Chapter Text
“It looks like a wedding veil, doesn’t it?”
Chuuya looks up from checking his messages on his phone. It takes him a minute to follow Dazai’s eyes focused somewhere on the top of his head and realizes he’s got the blanket draped over him like - a wedding veil, in Dazai’s words. It’s just a blanket, though.
A few years ago - maybe even months, if he’s completely honest with himself (and only himself, no one else, definitely not a mummified asshole who likes to try and fluster him at every given moment), he’ll admit it might have sent jittery feelings down from his chest to his toes, and maybe he might have entertained the idea of a ‘wedding veil’ over his head, if only for a moment -
“Are you sleep deprived, again?” he mutters instead, shooting Dazai a look of annoyance that has no real bite to it. He pushes himself up, sitting up straight and gathering the blanket so Dazai has none of it and wrapping it around himself. Dazai doesn’t seem to mind being exposed to the cold air, and actually goes as far lifting himself up to assist in being robbed of the right to stay warm.
Chuuya scowls and sets his phone aside. “I live my life counting down to the day I’ll finally get to bury you.”
As usual, the insult is baseless and has no impact, except maybe lighting Dazai’s face up like a goddamn Christmas tree and he beams at Chuuya like he’s just done him the biggest favour of his life.
“I knew you loved me!”
“I’d ask what part of that conveyed any form of love, but I already know you’re fucked up, so I won’t.”
“My life’s purpose is to die, and you want that so desperately for me!” Dazai sits up as well, clutching one of the pillows against his chest as he leans forward, giving Chuuya that obnoxious, infuriatingly endearing smile that Chuuya hates so much. Or tries to, at least. It doesn’t really work, but no one has to know that, although he suspects Dazai already does.
But Dazai knows everything, so it’s not a surprise. Sometimes Chuuya wonders why he bothers trying to deny anything at all, when Dazai can read him like an open book, can put him together like a nine-piece jigsaw puzzle.
Maybe he could try being more honest sometimes. He could say no, he doesn’t really want Dazai to die. Maybe he could accept the fact that even though he tries to pretend it’s not true, he still gets the butterflies everytime he sees Dazai, still feels giddy with every small, insignificant touch, every smile, every moment their eyes meet.
Maybe - just maybe - he can admit he’s in love.
Dazai is saying something, but Chuuya tunes him out, choosing instead to test the words out in his head, the simple sentence that has no significance to either of them, but at the same time means the world. He thinks about Dazai’s previous words: it looks like a wedding veil, doesn’t it?
His eyes stray down to his left hand, imagining a ring around his finger, a matching one around Dazai’s.
“Chuuya, you’ve been ignoring me, haven’t you?”
He’s pulled back to reality by Dazai’s voice cutting through his thoughts and he fights the heat that rushes to his face at the very idea of being caught thinking about sappy things like love and marriage . He’s glad Dazai can’t read his mind, even if he can make some pretty close guesses.
“You deserve to be ignored,” he snaps in response, picking up his phone to try and distract himself so that Dazai doesn’t try and decipher him, doesn’t figure out Chuuya’s thought process.
“You’re so unromantic,” is the response. “This is why no one wants to marry you.”
“I don’t want to hear that from you, alright? You probably can’t even say your wedding vows properly.”
“That’s mean , of course I can.” Dazai shifts closer, so their knees are touching and his hands come up to cup Chuuya’s face before sliding down so that they’re holding the edge of the blanket, tugging Chuuya closer.
“I, Dazai Osamu,” he begins, and Chuuya doesn’t like the mischievous look on his face, or the smile pulling at his lips, or the woozy feeling the close proximity is clouding his head with. “Take you, Nakahara Chuuya,” the name drips off Dazai’s tongue like honey, and he’s pretty sure Dazai did that on purpose , that asshole. “As my lawful partner, to have and to hold, from this day forward.”
Chuuya blinks at the smile on Dazai’s face. They’re way too close, he thinks. He can see every strand of hair falling into Dazai’s face from this distance, every eyelash hooding his half-lidded eyes. His eyes drop down to Dazai’s lips and he’s leaning forward before he can even process what he’s doing -
“Blah, blah, blah, boring, boring, I do!” Dazai exclaims, pulling back, and giving Chuuya a grin that makes him want to punch someone in the face. Preferably Dazai.
He sits up straight quickly, embarrassed that it’s so easy for Dazai to rope him in, to make him want it so badly without challenge. His face feels flushed and he tries to ignore it for the sake of his own self confidence. He hides it with another insult, because that’s what he does on reflex. “Please never go to a wedding, ever.”
“But anyway,” Dazai says, leaning back on his hands, looking thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Isn’t it all just a formality? You could just say ‘I do’ and you’re done.”
“No.”
“Hm? You’re rejecting me at the altar?”
Chuuya sighs, looking down at his hands, defined against the pure white of the bedsheets. “The last time you said something like that, you left.” He can feel Dazai’s eyes on him, watching, waiting - for an answer? Explanation? He’s not sure. It’s not like Dazai needs one. He already knows.
“So,” Chuuya looks up to meet his eyes, and it’s a mistake, he thinks, because they’re watching him like a hawk, and Chuuya can’t read the person behind them. But he’d never been good at reading Dazai anyway, so what’s the difference? “I won’t fall for that kind of thing again.”
Dazai doesn’t look away, but something flickers in his eyes - just a flash, so if Chuuya hadn’t been paying close enough attention, or if he’d been someone who doesn’t know Dazai like he does - not that he really knows Dazai either, but sometimes he thinks if he gets to be here, in Dazai’s house, his room, his bed, maybe he knows some small part of him - he’d have missed it. But he’s Chuuya, and he’s paying attention, so he doesn’t.
“Well,” Dazai says, closing his eyes and laying back down again. “That’s understandable.”
Then a hand reaches out to grab Chuuya’s arm, and he’s being pulled down before he can process what’s happening. He blinks down at Dazai, smiling up at him. His hair is spread out over the pillow, his hand on the back of Chuuya’s neck, thumb rubbing over the skin there to send shivers down his spine, giving him a look that sends fire rushing through his entire body. Chuuya wonders how he can ever manage to live after this.
He hates that despite everything Dazai does, Chuuya can’t bring himself to hate him . He hates the power Dazai has over him, how he can reduce him to a mess of emotions with just one glance.
“Then,” Dazai’s voice is soft. His hand shifts, coming to caress Chuuya’s face instead. “Should I keep asking, until you say yes?”
Chuuya bites his lip, doesn’t bother trying to disguise the erratic beating of his heart, or the flush in his face, or the words that threaten to spill out at any moment.
“Do what you want,” he mumbles, letting Dazai pull him further down until their lips meet. “I don’t care.”