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Moonlight poured in from the small window to Dazai’s right.
He could only tell because the floor was wiped in a familiar dull white, his vision in that eye still not its best.
Dazai stood outside of the door to Chuuya’s apartment, movements foreign in his body. He wasn’t sure how this was supposed to go anymore, now that he wasn’t barking cheap orders at a Mafia driver and patching his partner up in a practiced and familiar way.
It had been a little over two years since Chuuya had seen him, but Dazai had seen Chuuya. Unable to truly leave the other out of his sight, it wasn’t like Dazai to disown something he decided to claim ownership of. Dazai watched Chuuya’s failed efforts to find him, the rainy nights and early mornings, purposely throwing Chuuya off his track when he ventured too close to figuring everything out.
To give Chuuya credit, he got close almost every time he found a lead on Dazai’s whereabouts, the only reason for not figuring it out was Dazai’s own interference. It was difficult because Chuuya was, for reasons unbeknownst to Dazai, purposely telling the Port Mafia false information, as if when he found Dazai, he wouldn’t drag him back.
So Dazai stood, unsure, outside of Chuuya’s apartment, small bag in a tremoring hand. His fingerprint used to be in the security system, he wasn’t sure what he’d do if it still was- or wasn’t. He knew he could break into the apartment but it would come with great difficulty, something he wasn’t sure he could bare at the moment. It was comparing the existence of his identity in the fingerprint scanner that held the secret to what he would do.
Dazai brought up his hand and let it hover over the scanner for a moment, staring down at it with an intensity he hadn’t felt in a long while. It wasn’t like him to hesitate so openly, but it was almost one in the morning, nobody was around to see him falter.
Deciding to go through with this, Dazai placed his finger on the scanner, watching as a grey line drew down it. The line eventually turned green and the door unlocked. Dazai quickly pushed it open, knowing Chuuya’s high security system gave only three seconds of the door being unlocked before locking itself again.
He would have stood in the hallway, door ajar, if he wasn’t the man he was. He pushed himself inside quietly, eyes adjusting to the darkness, and turned around the gently shut the door. The noise of the lock reengaging was loud against the unusual stillness of Chuuya’s apartment. Dazai stood in front of the locked door, drinking in his surroundings, completely unmoving.
In the darkness, he could see the same layout he remembered from when Chuuya first bought the apartment, an expensive high-rise that overlooked the city, but high enough for most of the view to be the water bordering the buildings. At first glance, Chuuuya’s apartment was immaculately cleaned, same as it always had been.
There was a small light plugged into a socket near the couch, which gave Dazai something to work with. Chuuya still had two throw-blankets draped over the couch, along with new throw pillows aside from one. Dazai recognized it immediately, its color different than the rest. It was his, something he had brought over when he was sixteen to one of Chuuya’s old apartments. It sat neatly, untouched, in the corner of the couch.
The realization made Dazai’s head fall, noticing Chuuya’s shoes thrown haphazardly in the corner by the door. He turned around slowly to see Chuuya’s coat hanging sloppily off the hook, as if it took immense effort to even get it up there. He was sure it did, take immense effort, as he knew the aftermath of corruption acutely, something Chuuya hadn’t used since Dazai left the mafia.
It left a sour taste in his mouth, but it was not regret. Dazai did not regret leaving the Mafia in the slightest nor did he regret leaving Chuuya. Chuuya needed the Mafia in ways Dazai did not. Dazai had many regrets, many skeletons in the closet that came out to haunt him at all hours of the day, but leaving the Mafia could never be one. Sure, he wished he could have contacted Chuuya when he defected, when he was needing someone with intellect during his time in hiding, but he did not regret the sever in the slightest. It would’ve put Chuuya on the line, more than he already was for Dazai’s own actions.
Disregarding the train of thought, Dazai sucked in a breath as he stepped deeper into the apartment. There was no light coming from Chuuya’s room as he made his way to stand outside of the door. His hand hesitated over the door handle once again, unsteady and unsure if he should even be here.
He opened the door anyway, welcoming and inviting anything his former partner would throw at him for leaving him in that field, bloody and bruised- for leaving him two years ago, bloody and bruised.
Chuuya’s room had changed since the last time he’d been there, save for the furniture adorning it. His black-out curtains were drawn all the way, the only light dancing around the room was from another small lamp, plugged into a socket by the dresser. From that, Dazai could see the new picture frames set atop of the dresser, the bedsheets being a dark red rather than their original blue, the bloody white dress shirt that was hanging limply from the hamper.
It was odd to view Chuuya’s space in this way, one where he wasn’t welcome nor invited. Dazai felt displaced amongst all the things in the room, sitting lifeless around the space.
Chuuya was lying in his bed, pushed to the opposite side in a heap of blankets. It was known to Dazai that Chuuya had extreme body-temperature changes after Corruption. He started hot, unable to cool down his body, oftentimes sitting in an ice bath prepared by his partner. Then, once regulated, his body made an immediate switch to freezing, the type where no amount of layers or blankets could help. It was the temperature change that had caused their relationship to change in nature.
Dazai could hear Chuuya’s chest rattling softly as the blankets rose and fell, backlit by the warm yellow light. He stared on, watching his former partner sleeping off the destructive toll Corruption took on his body.
He wasn’t sure if he’d walk into a post-combat warzone when he arrived. Dazai was almost certain he’d find Chuuya collapsed on the bathroom floor, his expensive blood splattered across the cost-rivaling tiles, holding onto consciousness with everything inside of him. Instead, he seemed to have done right by himself. Dazai wasn’t sure why he ever doubted the innate resilience of Chuuya Nakahara in the first place; getting himself safe was probably the easiest thing Chuuya had done recently.
With Chuuya sleeping, Dazai cracked open the bathroom door attached to the inside of the bedroom. Another plug-in light was on, casting a yellow hue over the sink and bath tub. From there Dazai could see the small spots of blood-splatter Chuuya had failed to clean up. It was on the edges of the bath tub in the shape of a handprint, and in the sink as if it was spit from his mouth.
Dazai sighed and closed the door, allowing it to click gently shut. He turned around to a knife pressing into his throat.
Chuuya’s eyes were distant yet full of fight, dark edges creeping in around the underside. A glint of light flashed over them as Dazai twitched slightly under the knife, causing it to press harder against his throat.
Dazai had never seen something so stunning.
It was a silent battle, staring into each other’s eyes hoping they could come to some sort of understanding. Chuuya should not be out of bed, shouldn’t be awake knowing the toll Corruption took on his body. Yet there he was, minutely pressing the blade further against Dazai’s throat with a blaze of fury in his eyes.
Dazai allowed it, not that he had much choice, but he knew Chuuya would never kill him- and Chuuya knew the same. It was a test of sorts, something to prove who would relent first. Dazai set his gaze hard, eyes unmoving as they fought with Chuuya’s mismatched ones. He breathed out first, relaxing his body into a stance motivated by resignation. Chuuya noticed yet stayed unrelenting in his position of power.
“I brought,” Dazai’s words left him, resigned from the thought of opening his mouth and speaking what they both knew.
Because what did he expect? Dazai felt like a fool for the first time in a long time. He brought a small medical kit, frozen water bottles and a bottle of wine, all things that were once graciously accepted without questioning. Of course his presence now was not wanted, not needed. He felt like an idiot for even attempting. Dazai broke eye contact, giving Chuuya the upperhand he needed.
“Don’t do that.” Chuuya spoke, voice raspy from the cacophony of Corruption.
Dazai flicked his eyes back to meet Chuuya’s, whose were filled with uncertainty. A question of why Dazai relented so easily, gave the power to Chuuya without a watchful eye on his movements.
Slowly, Chuuya removed the knife from Dazai’s throat and placed it on the nightstand next to his bed.
“I brought a med kit, frozen bottles and wine,” Dazai stated, as if he was giving a report, “I didn’t know what I was going to walk into.”
It was honest, concise.
“You shouldn’t have walked into anything.” Chuuya replied, the bite lacking from the words but they still sat harshly in the air.
Dazai had no defense for that. He knew, logically, Chuuya probably didn’t want him to come- but he came anyway and that had to count for something. It was easy, bickering back and forth while tracking Lovecraft, falling back into step on the field, seeing Chuuya take over with his beautiful gift- it was childsplay. Rediscovering the aftermath, the intimacy that came with their partnership behind closed doors felt like a mountain in purgatory Dazai knew he’d never summit.
“I shouldn’t have come.” Dazai replied, deciding Chuuya was okay and did not want him around. He turned and headed for the front door, gripping the bag in his hand tighter.
“No,” Chuuya said, voice loud and sharp, “If you want to kick this rock around, lets fuckin’ do it.”
That stopped Dazai in his tracks, unsure of where to go from there. He paused, not turning around yet, not wanting to see the hatred in Chuuya’s eyes. Instead, he reached his right arm out and dropped the bag on Chuuya’s couch, surprised his depth-perception on that side allowed him to drop the bag right where he wanted to. Dazai took a moment before taking another step towards the door, continuing his departure.
Hearing Chuuya sigh, broken and meant to be secretive, was when Dazai turned around. Chuuya was leaning up against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest in a protective manner, eyes staring straight through Dazai as if he gained all the information he wanted from their short interaction. Dazai could see the pain in Chuuya’s body he was trying to keep hidden, not an emotional pain but a physical one.
“I knew you were tailing me,” Chuuya said, voice holding no accusation, his tone one of reminding someone of something they already knew, “Leading me down different paths just to cover your tracks.”
“Why did you continue then?” Dazai replied, yet it came across as more of a confession; he did not know Chuuya knew.
“I thought,” Chuuya started, pausing before continuing, “If I saw you alive, I’d get some sort of relief.”
The unsaid part hung heavy in the air, that he’d feel like he hadn’t failed, again, with someone close to him. That he hadn’t been betrayed in the face of mortality- that Dazai was alive and that was enough for him to turn the other way and go on with his life. It wasn’t relief, it was absolvement. Absolvement from a looming force that hung over Chuuya’s life, dooming the narrative every time. Dazai was familiar with this, and he understood why the other kept searching, despite being purposely misled.
“I couldn’t give you that,” Dazai said, sucking in a breath uncharacteristically, “If Mori-”
“Fuck Mori,” Chuuya cut him off, “This isn’t between you and Mori, this is between us.”
Because there was a clear distinction that Dazai needed at that moment. Chalking Chuuya up to one of Mori’s executives, one of his petty informants was wrong and he knew it. Chuuya was searching for purely selfish reasons, partly not even because of what he felt towards Dazai.
“Mori threw me in the doghouse the moment news hit that you wouldn’t be returning.” Chuuya began growing angry and Dazai couldn’t blame him. He’d been on the receiving end of the doctor’s torture methods before, he couldn’t imagine the fire he lit under Chuuya’s ass, who was much stronger than him physically, to make him talk. Dazai would’ve said it was admirable that Chuuya did that for him while clearly knowing he was alive, but it would fall short, he knew Chuuya would do that anyway.
Chuuya must’ve seen the lack of response Dazai had because he changed the subject.
“Why’d you come?”
Dazai had a lot of answers to that, none feeling like they could truly measure up to the pit in his stomach. He came because Chuuya had activated Corruption for the first time in years, because Chuuya may have been injured, because he left Chuuya in a field for dead and didn’t look back, because of the history they shared. He came because Chuuya looked at him with an emotion he recognized from when they were fifteen when Dazai hit that tree, because the way Chuuya’s skin felt under his hand as No Longer Human exploded in fury, because the way they joked like a beat hadn’t passed. He came because at one point Chuuya’s coat was drenched in rain as he searched desolate places, because his skin was cold in front of Dazai’s exposed chest while he held onto a sliver of life, because his hand had outstretched and waited for Dazai to take it a few days after meeting. Because of-
“You.” Dazai replied, watching Chuuya’s eyebrow quirk at the answer, “I wanted to make sure you made it back.”
“And you saw I did but stayed,” Chuuya’s eyes narrowed, “Why?”
Dazai was no stranger to interrogation but this was out of his realm of expertise. He could, of course, just manipulate the situation in his favor by reading between the lines on what Chuuya wanted to hear and decide whether or not to give it to him. It didn’t feel right, and for once he did not trust himself to actually understand what Chuuya wanted and give the correct answer.
So in the darkness of Chuuya’s apartment, he decided to be honest.
“I don’t know.” Dazai breathed, his shoulders sagging slightly, “I knew you’d make it home, I just don’t know.”
Chuuya seemed surprised at the answer, not expecting full honesty from Dazai.
“I thought, maybe, it was going to be how it used to be,” Dazai admitted, “Or maybe nothing like it used to be and I’d have more of a reason to…” he trailed off, not sure where he was going with the statement.
“Are you looking for that reason now?” Chuuya asked, eyes sharp and mouth sharper.
“Maybe,” Dazai sighed, “Probably.”
Chuuya took a moment to consider the statement, analyzing Dazai.
“Okay,” Chuuya breathed, unfolding his arms and taking a hesitant step in Dazai’s direction.
It was unlike anything they’d ever done. When they’d fight while partners, it would resolve through time and the toxic cycle of forgetfulness and forced proximity. They’d talked about some aspects of their relationship, gotten into intimate detail regarding Dazai’s mental health and Chuuya’s past and how to navigate that through trial and error- but nothing compared to this. It was a full admission that Dazai sought Chuuya out for no good reason other than to reconcile, to try and reason with him- to talk things out.
It was in the bag he’d discarded on the couch, in the hesitance of his movements, the worry he wasn’t still programmed in Chuuya’s security system, written all over his face.
Chuuya stood in front of Dazai and looked up at him, considering the man in front of him. He opened his arms and Dazai took the invitation, wrapping his around the ginger’s middle. He hunched down slightly, placing his face in the crook of Chuuya’s neck. This close he could smell the blood still somewhere on Chuuya that he hadn’t scrubbed off hard enough, but he could also smell the same soap he’d used two years ago mixed with the same shampoo.
Dazai drew him in closer, willing the tears from his eyes. It felt like coming home, not to the Mafia, not to the apartment- just simply home. With the only person he trusted, the only person he truly rivaled, the only person who fully understood. And he understood everything, even the things Chuuya didn’t ‘understand’ he made an effort to get.
Chuuya breathed deeply, relaxing further into the embrace, as if he understood it wouldn’t cause harm unlike every card his life had dealt him. It was ironic, because Dazai had brought pain to Chuuya’s already horrific life- but he also brought the same trust and understanding.
Chuuya pulled away first, letting his hands fall from behind Dazai’s neck to rest on his upper arms, staring straight into a sight he hadn’t seen in quite some time. Dazai was well aware he couldn’t keep his emotions at bay, not like this, not with Chuuya accepting whatever it was he was looking for.
He felt the dam break as his face crumpled, he felt years of torment fall off his shoulders in the dim light of the living room.
“I don’t regret leaving,” Dazai said, his voice cracking in the slightest, almost unsure of why he spoke what he did.
“I don’t blame you,” Chuuya replied smoothly, bringing a hand up to hold Dazai’s head.
The hand holding Dazai’s head grounded him to reality, that Chuuya was holding him in place, telling him to get it out, let it all go. That what was done was done, that there was no resentment for him doing what was right, that he couldn’t blame him for following Oda’s dying wish- that maybe he even wanted him to.
After a while, Dazai pulled back and the pair resumed their earlier position. Chuuya looked worse than he did standing in the doorway, worse than when he was interrogating Dazai. His eyes had sunken further into his skull and the dark bags underneath them protruded more.
Dazai bit back the obvious question to ask if Chuuya was okay, because obviously he was not. He had activated Corruption, drug himself back to his apartment, and put himself to bed just for Dazai to show up like a blubbering idiot to fix whatever it was going on between them.
Rather than speaking, Dazai’s eyes asked a silent question and Chuuya’s answered. Chuuya turned, taking a moment before reaching behind and grabbing onto Dazai’s hand- a silent forgiveness handing in the air. He hesitated, an obvious predicament in his stance, before deciding to lead Dazai to the bedroom.
Chuuya flicked on the bedside lamp, the room lighting up in consequence. Dazai could clearly see now, while Chuuya was digging through one of his drawers, why it was a consequence. The new picture frames added to the dresser had familiar faces, recognizing his own sitting on the far right side. It was from when they were sixteen, something idiotic for both of them to do considering the laundry list of crimes they’d committed. Chuuya never cared, often fighting with Dazai back then about why he felt photographs were so important.
Dazai was thrown from the thought as clothes hit his hands. He caught them, looking down to see some of Chuuya’s oversized sweatpants and a shirt. Dazai looked up to catch Chuuya’s eyes, only to be met with an ocean of uncertainty in them, as if he was on his hands and knees praying he didn’t get the unwanted answer for the question he was asking.
He didn’t respond, instead walking to the bathroom and shutting the door. As if he could say no to the clear invitation, to the clear forgiveness for not at least letting Chuuya know he was alive, that he hadn’t killed himself in a ditch somewhere to be found by circling vultures and historians hundreds of years from then.
Dazai turned on the light and changed into the clothes, folding his neatly and setting them on top of the counter. He rifled though the cabinet underneath the sink, finding bandages, eye drops and cleaning wipes. He wiped down the side of the tub that had a bloody hand print still on it and wiped out the sink, knowing Chuuya would likely be embarrassed he wasn’t physically capable of doing it that night. Dazai then put in the medicated eye drops into his right eye and unraveled his bandages.
He stared at himself for a breath in the mirror, taking in the sight of himself once again in Chuuya’s clothes with no bandages covering his skin. His skin was smooth under the warm light, scars barely showing, just the way he preferred. Dazai’s eye felt better than it did earlier, two years not nearly enough time for him to fully readjust his vision to seeing from both eyes at once.
Dazai placed the bandages back in the cabinet after careful consideration. If Chuuya was willing to accept him again, pick up where they left off and rebuild whatever they could, he could make the next step by showing him he meant it.
He opened the door to darkness, quickly shutting off the light and walking to the edge of the bed. Chuuya was lying under his mountain of blankets again, chest rising and falling evenly. Dazai knew he wasn’t sleeping, likely too uncomfortable from the aftermath of Corruption, but instead pretending so that he could brace himself for the expected departure from Dazai.
Instead of fulfilling the pattern, Dazai crept into the soft bed and pulled the large blanket over himself, inching towards Chuuya. He wrapped his arms around Chuuya, pulling him tight to his chest. Only after corruption was this positioning allowed, only when Chuuya was able to show his back to Dazai, only when the other felt the vulnerability was worth the reward.
And this time it was, Chuuya exhaled at the touch, fitting his ankles between Dazai’s calves and placing his hand over the one Dazai had close to his face. It felt all the same and so different, driven by desperation, driven by need rather than convenience.
Dazai knew their reconciliation would be messy with opposing organizations, but he knew it was a fight worth fighting.