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☯☯☯
“I cannot fucking believe you.”
“Really?!” Dazai asks with an exaggerated gasp, placing his uninjured hand over his mouth for the full scandalized effect. “You believed me when I told you that Santa is real!”
“SHUT UP.”
Chuuya, despite his loud voice and so-damned-done-with-the-world-most-importantly-Dazai tone, keeps his hands gentle and light as he finishes disinfecting the cut on Dazai’s right hand. While it normally isn’t a problem, Dazai getting wounded, this time the cut is because of the special dagger that Chuuya owns, placing it a little higher in the ‘Shit that Heals Slowly’ list.
“Chuuya likes nursing me back to health, ne?”
“I told you to shut your fucking mouth.”
“I still think Chuuya should kiss it better,” Dazai murmurs wistfully and so damn calculatedly, winking at him when he lifts his eyes from the droplets of blood that continue to ooze out, meeting Dazai’s gaze. “So that it will heal faster.”
Chuuya gulps, because Dazai is a lying piece of shit, but the blood—it’s crimson, almost black in the moonlight, it smells wonderful and it’s so unfair that Dazai’s blood can be as irresistible as its owner. It’s so unfair because Chuuya knows that he’s just prolonging the inevitable by disciplining his hands to stay where they are, for his throat to remain dry, for his mind to stay focused, damn it.
“I promise I won’t tease you too much,” Dazai lies again, grin softening around the edges. It’s probably just the moonlight, because Dazai has probably made a deal with the moon to make sure that he always looks ravishing underneath its light.
“Just shut up,” he says with a long-suffering sigh, before he ducks his head and licks around the cut, his tongue stinging from the disgusting taste of the iodine, his throat practically thrumming with the anticipation.
Dazai sighs as well, like he’s content, like he’s satisfied, his good hand patting the top of Chuuya’s head, his fingers then moving to comb through his hair, dislodging his hat in the process. It’s annoying, because he’s like a goddamn pet like this, being petted by his owner, being fed by his owner. Dazai’s blood, despite belonging to someone so irritating, tastes better than the most expensive wine in the world.
And because Dazai always has to get the last word, or else he itches like a goddamn flea bite: “Chuuya wants to focus on drinking from me, got it.”
Chuuya’s eyes don’t quite roll back from the intense pleasure of being able to drink Dazai’s blood, so he manages to make a warning bite, his fangs pressed against Dazai’s wound. He ignores Dazai’s wriggling underneath him, he ignores his own body’s motions on climbing on top of the other more securely, knees on either side of Dazai’s hips now, cramped as they are in the two-seater sofa – a loveseat, Dazai whispers mockingly – in the middle of Chuuya’s apartment filled with furniture that he hasn’t bought, despite his credit card statements stating otherwise.
“I still cannot fucking believe you,” Chuuya breathes out against Dazai’s lips, in-between Dazai lapping up the smidges of blood on his face. “How can you be so damn stupid?”
Dazai laughs, the puffs of breath cold and ticklish against his skin. “Do you want an answer?”
“You could have just thrown yourself off Tokyo Tower,” Chuuya grumbles with feeling; his hands clammy with sweat and definitely not-nervousness, no, it’s not, it’s not worry either, because Dazai’s just his blood supply, vampires like him are hunters, yes, true, he can drink from anyone, from animals if he’s desperate, but why look for those when there’s Dazai available, he’s not addicted to the taste of Dazai’s blood, to the pleasure that he gets whenever he drinks from the bastard, he’s not, okay.
“I won’t die from that.”
“I know, but at least I won’t be cleaning up my bathtub, you fucker,” Chuuya complains and prepares himself to stand his ground when Dazai inevitably asks him with that mocking honey-sweet tone of his to do something interesting to clean the mess in his bathroom after the failed suicide attempt. And in Dazai’s standards, ‘interesting’ means putting Chuuya through so much humiliation, like making him lick the blood off his bathroom tiles. Good god, he can just imagine it: Dazai brandishing his weapon – that sly, silver tongue of his, jerk – and cooing at how it’d really suit Chuuya to be on his knees, on all fours, like the dogs that he terrorizes, lapping at the bathroom tiles, at the bathtub, making sure every nook and cranny is devoid of the evidence of Dazai’s half-hearted suicide attempt.
“Mm, I bet you’re imagining yourself right now,” Dazai comments mildly like he’s simply discussing something boring like real estate tax inflation, like the shape of the clouds. “On your hands and knees, being such a wonderful housewife.”
“I’m not!” Chuuya protests hotly, because he didn’t imagine himself a housewife, certainly not Dazai’s, he’s not completely stupid, okay?! “I’m really not.”
“Whatever you say,” Dazai allows, backing off and instead focusing his attentions to shutting both of themselves up.
☯☯☯
“I demand that you stop assisting Dazai in his investigations!”
Chuuya lifts a hand and adjusts his hat automatically, not quite surprised, but also not quite satisfied that the person who has approached him is not going to suddenly steal his hat to make him listen.
“…Good afternoon, Edogawa-san.”
“Hm. I told you to call me ‘Ranpo’ already!”
Chuuya remembers Poe-san glaring at him with the entire force of his years spent comfortably alone. Chuuya remembers Dazai pouting like an insufferable asshole whenever he whines about not being called by his first name.
“I think the fuck not,” he mutters under his breath, not worried that the detective in front of him will hear. Edogawa Ranpo is many things, but listening to any critiques of himself is something that he has mastered to ignore very well. Louder: “Do you want to get coffee together?”
The sun is sufficiently shadowed today, rain clouds dark and ominous overhead. Plus, Chuuya’s wearing his full regalia today – triple layers of coats, his limiters in place. He’s not going to burn while he walks outside in the afternoon, and he’s quite sure that he has to walk around, because Edogawa Ranpo is many things and getting lost in the metropolis is just one of his many talents.
True, Chuuya can just leave him behind, he’s not part of the Detective Agency and he has zero responsibilities whatsoever when it comes to taking care of them. True, but Chuuya’s also not a grade-S asshole unlike a certain someone.
“It’s your treat,” Edogawa says, merrily skipping ahead of him even though he doesn’t know where the coffeeshops are.
Chuuya’s credit card, abused to hell and back thanks to Dazai’s uncanny ability to guess his online banking passwords and his ATM PIN, has enough for a quick coffee with the city’s (the world’s, he can just hear Poe-san hissing at him) best detective.
“We have a contest right now at the Agency,” Edogawa tells him once he’s happily demolishing the rainbow cheesecake that he ordered to pair with his latte. Chuuya’s not a grade-S asshole, true, but if Edogawa ends up being like a child and suffering from a sugar high… it’s not his place to interfere.
“I don’t assist Dazai in his investigations,” Chuuya feels like he has to say it, flushing when Edogawa stares at him with a raised eyebrow. And he doesn’t, not really, assist Dazai when it comes to detective work. “I really don’t.”
If anything, Dazai only shows him crime scenes and gloats about how unobservant Chuuya is, despite having the advantage of being a vampire. Most of the time, Dazai waltzes into dangerous clients, interrupts arms deals, places himself smack in the middle of hostage situations. And only because Chuuya can’t be assed to waste time trying to find another regular source of blood, Chuuya doesn’t really have a choice, does he? He has to save Dazai, removing anyone who can harm Dazai, because Dazai would certainly just welcome any and all bullets to his brain with open arms.
“Hmmmmm,” Edogawa continues staring at him. The only reprieve is that the other doesn’t stare at him with glasses on, because he’s so fucked if that happens. Everyone knows about Edogawa’s detecting abilities being amplified when he’s wearing his glasses. After a few minutes of Chuuya hiding his face behind the mug of steaming hot cappuccino, Edogawa relents: “Well, you did treat me and you are taking me back to the Agency, so.”
Chuuya doesn’t outright sigh in relief, but he feels like he should.
☯☯☯
“Chuuya should make me coffee!” Dazai exclaims with a flourish, tugging and destroying the warm cocoon of blankets surrounding him, ignoring his sleepy-eyed glare. “And I want you to bake me cheesecake! While you’re wearing an apron! And nothing else underneath!”
Rather embarrassingly, Chuuya’s never been the sharpest tool in the box during mornings. So he only manages a yawn and a “…But I’m… not… your housewife?”
And Dazai’s not a morning person either, but he has his ways to get obnoxious amount of energy if it means he gets to annoy the shit out of Chuuya: “You’re my Chuuya!”
Chuuya feels his face grow hot, his mind whirring at these illogical exclamations. His neck hurts, like a shark mauled him, really. He lifts a hand and pats at his neck – and true enough, his pulse is sluggish and his palm comes out bloody. “Hirotsu-san is gonna kill you.”
“Is he your guardian now?” Dazai peers at him, crawling over him and placing his palm against the stretch of his grin. “Also, Hirotsu-san owes me a damn lot, so he definitely won’t.”
Quite unfortunately, it’s true. Dazai’s not a part of the vampire organization, but he knows everyone there, though not in the same way everyone there knows of him.
“You’re gonna give him a heart attack.” It’s bad enough when Dazai forces the man to take over his racing games.
“You’re the one who’s going to give him an aneurysm.”
“You don’t get to shift the blame on me,” Chuuya glares as he slowly regains his senses, eyes focused on the blood now spread over Dazai’s cheek, his hands growing warm and twitchy against the other’s face. His neck still hurts, but it’s slowly healing, skin closing and capillaries reconnecting. He knows it bothers Dazai, the fact that he can’t quite leave a mark there, not even a tattoo of his name, not even removing a chunk of his skin and replacing it with a gaping hole that symbolizes how empty Chuuya could be, existing but hollow, if Dazai isn’t around. He knows it bothers the jerkass, because it bothers him too. He’s not an absolute asshole though, so he doesn’t complain.
“And you don’t get to ignore my request!” Dazai reminds him, bopping their foreheads together. “I want my naked-underneath-the-apron Chuuya!”
“Eat shit and die.”
“But then you’ll taste the shit when we kiss?”
“URGH.”
“So, apron…?”
“I cannot believe you’re jealous over Edogawa-san.” Chuuya rolls his eyes and ignores the way Dazai’s kissing his palm, tongue flicking out every once in a while to taste the blood there. “It’s just cake and coffee, for shit’s sake. And Poe-san.”
“Poe-kun would willingly let Ranpo-kun get a harem if that’s what he wanted, so.”
“I cannot fucking believe I’m hearing this shit with my own two ears.”
“Vampires can’t be deaf, can they?”
“SHUT YOUR MOUTH.” Chuuya feels the muscles flex and hurriedly squeezes Dazai’s mouth shut before the other can continue assaulting his ears. “Poe-san and Edogawa-san belong together, you shitty fuck.”
“Ah, so they’re your favorite then.” Dazai, because he’s a bastard, manages to still speak anyway. “I thought you’re rooting for Atsushi-kun and Akutagawa-kun?”
“I can’t root for both?!”
“So you root for them the same way you support the Dazai/Chuuya4EVER ship?”
“I’M LEAVING.” Chuuya stays in bed though, eyes averted and definitely not remembering the contemplative glances Edogawa gave him yesterday.
“As long as you don’t leave me behind.”
It’s soft, too low for most humans to pick up. It’s mostly the tiny vibrations around Dazai’s lip and Chuuya hears it anyway, because he’s a goddamn vampire, at the end of the day.
Louder, Dazai snottily says: “Where’s my naked housewife Chuuya?!”
“You said I get to have an apron, asshole!”
☯☯☯
“I heard Edogawa-san won the Agency’s contest.”
“He did.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
With nearly a meter separating them, the two spend time in companionable silence, while not-waiting for a certain Agency detective idiot to be released from the hospital.
It takes four hours and ten cats milling around them – no, the cats are mostly meowing up at him, despite him not having any catnip or food with him. Chuuya’s used to receiving all sorts of stares, but it’s kind-of unnerving to be the subject of an envious stare from the Agency’s President, especially over popularity with cats.
“I heard you’re planning on taking Dazai on a vacation in Europe for his birthday.”
Chuuya swallows down his immediate reaction of: ‘I DID NOT EVEN TELL HIM YET’ followed by ‘STUPID FUCKING BASTARD BROWSING THROUGH MY SEARCH HISTORY URGH’.
…Fine.
He’s not a member of the Agency – he’d rather swallow his own tongue than die of the everyday humiliation Dazai would surely subject him to – so he’s not technically required to be respectful and stuff to Fukuzawa. However. He also likes his comfortable life, thank you very much, so he’d rather not have this encounter circle back to Mori-san and listen to passive-aggressive jabs about it not being in his business to ruffle the slightest bit of hair on Fukuzawa’s head. He’s also spent a fortune on the tickets already – because fuck everything if Dazai would even want to contribute a penny to the vacation he’s been harping about for months – and he’s fairly sure that Mori-san’s not above childishness and suddenly making things difficult for Chuuya to leave the country.
“I’ve asked the Agency to give you a care package.”
Oh to the hell no.
“Please don’t give me condoms!”
Because the last time that he’s received a care package from the Agency, the flavored, glow-in-the-dark condoms were the sanest part of the contents. He’s not quite sure (and he doesn’t really want to know) whose idea it was to add handcuffs, riding crops, whips and all sorts of ball gags there. He has a feeling it’s a toss-up between Yosano-san and Naomi-san, but again, he’s not in any hurry (he’d rather it never happened, but he knows Dazai and he can just feel the other biding his time in springing up the surprise knowledge when least expects it) to find out.
“You should practice safe sex,” and oh god, is Fukuzawa Yuichi, cat lover, cat enthusiast, scary director, probably a grandfather figure, definitely a father figure, Mori-san’s very special someone in all strange senses of the word, oh good god, is this man going to give him the safe sex talk?!
“I need to see Dazai,” he really doesn’t, but the alternative is more terrifying.
“No sex yet, it might aggravate his injury.”
“GOODBYE, FUKUZAWA-SAN.”
If it feels like a trap so that he’ll scurry back to where Dazai is and leave Fukuzawa with all ten cats, well.
☯☯☯
“Your vampiric powers are showing.”
It’s a flimsy explanation – an outright lie, to be honest – but Chuuya doesn’t say anything aside from some half-hearted grumbling. Their hands are clasped together, Chuuya’s right glove in his pocket as his fingers twitch against Dazai’s unbandaged left knuckles. The fact that they’re holding hands as they navigate the Louvre practically empty because all the guards are knocked out and the moon is high in the sky – it’s… nice.
It’s been too long since Chuuya’s bare hands have had contact with someone else. It’s been more than twenty years since he’s able to touch anyone other than Dazai but even so, even though Dazai’s practically the only one he’s ever touched, there’s still something to be said about the novelty of being able to feel the other’s skin, palm cold with the winter and the nighttime and the airconditioning and much else.
Tachihara always looks devastated whenever he spots them holding hands in Yokohama, definitely not believing it when Chuuya explains it away as something that Dazai does to help him control his vampiric powers from flaring in the middle of the city. Honestly, Chuuya can’t begrudge the younger man for the crushing disappointment that he has over him, he’s supposed to be the Nakahara Chuuya, strongest vampire in Yokohama, and someone like him so far up the ranks of the vampire organization should not need a leash like Dazai. He’s disappointed in himself too, but mostly because he can’t even be honest enough to admit that it’s more because he enjoys the simple act of them being connected by their hands, rather than any dire need to curb his impulse to drain everyone nearby of their blood.
Akutagawa’s disdain is more straightforward, sniffing haughtily (then coughing afterwards) at them, though Chuuya generously doesn’t point out that he knows all about Akutagawa’s blushing and fumbling whenever Nakajima attempts to hold his hand.
For one, Chuuya’s not supposed to tell anyone about it (well, aside from Dazai, because Dazai can’t stop bringing it up, he claims to be the brilliant mind behind the budding romance between the two, though Chuuya tells him to suck it, because he’s the one who thought of the idea in the first place).
(Oh wait, he’s also discussed it with Poe-san when he was trying to cheer the other up over Edogawa’s flippant treatment of him, though he should be prepared for that, Edogawa’s bitchiness is one of the top three things Poe-san likes about him, in the vein of: “Well, you could do worse! Akutagawa’s attempted to kill Atsushi multiple times, yet they’re still like that!”)
(Oh, and he’s also refereed a catty altercation between Gin-san, Lucy-san and Kyouka-san regarding who gets to threaten to cut Akutagawa’s balls should he hurt Atsushi – the fact that Akutagawa’s sister is there and that she’s on friendly terms with those two… - and the subject of Akutagawa’s failure at holding hands was brought up and—)
(Q and Elise know about it, naturally, because they’re precocious hellfires who cannot be contained and they have eyes and ears everywhere especially when it comes to the smell of embarrassment.)
(Oh and Kouyou-anesan has chastised him over his stupidity over Dazai and he half-recalls replying with something like “Well at least I’m not as stupid as Akutagawa when it comes to holding hands!”, getting a thwack over his hat for his troubles and a long-suffering sigh about idiocy.)
Well okay, fine. Now that he thinks about it, Atsushi did ask him to keep it a secret, but in retrospect, Atsushi told everyone in the Agency (and himself) about it, two weeks ago, when he sprints back to the office, flushed cheeks and triumphant grin about finally managing more than five seconds of contact between their palms before he got thrown in an impressive German suplex that caused more harm to Akutagawa’s lungs than Atsushi’s psyche.
“—?!”
Ah.
Dazai’s smirking at him, eyes shining in the dark. Chuuya lifts a hand to his lips, feeling the sudden kiss there, buzzing with something like electricity. And because they’re still holding hands, he ends bringing up both of their hands to his lips, inadvertently kissing Dazai’s knuckles too.
“I was going to complain about Chuuya’s mind drifting while on a date with me,” Dazai says easily, as though he isn’t crushing Chuuya under the weight of too much affection and fondness at the moment. “But then…”
“…but then?”
They stop underneath a blood-red painting, but honestly, Chuuya can’t see beyond Dazai’s face at the moment. Well, he can, but he doesn’t want to.
“This way of hand-holding…” Dazai slowly brings their hands somewhere more in-between their faces, their fingers clasped, palms pressed together. “…it’s called a lover’s bind.”
Oh.
“Yes, ‘oh’.”
Oh, so he said it out loud.
“You didn’t have to,” Dazai-the-fucking-mind-reader-asshole says, the smirk softening to a fond smile. “I know what you’re thinking, Chuuya.”
Chuuya feels time stretch between them, expanding and contracting and flowing relentlessly. “Mind-reading isn’t one of your abilities.”
“It’s not.”
Dazai tilts his head so that his bangs aren’t covering his eyes. Chuuya’s knees don’t shake from the intensity of the stare, they don’t. He wobbles forward so that his entire weight is propped against Dazai anyway. Just in case.
“I’ve spent a lot of time observing you.” It’s not a secret. It’s not, but Chuuya’s knees and entire body, fine, he admits it, tremble anyway. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about you.”
“Because you’re assigned to investigate me.” Chuuya’s head is tilted up, their hands still holding on to each other, even if their hands are crushed between their chests without heartbeats. “Because the Agency’s other responsibility is to keep track of vampires. And slay them if they become too much.”
It’s all part of the intricate tumble of power in Yokohama, anywhere in the world really. There’s the government who’s benevolent enough to allow the non-humans to live alongside normal people. There’s an organization supposed to contain vampires and make sure they’re all accounted for. And there’s an agency supposed to watch over and hunt out-of-control vampires.
“You are the strongest vampire in Yokohama.” Dazai looks at him with something akin to pride, acknowledgement, and there’s a distant thought about how Akutagawa would have killed many times over for this kind of approval years ago.
He manages a puff of laughter, even though his lungs are crying from the effort to look up at Dazai right now, to stay this close to him. “So it’s only right that you’re the one assigned to me.”
“It’s my pride.” Dazai’s an odd sort of egoist, ever since before. “I’m the only one who gets to watch over my creation.”
“You didn’t create me,” Chuuya’s not a pet, a thing. “Even if you’re the one who turned me.”
Dazai who won’t die no matter the suicide attempts because he’s too much of a pureblood vampire. Dazai who met him, saw him when he was stabbed to near-death many years ago, in the middle of a dumpster. Dazai who gave him eternal life in exchange for bearing with his odd housewife jokes and his fond smiles and his lover’s bind hand-holding.
In response, Dazai simply squeezes their hands together, tighter, as though it will allow them to melt into each other.
☯☯☯
“CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR MARRIAGE, CHUUYA-SAN!!!!!!”
Chuuya blushes, he can feel his cheeks warming, but he rolls his eyes still. He tosses two boxes of chocolate towards Atsushi who doesn’t stand up from his table up front, serving as the Agency’s secretary/receptionist for the day, most of his souvenirs already distributed to Kouyou-anesan and Kunikida-san.
Kouyou-anesan isn’t a subordinate of his, but he literally cannot trust anyone in the organization to not (a) hoard the chocolates (he’s seen Higuchi’s teary-eyed exclamations about the brands he brought; he’s heard Tachihara literally sob at the sight of him, though that’s probably because of the hickeys—not hickeys, but more like criss-cross lines made with his special dagger so they heal extra slowly—on his neck, yes, he’s also disappointed in himself for giving in to Dazai’s whining about wanting to mark him, he’s let his subordinates down again), or (b) use them for some nefarious purpose (he’s not interested in lemon-shaped chocolate bombs, the shit he brought are too expensive for that, Motojirou, stop it).
Similarly to Kouyou-anesan being the only one he can trust in the organization, Kunikida-san is the only sane person in the Agency, so the responsibility to distribute his souvenirs is up to him. True, they’ll probably be half-way melted by the time they’re distributed (he’s personally seen the scribbles of computations and derivatives and what-the-hell-are-those-equations?! that govern the man’s life, after all) but at least there won’t be any issues about Naomi-san bagging everything and making a chocolate statue of her brother’s likeness, before melting everything to a fondue which she’ll then lick off her foaming-at-the-mouth brother’s skin.
He’s not particularly close with Ango-san and Oda-san, but he’s sent them their share too. Not because he’s sucking up to the government – though Mori-san has congratulated him on that – but because those two deserve a million awards for putting up with Dazai during their drinking sessions.
“Are you reliving your honeymoon right now, Chuuya-san?!”
“I’m not,” he rolls his eyes again for good measure. Atsushi’s all pink and happy and good god. “…Is Akutagawa under the table.”
“He is,” Atsushi beams and flinches when Akutagawa does something. Fortunately for Chuuya’s sanity, he knows how shy Akutagawa can get and he knows that he’s not even half as bad as his ex-mentor, so. Probably not something racy.
“I’m not sure I can handle seeing him right now, so he can stay under the table.”
“Well, if that’s the case, then he’d like to pass his… condolences… no, that’s not right, Ryuu, it should be congratulations AND condolences!”
“I knew you weren’t sane,” Chuuya says with a laugh, feeling his long-silent heart squeeze with something akin to affection as well. “But we didn’t get married.”
“I saw the rings, Chuuya-san.”
“They’re promise rings, damn it, I told the asshole—”
“Ah. Yosano-san said they looked like cock rings, but—”
“You’re crazy.” Chuuya hears Akutagawa mumble something about him not being alone in finally seeing that Atsushi’s been polluted by Dazai. “I can’t believe that Yosano-san said that with children present.”
“I’m not a child anymore!”
“I meant Kenji-san.”
“Oh.”
“So it’s not marriage.”
“Yet.” Akutagawa coughs from under the table. “I had respect for you, Chuuya-san.”
“I’m not the one hiding under the table, Akutagawa.”
“…you didn’t deny the ‘yet’, though, did you, Chuuya-san.”
Chuuya smiles and the smile stays even when Dazai makes a grand entrance by banging the Agency door open and running away from Kunikida and straight to Chuuya’s back, muttering something about mission reports that he’s not inclined to write at the moment.
“…I guess I didn’t.”
☯☯☯
“I cannot fucking believe you.”
“Really?!” Dazai asks with an exaggerated gasp, placing his uninjured hand over his mouth for the full scandalized effect. “You believed me when I said our marriage vows!”
“Urgh, shut up, you insufferable bastard,” Chuuya says but keeps his hands light and gentle as he extracts the silver bullet out of Dazai’s hand. “I cannot fucking believe you allowed yourself to get shot by that Fyodor, urgh, idiot, jerk, waste of bandage, urgh.”
“I’m so loved, aren’t I?” Dazai chuckles a little when Chuuya all but pours alcohol over the wound. “It was either my knuckle or the ring.”
“I can buy you a new ring, damn it.”
“Mm,” Dazai hums pensively, before flicking a drop of blood towards Chuuya’s face. “Chuuya likes nursing me back to health, ne?”
“I told you to shut your fucking mouth.”
“I still think Chuuya should kiss it better,” Dazai murmurs wistfully and so damn calculatedly, winking at him when he lifts his eyes from the droplets of blood that continue to ooze out, meeting Dazai’s gaze. “So that it will heal faster.”
It’s déjà vu and Chuuya feels like this scene will replay a few hundred times over their lifetime.
Still—
“Just shut up,” Chuuya says instead, because he is completely stupid over Dazai and it’s not going to change.
Dazai doesn’t say anything and lets himself be silenced by the mouth over his.