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Chuuya had never known for certain if he was the most important thing in Dazai Osamu’s life.
It was almost embarassing to admit, given their spiritual ‘connection’ people kept praising them for. Not to mention the fanfictions Mori kept sending him through Microsoft Teams.
Chuuya had no fucking clue which port mafia members were writing them, but he needed to have a serious conversation inquiring why they thought he would bottom.
To Chuuya, the man forced to endure the paperwork left in the wake of Dazai’s suicide attempts, the ginger felt more like a pathetic prostitute who was called upon down during the darkest hours of night for a good fuck and then ignored, expected to sit with a pretty smile and wait for his masters next call. (it was never long unfortunately, sometimes Chuuya would go take a dump and when he got back would have over 400 missed calls).
And sometimes, during dual missions, during those stupid pranks the shitty bastard did, during Chuuya’s drunken 2 am calls, during quiet moments where they really got to breathe, it felt like Dazai’s mask might be slipping slowly, and sometimes it was even almost like he was really human.
But then Chuuya would remember that Dazai had never trusted him a day in his life.
He gave Chuuya nothing. No notice, no assistance on paperwork, no promises he could even break. Just hollow smiles, an occasional squeeze of the hand, and a couch to crash on when shit got real. (the couch was the worst part. He couldn’t even offer Chuuya to share his bed like in those shitty omegaverse yaoi manwhas where everyone was gay for each other. Perhaps Chuuya should get off webtoon. Perhaps Chuuya should have another drink)
Chuuya used to think that perhaps some day, Dazai Osamu would open up his doors if he saw that Chuuya’s were already wide open. (And his legs, he figured this was self explanatory but his legs were always wide open for Dazai if the shitty bastard would ask). Chuuya didn’t even bother trying to hide. He felt stripped bare around the brunette anyway.
Every secret, every thought, ever perversion of the mind was widely visible to Dazai Osamu. It was sickening. It was almost a confession. Maybe in another life, if Dazai could bring the words to his tongue without first puking on Chuuya’s knees, maybe then they could be something closer to partners.
Chuuya had never known for certain if he was the most important thing in Dazai Osamu’s life, but he always liked to think that Dazai needed him in a sort of way. Chuuya obviously needed Dazai’s presence physically, to ground Arahabaki, to hold him when he fell, to catch him before he burned.
But Chuuya’s addled teenage hormonal mind had (without the gingers consent of course) fantasized fairtale worlds where it was Dazai who instead needed Chuuya to breathe. Where life lacked color without the fiery red headed monstrocity burning beside Dazai. Where the world seemed a little prettier with Chuuya in it. Maybe Chuuya just had issues stemming from his lack of a strong fatherly figure in his life. Maybe he just wanted to be loved. (it was most definetely both)
Chuuya had never known for certain if he was the most important thing in Dazai Osamu’s life, but now he knew for certain that he wasn’t.
Because, of course, that morning, it was Dazai’s 28th birthday.
The bastard had always been fucking picky about his cake having seedless strawberries and blue sponge cake. He always whined if Chuuya didn’t text him at exactly 12:01 complaining that Dazai had lasted another year. Dazai always clung onto Chuuya in a way that made his heart do that stupid thing where it betrayed him.
Picking out Dazai’s present was always the worst and best part of the entire experience. Usually Chuuya would spend an entire month either making or picking out what to buy the shitty bastard.
Dazai never remembered Chuuya’s birthday, and he most certaintly never bought him presents. That was fine though, Chuuya didn’t need a gift. The only thing he needed was the genuine glimmer in Dazai’s eyes when Chuuya would reluctantly hand him shoe box, and pretend like the gift was selected o a whim.
Chuuya set an alarm for 12:00 as usual. He texted Dazai with half the expectation that Dazai would respond before he’d even finish typing. Perhaps Dazai would even flirt with him as he often did as a joke. Perhaps Dazai’d be already be at his window, rapping on the sill half stuffed with drugs.
But for the strangest reason, Dazai didn’t respond immidiatly. Chuuya went to get a glass of water. When he came back, Dazai still hadn’t responded.
The first thing Chuuya did was check the tracking device he’d inconspiciously hid in Dazai’s bolo tie. The good news was, Dazai wasnt floating down the river with his cake exposed to the world.
He was… at the ADA?
Chuuya stared at the tracker for another five minutes, praying that a text would miraculously spawn into his messages.
It was 1 AM, and Dazai hadn’t responded. The bolo tie was moving around, so Dazai was clearly and obviously awake and alive and concious and not dead. Or perhaps he was dead, Chuuya began to wonder if he would care if Dazai’s murder desecrated his corpse. He was that pissed.
At 2:30 AM, Chuuya fell asleep on his kitchen floor holding his phone and the last remains of his dignity close to his chest.
_____________________
When Chuuya woke up, he still went to pick up Dazai’s cake from the bakery. (it was really fucking expensive and also he was more concerned for Dazai’s well being than angry at that point.)
____________________
Throughout a regular day, Dazai would usually call Chuuya about fifty times. If Chuuya didn’t answer, he’d leave a voicemail with an audio of the loudest, wettest, and obscene clip of diarrea humanely possible. Chuuya was fairly certain the sounds he’d accidently played on speaker were crimes against humanity.
If Chuuya answered but not on the first ring, Dazai would lecture Chuuya about how he could have been about to commit suicide, and how Chuuya had an obligation as his dog to answer his call.
On Dazai’s 28th birthday, he didn’t leave Chuuya a single call.
Chuuya wasn’t sure whether to summon Arahabaki to blow that bitches ass cheeks to oblivion, or call the authorities and file a missing persons report.
But Chuuya had work, and he was fairly certain he’d run into Dazai at some point, and he felt far too pissed to entertain Dazai’s antics. (also he may or may have not been a little dissapointed, but you didn’t hear that from me).
_____________
At the end of the daily briefing in the executive room, Mori eyed Chuuya with something akin to amusement.
“I’m suprised you didn’t call in ‘sick’ again. Its the first time in thirteen years aside that you haven’t pretended you were ill to visit him on his birthday. Did you two break up or something?”
Chuuya didn’t have any pride left to hurt. Dazai had taken his heart and put it in a cheese gratter.
“Your making it sound like i’m obsessed with him or something,” Chuuya scowled, “and we were never dating.”
If Mori had been more of a sane man, he would have perhaps cackled instead of begun wiggling his eyebrows in a way that screamed pedophile, “you said you had the hanta virus last year.”
Chuuya frowned, “its highly contatious, it would have been irresponsible for me to come in.”
“Once you called in and told me, your doctor, that you had hemroids… its really not contagious by any traditional means…”
“I just googled random ilnesses! It was a big word! I was sixteen!”
The other executives were watching with an emotion best labeled as a strong desire to leave this meeting.
Mori released them promptly. He pulled Chuuya over afterward to leave him a last word. Chuuya squeezed his eyes shut and prayed that if Mori was about to touch him, he do it above the waist.
“Chuuya, a word of advice? I’m becoming an old man. This old meat sack of mine won’t make it much longer…”
“Are you asking me to be your heir?”
Mori’s eyes wrinkled in a way that could have been endearing.
“I’m asking for grandchildren. I think if you and Dazai would just work things out you’d see–”
Chuuya had never been one to storm out in meetings. Slamming doors had always been far too dramatic and disrespectful for his tastes.
He threw himself out the 51st floor window, sobbing uncontrollably.
__________
Dazai wasn’t there to kiss his bruises.
When Chuuya had been a hormonal teenager, he’d dreamed of the brunette wrapping him gently, holding him close.
Now Chuuya questioned if Dazai had ever been there to begin with.
_________
During Chuuya’s lunch break, he drove by the ADA on his hot pink motorcycle. He parked a block away to maintain inconspicousness, and stopped infront of four stores to check his hair in the glass.
Entering the ADA felt like disarming a bomb.
He had been there like, a trillion times before, but for some reason, on this particular visit, the air was charged. It wasn’t even sexual either, it felt more awkward.
He pushed past the front desk without sparing the girls a glance.
One reached out to grab him, “wait sir! You can’t go in there! If you have an appointment then you could-”
Chuuya used gravity to tear her hand off his shoulder.
“Sorry, I bat for the other team,” he informed her with a whisper, “but your really pretty. I respect the hustle.”
She nodded back with her voice at an equally low whisper, “oh sorry I wasn’t trying to hit on you, I dont like men who aren’t related to me. But you can’t go in there without an appointment.”
Chuuya looked her up and down with the same stupid smile plastered to his face. Then he walked in anyway.
__________
“He’s not here.”
Ranpo’s legs were kicked up. He looked far too gleeful for someone who was clearly avoiding paperwork. He was sucking on a lollipop.
“Where is he then?” Chuuya asked with an impatient scowl. He wasn’t stupid, he had Dazai’s tracking app, the bastard was at the ADA.
“He’s out buying something for his birthday,” Ranpo wiggled his eyebrows, “oh and I stole the bolo tie when he wasn’t looking. Hahah, your tracker is–”
Chuuya jumped out the window again.
_________
That shitty bastard. He ignores me and pretends like I don’t exist and goes shopping with his new friends instead of continuouing our ancient mating rituals? That bitch! Well if he doesn’t want me then I don’t want him!
________
Chuuya didn’t care that it was 11:45 in the morning, he opened a bottle of Chaeteau Margaux and drank straight from the rim.
He also ignored the invoice notifications that appeared on his phone from Ranpo reminding him that he owed him money for the window and snacks for emotional harassment.
________
Chuuya had never known for certain if he were the most important person in Dazai Osamu’s life, but now he felt like a complete idiot.
Dazai had let Chuuya tag along for years because he had no one else. Not because Chuuya was special, not because Chuuya was someone he really cared about, but because he was within reach and willing to go down with him.
And maybe this was the alchohol speaking, but Chuuya felt like a complete and utter idiot.
Dazai was ignoring him because he wanted to tell him that he hated him. Yes, that was it. Dazai hated Chuuya. It must be that he was too short. He was too short to be loved.
Chuuya began to cry.
It wasn’t the gentle, wracked sobs of Y/N at 2 AM before the CEO pulled up with his beefy abs and six rolls of condoms. It was ugly, like rolls of snot flinging across the room with his wailling and gravity manipulation. It was the mascara he had applied that morning in case he had an accidental run in with Dazai streaming down his face like spider legs. It was the way his apartment was cold because Dazai wasn’t there.
The worst part? Part of Chuuya knew that the next day he’d completly forget and forgive Dazai for ignoring him, because it was what he did, and because he needed Dazai more than Dazai needed him.
________
Chuuya passed out on the kitchen floor at 2:30 PM, he had downed the entire bottle of wine, he had zero missed calls from Dazai Osamu.
________
He slept until 6, when he was woken by a call from Mori.
He sounded… suspiciously happy.
“Chuuya. How was your luck with Dazai? Am I getting lucky? Am I-”
“Sorry boss, I didn’t go look for him. I stayed at work because i’m a responsible executive with responsibilites,” Chuuya yawned, chucking the empty wine bottle across the room as if it was the problem.
“Oh alright. Well, if you do want to look for him, he left me a message saying-”
“I’m sorry what?”
“Dazai left me a message saying-”
Chuuya cleared his throat. Mori took it as a sign to lower the volume on his phone by four increments.
“That shitty PIECE OF SHIT LEFT YOU A MESSAGE BUT IGNORED ME ALL DAY ON HIS BIRTHDAY AND GAVE ME NO NOTICE AND SCARED ME HALF TO DEATH AND HE’S CALLING YOU BUT WONT GIVE ME ANY NOTICE THAT HE’S ALIVE AND HE’S FUCKING ON THE PHONE WITH YOU WHEN HE USUALLY REFUSES TO SPEAK TO YOU AND HE-”
“Chuuya, he called me inquiring for Kouyou, he wanted to ask her a question.”
“THATS EVEN FUCKING WORSE HE WANTS TO SPEAK TO THE BITCH WHO RAISED ME AND HATES HIS ASS CHEEKS BECAUSE HE’S A HOE AND LACKS ALL IF ANY COMMUNICATION SKILLS YET HE HAS THE TIME TO CALL HER BECAUSE SHE’S FUCKING AWESOME INSTEAD OF FUCKING ME IS IT BECAUSE I’M GAY ITS BECAUSE I’M GAY ISN’T IT FUCK WHY-”
“Chuuya,” Mori’s voice dared to have amusment, “are you done yet? Can I please tell you what Dazai asked Kouyou or do you want to-”
Chuuya, for the first time in his life, hung up on the boss.
He jumped out of his window.
He was going to find shitty Dazai, tracker or not, and fuck him up so fucking bad that he wouldn’t be able to move the next day. (Chuuya may or may not have been playing into Dazai’s trap).
_______
Chuuya expected his Hunt for a Suicidal Bastard™ would take all night. He didn’t expect a plane to fly over his apartment, a banner waving in its steed.
Chuuya baby i’m not sorry for ditching you
P.S, Holiday Inn on 18th street at 9 PM :)
If Chuuya wasn’t so pissed it could have been romantic.
Afterall, Holiday Inn on 18th street was where they’d spent Dazai’s first birthday. They had ditched work and watched crude movies all night, binging popcorn and falling asleep only to awaken to a loud ‘HEE HEE’ from the Michael movie they’d left on.
______
Dazai was wearing a suit.
He looked annoying attractive.
He was basically an ugly mackerel.
______
Fun fact #1: Chuuya was hungover
_____
Fun Fact #2: Chuuya wanted that Mackerel.
______
Fun Fact #3: Chuuya slapped him.
______
Dazai recoiled slowly, reaching up to touch his reddening cheeks.
But it wasn’t horror in his eyes.
It was facination.
“Was the chibi pissed I ignored him?” Dazai smiled gleefully, “was the chibi-”
Chuuya suddenly grabbed him and pulled him into a hug. Full on body to body, everything was touching.
Chuuya barely reached Dazai’s chin. Dazai slowly brought his hands up to Chuuya’s hair.
“WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU BITCH I WAITED SO LONG AND YOU DIDN’T–I WOKE UP AT MIDNIGHT FOR YOUR SORRY ASS AND I-”
The holiday inn staff were eyeing them. Someone coughed. Another person emerged from a different hallway with a ‘congrats’ poster, and when he saw the bickering scene, ducked away in shame and pity.
“Chuuyaaaa” Dazai smiled, “wanna know why I’ve been too busy to talk all day?”
Before Chuuya could answer, Dazai was on one knee.
Chuuya’s first thought was that Dazai had found a new suicide method that involved a feet fetish.
“Chuuya Nakahara… my favorite person in the whole world,” Dazai pulled out a box. A female worker fainted. It is said that tears could be seen streaming from her cheeks even in death.
“Out of everyone in the world, you’re the only person who’s ever stayed with me. Out of everyone in the whole world, you’re the only one who’s seen me, out of everyone in the world, youre the only one I trust to hold my heart.”
“HOLY FUCK ARE YOU PROPOSING?”
“Shut your bitch ass up and let me finish.”
Despite his confident tone, Dazai looked ridiculousy nervous now. Like he wanted to get off the dirty fucking ground, like he wanted to do something with his hands, like if he continued this ridiculous eye contact he would accidentaly get Chuuya pregnant. (thats Dazai’s fault for proposing at a fucking Holiday Inn)
“I hate living a little less with you by my side… and I may not show it, but I’m only here because of you. I know you deserve so much better than me but…”
Dazai popped the box open. Inside was a card.
“But I really have to ask anyway because my pride is nothing compared to you.”
Chuuya didn’t even realize he was crying until the tears were in his mouth. He reached for the card.
Will you be my boyfriend?
“Chuuyaaaa, you can’t say no because its my birthdayyyyy!”
Chuuya dropped to his knees on the holiday inn floor.
He lunged for Dazai’s collar.
“You better have booked us a room,” he whispered in Dazai’s ear as he tackled him to the ground. His arms hooked around Dazai’s back, and Dazai let him. Two female employees entered the room and began to weep. Dazai was giggling, now, his mouth doing a strange thing that could be called a smile.
“Who do you think I am, my mommy and credit card and pillow?” Dazai bat his eyelashes with the aggressiveness of a new york taxi driver, “I asked Kouyou to postpone your mission tommorow because it might be hard to walk tommorow-”
Chuuya let out a loud chuckle and leaned in closer, “Oh baby, if anyones not walking tommorow its you.”
______
Chuuya now knew for certain that he was the most important person in Osamu’s life.
Partially because at some point between the ages of 17 and 19, Dazai had tattooed a picture of Chuuya to his crack.
But mostly, because Dazai told him as much, and Chuuya trusted him. (also because Chuuya controlled Dazai’s credit card and fed him).