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Two weeks after Dazai left the Port Mafia, the flowers started coming. Interrupted while opening a bottle to celebrate the departure of his least-favourite annoyance, there was a knock on the apartment door. He blinks, peering up from his position slumped against the counter and sliding off the barstool. Kouyou had already given him three weeks off (excessive, in his opinion. He really didn’t need three weeks to stew in his feelings) with explicit instructions he wasn’t to be bothered, so who-
The barstool almost crashes to the floor in his haste to make it to the door. He wrenches it open, breathing hard and scanning the dark corridor, painfully hoping for a glimpse of his partner- ex-partner.
“Dazai-...?”
The corridor is empty.
Chuuya feels his breath hitch, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, gritting his teeth and forcing down the tears that threaten to well up. He’s not going to cry over this, he won’t.
Holding back a sob, he turns to make his way back to his wine, but falters when his foot knocks against something on the ground. Visceral hope reignites in his chest (no matter what his judgment screams at him) as he reaches down with shaking hands, bereft their usual gloves, to inspect it. A package? A reasonably large cardboard box, left outside his door. Chuuya chews his lip as he hoists it up and inside to examine in the light. The slide of cardboard against the marble countertop is loud in the stark silence of his apartment. Forgetting his wine in favour of the box, Chuuya splits the tape gently with a nail and peels back the cardboard, perplexed by the sight before him.
Flowers. His heart sinks. It’s probably from some misguided subordinate consoling him for his ‘loss’.
Bile creeps up his throat and suddenly he can’t bear to look at the flowers a second longer, yanking them out the box and sending them skidding across the counter. Stray petals spilling all across his haphazard pile of dirty dishes, it's a pitiful sight (Dazai would surely laugh), but Chuuya barely notices. His attention now affixed entirely to what remains at the bottom of the box.
A small card... And a book on flower language.
It’s so Dazai, Chuuya nearly sobs aloud.
He pulls out the simple white card, featuring his name in messy scrawl. This is it. His last message from Dazai (His number’s already disconnected, he's checked too many times). The goodbye he’d despaired at not receiving, but holding it now in his hands he struggles to find the will to open it. This can’t be the last thing he ever receives from Dazai, the last thing Dazai ever says to him. It can’t.
He puts the card back in the box, reaching for the book instead. A new copy, price tag still stuck beneath the barcode. Dazai likely intended a message with the flowers he sent, then, something he couldn't write in the card. Maybe it’s… not a goodbye? Chuuya tries to quash the hope… burning fills his chest regardless.
Chuuya had been angry, at first, when Dazai had disappeared from the organisation without a word. Then the anguish had hit. The first few days were fuzzy - all he knows is that it ended with his apartment trashed, his wine collection half smashed and himself sobbing into Ane-san’s chest. The days after felt empty, Chuuya’s consciousness taking a backseat in his brain while his body went through motions of the days. It reminded him frighteningly of Corruption, except there was no cool touch to bring him back from the brink of destruction anymore. (No lap to pretend he hadn’t laid his head in- No fingers carding through his hair to pretend he hadn’t felt- No-)
He takes a deep breath, forcing the - previously unnoticed - bouncing in his leg to still. His hands wring together tightly before he reaches for the flowers, gathering up each petal gently. If this is his last contact with Dazai, he’s treasuring every piece (he always had - treasured every piece of him Chuuya was allowed to hold).
He cradles one of the fallen flowers in his hand and begins flipping through the book slowly. Chuuya doesn’t know much about flowers or flower language, other than roses mean love or something - he almost snorts at the thought of Dazai sending him a rose. It would be funny; he’d probably be all dramatic about it, get down on one knee, flower in his mouth and everything, and Chuuya would be made to patch up his split lip later while he’d whine about the thorns…
The flower in his hands isn’t a rose - it's pink, petals oval-shaped and tapering as they stretch down into the flower, with a small point at each tip. The middle is darker, almost red, fading into light pink at the edges. He thumbs each page of the book, holding the flower to every one featuring pink, comparing them intently.
Cyclamen - Resignation, diffidence, goodbye.
Well. That seems pretty clear already. This is a goodbye message… (What’s in the card, then?)
He tucks the cyclamen back in with the flowers and pulls out the next, resolving to, at least, decode the rest of the message. Chuuya searches again, looking for an image that matches the bundle of bright, rounded-edge flowers he's been given. A variety of colours - reds, pinks, yellows, oranges - all arranged in the same explosion of petals from the center.
Zinnia - Thoughts of absent friends, lasting affection.
Chuuya winces, he’d heard about what happened. Oda Sakunosuke, killed in conflict with Mimic. Dazai’s best friend. (Chuuya had once envied that title. He wasn’t so sure anymore.) He’d had a hunch that was why he’d left, but nonetheless it still hurt. It hurt that the death of a friend was all it took to rip him away from Chuuya.
He… He supposes this could also refer to himself. Chuuya’s absent from Dazai’s life too, now. He creases the page with his thumbnail under the words.
“Lasting affection…”
Chuuya dismisses the thought quickly. Turning his attention to the last few flowers, he closes the book. He knows what these mean.
Spider lilies. One for Oda. Five stripped petals for his kids.
One for Dazai, stem snapped with a small strip of bandage wrapped around it. I won’t kill myself.
Relief knocks the air out of his lungs, pressing the stem to his chest like the flower was what he’d breathe instead. He’s alive. That had been obvious from the moment he saw the book. This, though, is a promise for the future, and he hadn’t realized he needed it until it was close to his heart. This is hope.
His hands tremble slightly as he picks up the card, finally able to open it. Inside, he finds a simple message. A PO box address, signed Mackerel.
Cyclamen, Zinnia, Spider lily
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chuuya has never felt so out of place before, wandering cluelessly around a flower shop. And that's saying something, considering the years he spent on the streets. He’s brought the book with him, struggling to think of a way to reply to Dazai’s strangely sincere message with fucking flowers.
Couldn't he have chosen any other way to communicate!? Familiar irritation roils in his chest, but it's swamped beneath the overwhelming relief and fondness.
Flowers are just… so awkward. Leave it to Dazai to find a way to annoy Chuuya after leaving the damn mafia. Chuuya’s never even given anyone flowers before! Let alone his part- ex-partner.
He flips through the book frustrated, scanning for the first flower he can use to insult Dazai. Aha!
Columbine - Foolishness, folly, devoted love.
Chuuya grabs a handful of the purple-white flowers, noting they almost look like a jester’s hat. Fitting.
He goes back to fumbling through pages and settles on daisies - Loyal love, I’ll never tell - and blue salvia - I think of you. It’s a simple enough message, he just hopes Dazai doesn’t read too much into it… Ugh, what is he thinking- of course he will. Next thing he knows, it'll be roses in the mail and dramatic love confessions via haiku. Chuuya staunchly ignores the burning in his cheeks.
(It’s not like it matters now, anyway.)
He gathers his columbines and daisies and blue salvias in a bunch - it's quite a pretty bundle if one pauses to think about it. He’s not thinking about it.
The shop lady? Clerk? Whatever flower salespeople are called - the young woman, probably only around fourteen, pretty in the gentle sort of way that takes a moment to notice, smiles warmly at him as he lays the flowers against the counter. Against his will, he can feel his face flush. When she giggles, his cheeks just get hotter.
“Got someone special you're giving these too?”
Chuuya shrugs, scratching the back of his neck nervously. Is Dazai special to him? “Uh, something like that, I guess…”
He pays and leaves as quickly as possible, escaping into the outdoor cafe. Posting the package is no less awkward- and honestly! He’s gone undercover plenty of times. He should be able to post a stupid package without losing his cool.
Mentally cursing Dazai for putting him through this damn overcomplicated bullshit, he sends it regardless.
Daisy, Columbine, Blue Salvia
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chuuya has made a mistake. He'd clearly underestimated the lengths Dazai would go to annoy him. The smoke from the smoldering wreck of his car billows into the night sky. His eye twitches. Violently. The undamaged bouquet of flowers set against the pavement is the shitty cherry on top of the shitty cake.
He’s half tempted to roast the flowers over the open flames of what used to be his car, but he picks them up, leaving the mess of a burning vehicle to whoever can be bothered to call the police. Once, he would've thrown a message from Dazai away without a thought (especially after a prank), but that was before communication was… limited like this.
His eyes catch on his bike metres away as he turns his back to the flames. Shining in all its magenta glory, untouched.
Chuuya floats back up to his balcony with bated breath, embarrassed to admit how nervously he's been anticipating this. Dazai’s reply. An unwarranted spike of panic rushes through him as he catches himself thinking- What if it’s not from Dazai? What if it's just some random bundle of flowers someone dropped? Or-
He shakes his head as if to physically clear his mind. Be realistic. The fact they were next to his smoldering car points to only one culprit. And if it's not? Then there's nothing he can do about it by fretting. (Not that he knows what he'd do even if he were calm). Dazai’s a flaky bastard, but he’d reached out, and Chuuya had replied. This is new territory. He'll just have to… trust him.
(It leaves a sour taste in his mouth to place his heart in those cruel hands once again. Cruel hands that washed his hair- That stroked his cheeks- That-)
He deposits the bundle of flowers onto the countertop. Kouyou had made him throw out the last bouquet after they started rotting. Chuuya… may have blown a hole in his wall over that, and the outline of new plaster goes steadily ignored now. He’ll just have to make sure these ones last longer. Finally, he takes a long glance at the flowers, preparing to search through the pages for a match.
He pulls out a long, spiky green stick of some plant. It’s… aloe vera? The plant people use to treat sunburn?
“Pff… Idiot.” He doesn’t fight the fond smile that makes itself home on his lips. This is definitely from Dazai. He didn’t even send a whole plant, it's just a bunch of the leaves? Sticks? -Shoved in alongside the flowers.
He flicks through the start of the book, this should be easy to find. Abatina, Acanthus-
Aloe - Affection, Grief.
Chuuya winces as the humor dries up, leaving guilt to claw at him. Harsh nails scraping across his insides, stealing the breath from him. His anguish over the departure of his… of Dazai is comparatively small to what Dazai himself must be going through right now. He wasn't one to build attachments easily, far less let them go. Does Chuuya have any right to miss him? Any right to hate him? (...Any right to long for him back?)
He reaches in for one of the other flowers, fingertips gently sliding through the collection of lavender petals. Little clusters of bell-shaped flowers swirl around the stem in a cylindrical formation. How cruel, to grant him a glimpse into his soul, when he’s so far out of reach.
Hyacinth - Sorrow.
The nails of his hand bite into his palm as he settles the flowers into a vase. Dipping the stems in water, arranging the appropriate amount of space around each one, giving the care and attention intended for Dazai, to what’s left of him.
Can Chuuya really blame Dazai for running, when he’s done it countless times himself? A knife slipped between his ribs and he ran to the mafia. Friends slaughtered before him and he fled to cruel-gentle arms. Harsh words of comfort. Sweet blood on his lips.
He’d always known they were headed for destruction.
Spheres of blue-pink-purple petals are tenderly set in the vase between the hyacinth (he’s not really sure what to do with the aloe-). They blossom out and mingle with each other, a pretty pile of misery.
Hydrangea - gratitude for being understood.
Chuuya’s heart drops into his feet, gravity defying his will to drag his weight down, his insides liquifying and pooling in the bottom of his human facade. He jams his knuckles into his eyes, fighting back what threatens to overflow and sweep him away with the flood. God, he’s an idiot... They're both idiots.
“Yeah….” his voice crackles, raw, “understood.”
Dazai gazed at the inhuman, vile parts of Chuuya's soul and called them beautiful, watched in admiration and awe as Chuuya reigned destruction around them. And Chuuya had cradled the shattered, broken parts of Dazai’s, and held him together when they fell apart - but there's nothing he can do this time. Nothing he can do when Dazai needs him most.
He tucks a sprig of aloe into the vase; it means affection too, doesn’t it? Dazai could have chosen a variety of flowers to convey his grief, and yet he sent ones that also expressed affection. It’s so uncharacteristically sincere. Maybe that's the reason for his wreck of a car, a prank to balance out the vulnerability. The chance he’s given Chuuya to tear into the soft flesh of his heart.
Chuuya lays his cheek against the cool tile of his countertop, gazing at the full vase of flowers. What had he called it before? A pretty pile of misery? It's miserable, sure, but it's gorgeous. A snippet, a glimpse into Dazai’s mind. One that speaks of pain, but also his trust and his care and his… affection for Chuuya.
Maybe that can be enough.
Aloe, Purple Hyacinth, Hydrangea
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It’s not any less awkward entering the flower shop for a second time, especially when Chuuya notices it’s the same teen as last time behind the desk. She waves at him as he walks in, he cringes. She probably thinks he's some lovesick fool sending flowers to his sweetheart or something. (She wouldn’t be far off). Kouyou would scold him for getting angry with a version of someone he’s made up in his head, but hey, Dazai lives in there rent free. He deserves some rightful irritation.
Chuuya’s been reading the book habitually, and has a better understanding of flower meanings now, but he’s brought it with him again anyway. He wouldn't put it past his sleep deprived brain to actually go and send Dazai some sappy message by accident. (Drinks had gotten him out of the house, but jeez Tachihara, now he’s dealing with a killer hangover).
Poppy - Consolation, grief, death.
Logically, Chuuya knows there's a difference between poppies and roses, but they look pretty much the same to him. He picks a few of the red flowers up, it’s the least he can do really, give something for Dazai to lay on Oda’s grave. His friends’ never went without flowers.
Maybe it’s a little cliche, but Chuuya doesn’t think Dazai will be in the mood to tease him about it. He wanders further into the flower shop - it's a quaint little place. Rows and rows filled with flowering plants, seed packets, and basically anything else you would need for plant care. He still finds it a little ridiculous he’s here for Dazai of all people. Gin, or Kouyou, would surely appreciate a nice gift like the flowers he’s splurging on for his asshole partner.
It’s weird to talk to him like this. So much of their dynamic stripped back and peeled away. Sure they were… close, in a way, but they had always relied upon what was said in the gaps between and the significant glances and having each other’s back and… well, it wasn't like this. This open, raw vulnerability.
Chuuya lets his fingers drift over the white cream and yellow petals of a delicate flower. Doming the small petals is an array of spindly fibers, each tipped with pollen. The centre of the flower, a pale cream yellow.
Traveler’s Joy - Rest, safety.
Chuuya’s showing his hand, he’s baring his throat. Dazai, who wields words as viciously as knives could hurl this back at him just as easily as his blade splits skin. He could take Chuuya’s jaw in hand and draw a gentle arc across his windpipe, letting the blood gush out and away into the silence. The words forever caught in Chuuya’s throat, and oh, he would let him, wouldn’t he?
So he continues, tucking the blossoms in between the poppies. Replying to Dazai’s stinging sincerity with his own. An eye for an eye. And here it is, the pinnacle of his stupidity. Cone shaped sprigs of tiny pink petals gathering around and around the stem into a point.
Astilbe - Patience and dedication, “I’ll be waiting for you”.
Chuuya almost smiles a little to himself, a bitter laugh threatening to emerge. He will, he will wait, and he will be waiting for however long it takes Dazai to come back to him. Chuuya will be patient; Dazai has graced him with a side of him no one else has ever gotten to see, and Chuuya knows he will be back. ‘Cause god knows he couldn't stay away from Dazai if he tried. Dazai must find himself feeling similarly to be so dedicated to communicating like this.
He approaches the checkout hesitantly. He does not want to answer any questions about who these are for. The woman smiles at him again and he lays his honestly odd combination of flowers on the counter, resisting the urge to wince. Her expression softens with sympathy as she notices the poppies.
“They’re um- they’re not mine, it's a- a friend's..?” Chuuya stumbles through an unnecessary explanation with as much grace as a flailing bird. “A friend’s friend-” he bites his tongue, sighing, and just forks over the cash.
As he turns to leave, cheeks warming quickly again, the girl catches his eye. “You take care of that special someone, won’t you?”
Chuuya jerks a quick nod, willing the flush on his face to dissipate, and as he flees the shop, he can’t help from thinking if only Dazai would let him.
Poppy, Traveler's Joy, Astilbe
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It’s over a month later when Chuuya discovers the bouquet on his doorstep. He’s as exhausted as he can remember since he first joined the mafia. With Dazai’s defection and Mori’s refusal to appoint a new fifth executive, Chuuya’s workload has gone up significantly, his latest mission debrief lasting into the small hours of the morning. That's why he nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of flowers at his door.
He snatches them up and rushes inside far too quickly for a man who’s meant to be over his partner (he’s fooling himself if he thought he ever was). His coat and hat land in a haphazard pile on the floor instead of their usual dedicated hooks.
Honestly, he’d been afraid Dazai was scared off by his last message. Maybe the astilbe had been too much, too sincere. Maybe Dazai had decided to be an asshat and see how long he'd really wait. (Joke’s on him, it’s a long time, fucker).
He’d played the part of an aggrieved partner well, all the while secretly talking to Dazai. Secretly sending and receiving these floral codes, creeping down to the post office at 3 AM (the staff must think he’s some insane night owl) to slip away from detection. He’d cried, screamed, thrown his feelings across rooms as if it were a physical force, wrought so much havoc and destruction that Kouyou had ended up ordering all lower ranks to avoid him for a month.
Dazai leaving hurt, but now he would take that hurt and wield it savagely, throw it back at everything that had dared touch his partner. Dared take him from him.
The glimpses of Dazai he’d seen spoke of an aching heart in the wake of Oda’s death; Chuuya half-feared what he’d find in the bundle left for him, but was simultaneously bursting with hunger to discover the crumbs left for him.
So, he painstakingly removes the parchment paper concealing the flowers, taking as much care as possible to not damage them (He started drying and pressing the flowers after the second wall incident), fighting back the urge to rip through, get to what’s inside - tear into the flesh within. It peels back to reveal a delicate array of stunning white flowers rimmed in deep pink, large pink globes of petals, all interspersed with gatherings of little blue blossoms.
Chuuya scrambles for the book, feverishly flipping through the pages- he needs-
He finds it. His chest constricts like a great hand wrapping around his throat and chest, squeezing the life from him.
Striped Carnations - Sorry I can’t be with you, wish I could be with you.
He pulls one of the carnations out from the bunch just to make sure, comparing it to the picture in the book. He blinks. Once, twice, thrice- It’s identical, rippled white petals tinged with dark pink.
So then, Dazai wishes he could be with him, and is sorry he can’t. Chuuya is vaguely aware that he's shaking, only having enough wherewithal to avoid crushing the flower. Dazai wants to be with him, regardless of how. He wants to be with Chuuya- He wants to be here by his side- He wants him.
Chuuya takes a shaky breath and lays his head slowly down on the cool marble surface of his counter, a pose he’d grown familiar with (something he could thank Dazai for). He’s not sure how long he stays hidden between his arms, contemplating… Everything. Way to throw a wrench into his understanding of their dynamic, Dazai…
Eventually, he lifts his gaze to fix it on the rest of the flowers, reaching for one of the large pink blossoms. So Dazai wants him. Will this tell him how? (Always a guessing game with his old partner, give and take, push and pull, Chuuya lost trying to navigate Dazai’s fucked methods of communication).
He flops his torso over the counter to drag the book closer, since the bloom doesn’t appear to be one he readily recognises. Dazai never ceases to find new ways to irritate him, even when Chuuya hasn't seen him for months.
Pink Camellia - Longing for you.
Chuuya blinks. He slams the cover shut, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. There’s no way Dazai means that right? He- He sent the wrong flower or- Chuuya’s just found its lookalike- theres… He can’t-
Yanking the book back open, he frantically searches for the blue flowers, the last ones from this batch. The clusters of bright little stars crawling between every crevice of the bouquet. It’s flower language, of course it's going to have romantic connotations- Chuuya’s just taking it all too seriously. Dazai probably just means he misses him or something and- That is also worldview-rocking information.
Chuuya forces his suddenly blurry vision to focus on the page before him.
Forget-me-not - True love memories, do not forget me.
He slams his palms into his burning cheeks, “True love memories!?” His voice comes out high-pitched, incredulous and wobbly, awfully embarrassing despite the solitude of his apartment. He curls into a ball and levitates himself over to his couch, promptly screaming into a pillow.
This cannot be good for his heart, it’s beating a mile a minute and Chuuya unfortunately does not have Dazai’s freakish ability to control it. He rolls over to stare at the ceiling, cushion hugged tight to his chest. God, what does he do now? He has to come up with some sort of response…
Pink Camellia, Striped Carnation, Forget-Me-Not
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is the most excruciating experience Chuuya has ever had, and that’s saying a lot considering he’s an escaped government experiment. He stares at the rows and rows and rows of flowers, cringing to himself. Roses and carnations and camellias- and oh God, he’s gonna throw up.
He hunches in a corner trying to be inconspicuous, only succeeding in drawing more attention to himself. He can hear the florist quietly snickering as she watches. It’s not his fault he’s in this mess! Dazai’s the one who decided to go all- all-
Chuuya shoves his nose in the book, cautiously flipping through the romantic selections of flowers. His heart is beating so fast it’s honestly concerning. Oh if Dazai could see him now- He would lose. His. Shit.
Chuuya caves and goes for an easy one first. Comparatively easy, that is. His stomach still roils at the thought of its meaning. He selects a little sapling of a soft pretty tree, deep green fern smothering every inch of branch.
Arbor Vitae - Live for me, unchanging friendship.
The tree’s a fucking cop-out and he knows it.
He risks a glance at the mocking wall of flowers. They bear down on him like a thousand eyes, a thousand jeering voices, chiding him for falling for Dazai’s schemes again. Again and again like he always has. Offering Dazai his heart, ready for it to be ripped out of him once more.
He can imagine what Kouyou would say when he turns up at her apartment, what Mori would say, finding him slumped in his office, what Hirotsu would say, picking him up from a bar drunk…
“He’s a wretched boy, that one. Really, lad, you must let this go.”
“I do hope this won’t affect your work Chuuya-kun?”
“Nakahara-san… I’ll take you home.”
He shakes himself from his thoughts, finding his teeth biting into the flesh of his knuckles. It won’t go like that this time - Dazai had reached out with an open hand, offering up his heart to Chuuya for once. Finally meeting him in the middle. Chuuya will be damned if he doesn’t reach back.
He pushes himself up from the floor, and before he can back out, grabs two handfuls of beautiful pink and red flowers, globular blooms bunched in his fist together with the long sprigs of spiraled crimson wound together.
Pink Carnation - I’ll never forget you.
And he won’t- And he won’t- He swears it. (He’s not sure he ever could at this point. His fate was sealed the moment he kicked that idiot into that wall.)
Red salvia - Forever mine.
He stares, gaze unfocused at his selection, an almost-manic giggle escaping his lips. Fear grips him tight but so does some kind of wonderful-floating-constricting feeling in his gut- throughout his whole body. Something like giddiness blazes along his veins, thrumming like the deep hum of his ability, all that power at his fingertips.
He suddenly gets why Dazai has always called Corruption beautiful.
Chuuya stalks to the counter with confidence he hasn’t felt since he was dismantling enemy organisations with Dazai at his side. He places the salvia, the carnations and the arbor vitae all on the counter firmly. The young woman meets his eyes knowingly, an almost sly smile stretched across her dainty face. For the first time since he’s started coming here, he’s finally focused enough to read the name tag on the apron thrown over her school uniform - Naomi.
“Good luck, I’m sure he’ll love these.” She winks as she leans over the counter, smiling.
Chuuya’s confidence falters, taken aback, but he manages to throw her a good nature grin as he leaves. Cheeks burning. Again.
Arbor Vitae, Pink Carnation, Red Salvia
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Dazai’s final reply comes quickly, right around the six month anniversary of his defection. Settled neatly on Chuuya’s doorstep, mimicking that very first delivery, is a single flower and envelope. He crouches tentatively, reaching with hesitant shaking hands for the flower. He- He knows this flower. He’d committed more time to the book after being so thoroughly thrown by Dazai’s message last time- And this is-
Gardenia - You’re lovely, secret love.
Accompanied by a small card, written with familiar messy scrawl - 10:30 am tomorrow, Botanical Cafe, Naomi said it’s on the house :) ♡
Chuuya chokes on his laugh, attempting to smother his stupid grin. Tomorrow. He gets to see Dazai tomorrow. Six months of waiting, and suddenly he’s less than 24 hours away. He gathers the flower and card up and hastily unlocks the door, dashing into his apartment. The book is on the counter, as always, and Chuuya quickly flicks through, landing on the page for gardenia. Pictured there is a gorgeous white blossom with dozens of pointy-tipped petals forming a little star around the warm centre of yellow. It’s identical to the one in his hand.
Secret love, huh? Dazai sure knows how to make a dramatic confession, Chuuya can’t help feeling a little cheated it wasn't in person… But hey, that's what tomorrow’s, for right?
He spends the rest of the night dismantling his wardrobe, reading the book from cover to cover and agonizing over every choice of outfit and flower to give Dazai, finally crashing into bed at sometime past two. He stares at his ceiling, struggling to fall asleep with all that’s on his mind.
He can’t help smiling as he drifts into unconscious, realising that Dazai organised all this to fall on his day off.
Gardenia
-
So far, every time Chuuya has thought of something being the most awkward or excruciating or nerve-wracking thing he’s ever done he’s been proven astoundingly wrong, so he refrains from that train of thought as he makes his way to the cafe. It’s a quaint little place, stationed just outside the flower shop he’s been visiting. Cute little deck chairs, benches and umbrellas, surprisingly good coffee and croissants.
He takes a cursory glance around the area before dashing into the shop to find his last flower for Dazai. Naomi is there as always, smiling as she rings up his purchase. It’s a single flower, copying Dazai’s gardenia.
Red carnation - Alas my poor heart, deep love.
“Table six is reserved for you,” she smiles, handing him the flower and shooing him quickly out of the shop. He stumbles into the light of the outdoor cafe, eyes immediately catching on the figure seated at table six. Shoving the flower behind his back, Chuuya makes his way over in a daze.
Dazai stands up. He’s taller - managed to gain another centimeter on Chuuya in the six months he’s been gone. His hair is cut and tidier than Chuuya imagined possible for the bird’s nest. The aura of death and bloodshed that had seemingly always surrounded Dazai while he worked at the Port Mafia has dissipated, replaced by a naive, hopeful glow. His black coat has been swapped for a light tan one, ridiculous blue bolo tie strung round his neck, and most disarming of all… he’s no longer wearing a bandage over his eye.
Chuuya finds himself staring up into deep brown eyes, eager and hopeful, in stark comparison to the dead expression he’d gotten used to. He doesn’t realise until their fingers brush that Dazai is handing something to him, he finally tears his gaze away from his eyes to settle on the flower held out for him.
Red Rose - Love, I love you.
Despite himself, Chuuya finds his eyes welling up, “You- You idiot!” He smacks the carnation into Dazai’s chest, swiping the rose in the same movement. Dazai’s warm laugh rumbles from above him.
“Silly chibi, you know I can’t stay away from you~” It’s said in his usual mocking tone, but Chuuya can hear the nervous quiver underneath, “So… What does Chuuya think?”
Chuuya smiles, stamps on his foot, ignores his yelp, and grips him by the stupid blue gemstone. “I think that you're an idiot, an asshole, the most infuriating man I have ever had the displeasure of meeting, and that you should kiss me right now.”
Dazai squawks as Chuuya yanks him down, finally finding himself melting against him after so long, wound up tightly in each other’s arms. Dazai pulls back stunned, cheeks flushed, the ridiculous dead fish expression glued to his features.
Chuuya elbows him and sits back down at the table, “C’mon bastard, you’re paying.”
fin~
Red Rose, Red Carnation
—----
A few hours later, Chuuya finds himself walking along the streets of Yokohama, his hand in Dazai’s, when he finds himself dropped in favor of ripping a chunk of grass out of the nature strip, Dazai bending over to present it to Chuuya.
“For you, my love!” He announces dramatically. Chuuya feels his face immediately go red. He snatches the clump of grass, smacking Dazai over the head with it and rubbing the dirt into his hair as he whines and protests.
“Stupid! Disgusting! Mackerel!” He yells, dragging the disgruntled fish along the path towards home.
Grass - Homosexual love, submission ;)
