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On his best days, Dazai craves attention. It’s like a drug, fueling him until he can get home and quit acting like a member of society. Whether that was teasing Kunikida or flirting with the waitress, these little moments helped Dazai acquire enough energy to maintain his facade of normalcy.
On his worst days, Dazai still acted like his irresponsible, suicide-obsessed self, but every action took a herculean effort. He would drag himself out of bed and force his body to move. He wouldn’t eat, but that was fine, since he didn’t feel hungry anyway. The day would end with Dazai stumbling back into his dorm, completely shutting down. His eyes would go dull, his face would slip into neutral, and he would collapse onto his futon still fully dressed.
Today was one of the harder days—Dazai could feel it from the moment his eyes opened. He forces his body up and makes his way to the kitchen, where he downs a half-empty energy drink he finds in the back of his fridge. He goes through his day like usual, but his smile never truly reaches his eyes. When Kunikida finally lets him go home, his brain goes on autopilot, and he finds himself at his secret second residence, Chuuya’s apartment. No one—not even Ranpo—knew about his cohabitation with the mafia Executive, but Dazai doesn’t care about secrecy right now. The only thing his mind can focus on is the safety he feels in Chuuya’s apartment. He clicks open the door slowly, using the key Chuuya begrudgingly gave him, and he’s greeted by the sight of his partner lounging on the couch. Chuuya sports comfy black shorts and an oversized navy hoodie that looks suspiciously like Dazai’s. Chuuya glances up at the intrusion and opens his mouth for a snarky comment, but his face changes when he notices Dazai’s vacant expression.
Oh, that’s right.
Dazai had forgotten that Chuuya returned from an overseas mission today. He had originally planned to welcome Chuuya home with a bottle of wine, but his exhaustion had made him forgetful. Dazai tries to form a greeting, but his tongue twists up, and he can’t seem to get the words out.
Dazai stands there for a moment before he realizes Chuuya’s mouth is moving. He must’ve zoned out and missed whatever Chuuya said. He blinks, and suddenly Chuuya is in front of him, cupping his face with a gentle palm.
“Hey, Dazai? Can you hear me now?”
Dazai stares blankly before managing a nod. Chuuya smiles up at him, but his blue eyes are flooded with concern. Dazai reminisces about the old Chuuya, who would’ve yelled at Dazai for being apathetic and called him an “emotionless bastard.” He was easier to deal with than the new Chuuya, the one who only takes Dazai’s coat off and hangs it on the small hook nearby.
Chuuya circles Dazai’s wrist with his ungloved fingers, and Dazai finds that Chuuya’s hand is warming him through the bandages. Chuuya tugs at him slightly, and Dazai lets himself be led to the bathroom, where Chuuya lowers him onto a small stool.
Chuuya starts running a bath, periodically checking the water to make sure it’s not too hot. Dazai follows the motion with blurry eyes, not quite seeing anything.
“Can I take your clothes off?” It takes Dazai too long to register the question, but he finds that Chuuya is waiting patiently.
He nods stiffly, and gentle hands start to undress him. Each layer feels like a weight taken off of him, until he’s left in nothing but bandages. Chuuya tilts his head questioningly as he ghosts over the bandages, and Dazai hesitates. The bandages are his last line of defense against the outside world—taking them off would mean being vulnerable in front of another person. But that person is Chuuya, his partner, the other half of Double Black, and the one who trusts Dazai with his life every time he uses Corruption. With that in mind, Dazai steels his resolve.
He thrusts out his arm to Chuuya, and Chuuya starts unwinding the bandages. They pool at Dazai’s feet, and he shivers against the fresh air hitting his skin. His mind disappears, protecting him from the unpleasant feeling.
The next time he zones back in, he’s in the bath, the aroma of lavender arising from the tub. Dazai can’t quite remember getting into the tub, but he feels the tension melting from his muscles as his eyes slowly close.
Seated on a chair behind him, Chuuya lathers up shampoo in his hands, then lightly massages Dazai’s scalp. The touch sends sparks down Dazai’s spine, and he shivers again, but this time in pleasure. Chuuya covers Dazai’s eyes as he pours water over his hair, rinsing it thoroughly.
Every time Dazai’s mind tries to wander, he’s grounded by Chuuya’s fingers in his hair. Chuuya begins to hum softly, and Dazai starts to believe that maybe he has finally achieved death, and this was truly heaven.
Chuuya conditions his hair, and his fingers pause to run through the messy tangles. “Ya need to take better care of your hair; it’s like a rat’s nest back here.”
Dazai feels a bubble of laughter in his chest, but it’s still too hard even to laugh. Chuuya continues to detangle his hair, working his skillful fingers through Dazai’s curls. Then, Chuuya washes it out, covering Dazai’s eyes once more.
Suddenly, Chuuya leaves to grab a towel, and Dazai’s left alone with his mind. He tries to stave off the intrusive thoughts, but it’s no use. His mind swirls through worst-case scenarios, and his skin begins to itch. He worries that maybe Chuuya left for good this time, that he was just too much of a burden. The pit in his stomach grows, choking him from the inside, until Chuuya is crouching next to him, tilting his head to meet his eyes. Blue eyes stare straight into brown ones, and Dazai finds himself calming at the familiar sight.
“Hey, Dazai? I only left for a minute; don’t be such a needy bastard.” Dazai blinks at the harsh words spoken in such a fond tone. Chuuya lifts him carefully out of the tub and wraps him in the softest towel Dazai has ever used.
Chuuya sets off to dry him quickly before the cold air can get to him. He produces a roll of bandages and starts to unwrap them, but Dazai shakes his head.
“Are you sure?” Chuuya asks, clearly surprised by the decision. The bandages hold the pieces of Dazai together, and Chuuya knows how important they are to Dazai’s sanity. Dazai nods his assent—he’s too tired tonight to repair the pieces of his broken self.
Uncertainly, Chuuya sets the bandages aside and maneuvers Dazai into silky blue pajamas dotted with chibi mackerels. They were a gag gift for Dazai’s birthday a couple of months ago, and they had quickly become his favorite pair. He especially loved Chuuya’s matching set of deep orange pajamas covered in mini slugs.
Finally, after what feels like forever, Chuuya leads Dazai to the bedroom, where a glass of water and a small snack sit on the nightstand.
Dazai’s heart swells at the small act of kindness, and he falls onto the bed, wrapping the blankets around himself almost giddily. He’s finally in bed, where he has no responsibility to anyone except himself. For the first time since stepping through the door, Dazai finds himself smiling, and he misses the tension seeping from Chuuya’s face when his partner notices the smile.
Chuuya laughs, “Oi, Dazai, ya need to eat something first.” Chuuya grabs the plate of fruit and holds a strawberry to Dazai’s lips.
Dazai flushes slightly at the intimate act, but munches on the strawberry anyway. He swallows, and he realizes that it was the first thing he had eaten today. Eating always seems like a hassle on bad days, but eating food from Chuuya seems less like a chore and more like a reward. He makes it through a few more pieces before he turns his head, rejecting another bite.
“Who’s the dog now, huh?” Chuuya teases playfully, and Dazai glares at him, but the overall effect is ruined by the fruit juices dripping from his mouth. Chuuya sets the plate down again and picks up a handkerchief, dabbing the excess from Dazai’s mouth.
After he’s done, Chuuya makes his way to the other side of the bed and shuffles the covers so he can lie down. Dazai turns his back on Chuuya as the light flickers off, and the room is plunged into semi-darkness.
As he lies there, a warmth spreads throughout Dazai’s limbs, making him tingle. Ever since he moved in with Chuuya, his bad days have become fewer and farther between. And the ones that do occur, like today, are more bearable when spent with Chuuya, who can read Dazai with a single glance.
“Hey, Chuuya?” Dazai’s voice is quiet and scratchy from disuse.
“Hmm?” Chuuya freezes mid-motion, expecting a problem.
“Thank you.” The words are barely audible, but Chuuya rumbles a laugh that means he heard it.
“You’re welcome, Osamu.”
An arm snakes its way over Dazai’s waist, and two legs tangle with his. Chuuya’s hot breath fans across his neck, and Dazai fully relaxes into the arms of his lover.
He knew in the morning the mask would be back up—that he’d play the part of Dazai, the mysteriously suicidal detective. But in Chuuya’s arms, he’s just Osamu, Chuuya’s partner for life.
Dazai slows his breathing as his mind becomes blissfully quiet, and Chuuya whispers softly in his ear.
“Sweet dreams, my love.”