, but for Osamu.
“I will, you can sleep well now, Osamu. Fyodor’s gone, we’re safe.” He whispers, and he presses a soft kiss to Osamu’s forehead as he feels Osamu’s final breath slip. And he holds himself there, his lips pressed to Osamu’s forehead and their hands intertwined, even as his body starts to shake. He doesn’t activate corruption, can’t because he wants to hold onto this. And when he eventually lifts his head, he takes Osamu’s up enough to lay it on his lap, brushing his hand over the front strands that haven’t been maimed with blood.
“I hope you have fun seeing Odasaku again, he’s been waiting a while, hasn’t he? But you weren’t supposed to meet him this way, you promised me.” Chuuya whispers to his lover, his body trembling and his eyes watering, but he needs this. He hates to hold yet another loved one’s corpse like this, but he needs this.
“Say hi to the flags for me, won’t you? Tell Albatross that his precious bike is in our garage, tell Lippman we watch his movies every week, and tell him how you mimicked his style during that whole Dead Apple stunt.” He snorts through tears, “Tell Doc thank you for teaching me to overcome my fear of medical facilities and for showing you not all doctors are Mori. Tell Iceman thank you for teaching me all he did, and Piano man for being the best leader I could have asked for. And wait for me, I’ll be with you as soon as you let me, but be patient with me please.” He smiles sadly, holds him there as he looks up at the small crowd around him.
“Kids, do you want to say anything?” He asks gently and both Akutagawa and Atsushi fall to their knees in front of him. “Take your time, it’s okay if you can’t say anything yet and it’s okay if you haven’t processed it just yet.” He comforts quietly, not reaching out to them physically, so as to not dirty their faces with blood. The last few minutes had felt so quick and slow that even to Chuuya, a man nearly in his 30’s, it’s been jarring. So to Ryuunosuke and Atsushi, this is beyond even that. And it’s Atsushi that speaks first.
“Dazai-san, I am forever indebted to you as my mentor.” Atsushi’s voice is wavering as he speaks, but he pushes forward. “When I first met you, I thought that you’d throw me away like every other adult in my life had. Instead you saw I was hungry and got me food, waiting until I had eaten all I wanted so patiently, and gave me a place to stay and a job. I am forever indebted to you for giving me a new opportunity in which I get to help kids like me who suffered, for your constant protection of me and the way you taught me what love can look like. Thank you for everything, Dazai-san.” Atsushi’s goodbye is short but succinct, filled with tears and Chuuya’s heart breaks as he is reminded of how important Osamu still was, maybe not the one he loved, but the one who most people saw was so beloved. He pauses, takes a watery inhale before he bows one last time to his mentor.
“Dazai-san.” Ryuunosuke speaks up, his body collapsing in itself visually in a way Chuuya had never seen it do. “I cannot thank you enough for all that you have taught me, and for giving Gin and I a safe place to stay and a way to stay alive. You were the best mentor and I hope to do enough for you to finally recognize me.” He bows just as Atsushi had done, his forehead indenting the ground and his body trembling, but when he rises, his face stays rigid where his body doesn’t.
And Chuuya holds him as he watches the once previously still healthy skin start to develop livor mortis as the blood pools to where Chuuya’s holding him and the back of his body, the colour in his skin gone and his skin cold, colder than it had ever been whenever Chuuya held him. It’s that daunting realisation that makes him realise all he’s lost, and when Koyou finally pulls him away, his limbs feel heavy.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
Koyou makes sure to drop him at his apartment, staying for an hour before she finally leaves with some caution and weariness. It doesn’t take long before he too is leaving the apartment, opting to go to the one place that he can feel a semblance of Osamu without having to confront the reality of the now empty house and the hole in his heart. Which led him to Hirotsu now ushering him away.
When they arrive at Hirotsu’s house, it’s like entering a different world. Hirotsu’s house is bright in all the ways even Chuuya’s apartment with Dazai’s wasn’t. Instead of the dark dreariness the man seems to exude with his maturity, it’s covered with photos, plushies, child’s drawings, painting, and overall the house is full of so much light that Chuuya has to especially recalibrate in his intoxicated state, the jarring difference actually sobering him a little.
He looks at the photos, and one catches his eyes. Hirotsu isn’t in it, but Dazai and Chuuya are. They’re fifteen from what Chuuya can tell, and it’s taken from far away. Chuuya seems to be ranting about something, his wrists showing in the way he’s turned his hands and the cup of bubble tea in one sloshing around. His eyes are looking slightly upwards as he recalls, his mouth open and his eyebrows furrowed in a way that he’s talking about whatever with a hint of displeasure. Beside him, Dazai is looking at him with fondness, and Chuuya grows aware of the fact that since he had gotten so used to seeing that face on Osamu, he wasn’t used to seeing it develop. Because there, clear as day, is the moment when Osamu seems to realise he’s in love, his eyes widening as they swirl with fondness, his eyes bright and he face reddening as Chuuya speaks, oblivious.
Even then, back then, their love was so plainly obvious.
“When did you know?” Chuuya asks, his words slurring to make it all seem like a single word but Hirotsu understands him well enough.
“As soon as I met you. I’ve never seen Dazai-kun so taken by someone,and it was confirmed very quickly.” Hirotsu answers simply, not needing further clarification of Chuuya’s question. “Go sleep, Chuuya-kun.” He instructs gently, guiding Chuuya to a bed and it’s shameful to think how quickly he knocks out, unable to even change out of his disgusting uniform to at least pay respect to his host, but Hirotsu doesn’t seem to mind.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
Chuuya is on edge as soon as he gains enough consciousness to process the difference between slumber and reality, sitting up straight as his hands itch to control gravity, eyes searching for the familiar lean-muscles of arms normally latching onto him for as long as possible. And it’s while he’s looking that the recollection of cold skin, pale and lifeless brown eyes.
“Osamu.” He whispers as he sits straight, no longer turning, curling his legs closer into his chest and pulling the blanket that was draped over him closer. And for the first time in his life, he can’t explain the feelings in his chest, the denial in his heart despite the ability to so vividly recall the feeling of cold skin.
He doesn’t move, even when Hirotsu enters and hands him breakfast, comfortable in a sweater and his hands firm on Chuuya’s shoulder, even when Koyou visits him and begs him to change out of the clothes he’s in, the blood stained outfit he had convinced her he would change out of last night but he didn’t end up doing. And Koyou, despite everything stays.
She crouches next to Chuuya, in his catatonic state, her knees on the uncomfortable ground as she folds her arms on the edge of the western bed, her chin resting on it as she looks up at Chuuya.
“When I lost my lover, it broke me.” She says simply. She doesn’t try to say she understands, doesn’t talk about her feelings, makes a simple sentence, reaffirms Chuuya’s existence. It’s simple, but effective. Chuuya’s listened to so many people apologise for him and his grief, and while he appreciates it, it’s not the same. But Koyou? She’s just there, honest and present. “I wanted to flee the darkness so badly, but right when I nearly did, I saw that life crumble in my arms. And I remember seeing that in you and Dazai, and I hated it. Because I knew that you were too good for here, and he would chain you down.” Chuuya finally moves, shifts so the side of his face rests on the mountains of his knees, looks at her and she smiles a small smile at him. The sunlight that flutters in, that shows the softness of everything including Koyou’s soft pink yukata made for a simple day out rather than bloodshed, and it’s so unlike the reality of his life now. It’s overwhelming how such a simple thing makes him feel so much grief whilst comforting him.
“He got out of the dark, the one child who I believed would be the least likely. He did what I had always thought was impossible, but only because he was so powerful. And it terrified me, but more so that he left you so easily.”
“He didn’t. He came to me that night.” Chuuya speaks up, and his voice is slightly hoarse from having just woken up, but Koyou doesn’t mind as she looks at him patiently, not forcing him to speak until he’s fully ready. “I remember so vividly how pitiful he looked. Drenched from the rain, I would have teased him for looking like a drowned rat if I hadn’t seen that look on his face, the one that made me realise he had seen oh so many horrors in a night.” He recalls with a level of sadness and fondness. “Told me nothing but that we had to get married, and while I knew that maybe something had happened and it wasn’t the best idea, I still said yes. I knew, even back then, that I wanted my everything to be with him.” He recalls with a fond smile, tears clinging to his bottom eyelashes, a flowerbed of tears to frame the entry into those mystical eyes. “I will never regret that, marrying him. Even if it was in the night, with some random drunkard, he’s- he was the love of my life.”
He starts sobbing at the last words, his heart stuttering as it slams against his ribs, making breath hard as his shoulder jolt violently. But Koyou is patient. Simply places a hand on the one he’s placed on the bed.
“You know very well how hard grief is, but it’s different when you love someone. And I promise you, you’re not alone. I will be here, the entire time.” She promises, doesn’t say more, doesn’t push for more contact, simply utters the words for the wind to carry, and lets the weight of them sit between them. Sits by him the entire time, there as he bawls and wails, until he quiets down after hours, present throughout. She doesn’t make him speak or listen, but stays by his side the entire night, and as many nights after as she can.
And Hirotsu doesn’t push for Chuuya to move, to leave, simply enters to deliver meals, stands for a few moments in case Chuuya ever wishes to say anything then simply say a few words. Lets him stay even as the world turns, because Chuuya’s life has lost such an integral part and he needs to learn how to cope with that fact.
Mori tries to see him, Chuuya is told, but is stopped just as quickly by Elise. Elise doesn’t see him, but flowers of Dazai’s favourite kind, forget me nots, find themselves to him every day.
It’s when the planning for Dazai’s cremation is to be finalised that he’s finally visited by the Armed Detective Agency, they don’t support him emotionally but rather provide their solidarity and stories. They treat the grief as equal, as a shared event. Chuuya notices how much of Osamu has stuck in Atsushi without him realising.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
The night after Osamu’s cremation is the first time Chuuya steps into their apartment, now his. And he notices a large book where it hadn’t been previously. He steps towards it cautiously, and his hands freeze where they go to graze the cover.
No Longer Human by Dazai Osamu. Named after his ability, a set of three journals. A post-it note sits at the front.
“To my dearest chibi, I have been eagerly anticipating sharing this with you so I’ve requested for Rampo-san to hold onto it for the time being as he and Poe-san are the only to be aware of this. It shall be published soon, but I would most like for you to be my first reader. After all, the book is for you, the person who made me realise my humanity, my most-human chibi.
Osamu”
Chuuya falls to his knees there, a loud ‘dhum!’ as his gravity makes him heavier and he cries. Sobs as his hand stays on the book, confirming it’s real. The grief comes back again as expected, but it feels rawer, how his husband hadn’t planned to die, had actually been excited to share a milestone with him. Smiles at the photo in the back of the book of Osamu, a photo Chuuya had as his wallpaper. The book tears his heart apart while putting it back together.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
He leaves the Port Mafia to publish it, choosing to leave all he had once done and honour Dazai’s legacy. Mori may be upset but Koyou looks ready to kill him if he says something, and smiles encouragingly.
And as he looks out the window, he smiles. The book has record sales, and he started writing a french translation to sell after he fully assimilated to living in France.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
Osamu turns to his side, his head resting on his hand as his arm forms a triangle to support it. Chuuya turns over to look at him, smiling lazily at his husband who’s abandoned his bandages for Chuuya’s t-shirt and his reading glasses, his book closed on his bedside table as he looks up at Chuuya with loving eyes. Chuuya closes his own books with a bookmark, putting it to the side as Osamu speaks.
“What if we left our jobs, moved to France?” Osamu probes, a cheeky grin on his face as he suggests it and Chuuya smiles as if it isn’t simply theoretical.
“Where would we go? And you don’t even know much French, Mon Cherie.” Chuuya asks with a raised eyebrow.
“I do! Verlaine taught me, and besides, I can always learn more.” He explains and Chuuya smiles lovingly, no doubt in his mind that his husband’s brilliance would absolutely allow that. “And anywhere really, Paris,” Chuuya snorts at the accentuated french accent blending with the Japanese pronunciation, "Versailles, Lyon. Anywhere really, as long as I’m with you.”
“You’ll get bored.” Chuuya remarks and Osamu just grins as he moves towards him, laying a long arm around Chuuya’s stomach as he tucks the edge of his nose and the curves of his lips in the arc from Chuuya’s neck to his collar.
“But I’ll have you, and we can have a family, explore, we might even open up a patisserie.” He suggests, his breath hot on Chuuya’s skin, and Chuuya just rolls his eyes fondly.
“Whatever, dork, sure, we can move to France.”