1. Fifteen

Chuuya Nakahara didn't smile half as much as a fifteen year old boy should— that was one of the first things about him Dazai had taken notice. Of course, one might call him a biased judge, considering the burden of depression that insisted on weighting down on his shoulders at such an early age, but that didn't mean Dazai was uncapable of smiling; quite the opposite, indeed, as the boy found it to be easier to pretend than to admit there was little to nothing in the act of living that made his lips twitch in real amusement.

Chuuya didn't fake, though. As a matter of fact, everything about the boy was disturbingly raw and honest.

So Nakahara simply didn't smile— and if the gore and violence he was forced to see and inflict day after day, followed by nights spent in between Ozaki's brothels, that managed to mix red rooms and torture cabins like finding balance was an elegant dance, had any weight on him, they sure as hell weren't helping. But Dazai had always been a curious soul, and something about the redhead's burst of emotions was magnetic;

The way he allowed himself to feel passionately from the tip of his toes to the last strand of hair, not scared to intimidate, to show excitement, grief, or rage, but rarely ever happiness, weren't lost on him.

Always a frown, a scowl or a sneer, but never a laugh.

Dazai wanted to change it, and he was nothing but a dedicated player upon discovering new games.

The first time it happened, he had been trying for a while, to no avail. It was during a meeting, though, that Dazai caught sight of Chuuya's lips twisting upwards for the first time.

"Stop that." The redhead mouthed from across the table, filled with executives and Black Lizard soldiers, Chuuya ranked amongst them. Dazai had been making faces and mimicking Kouyou's mannerisms for the better part of an hour now, discreet enough to only be noticed by Chuuya— whose features twisted down in frustration at his disrespect.

But then, Mori had the word, and Dazai's eyes shone with the opportunity. Chuuya caught it with bulged eyes of his own, as if he could mentally, desperately, scold Dazai into quietness. With a smirk, the brunette laced the fingers from both his hands in one another, using them to cover the lower half of his face like the boss occasionally would.

Chuuya's foot kicked his shin under the table, but Dazai could see his lips twisting up in the slightest. His own smile was hidden by the position, so he tried conveying funny faces with his visible eye, wiggling the tips of his fingers. Another kick, stronger this time, and Chuuya's shoulders shook almost imperceptibly, a hint of desperation filling his eyes— at the prospect of being caught by Ane-san joking around during meetings, he's sure.

Dazai couldn't name the feeling of satisfaction that rushed through him at the idea of making the redhead laugh, but he wiggled his eyebrows at him before throwing a wink.

Chuuya's shoulders shook before he exploded in coughs that barely disguised laughter, halting the meeting — resulting in a very confused and concerned Kouyou, but an amused Mori.

Osamu got a kick and a scolding from the chibi once the meeting was over, but the smile plastered on his own face wasn't fake for once— though he doesn't think he's able to differentiating anymore, at this point.

2. Sixteen

Months came and went before Dazai would have the peace of mind to worry about Nakahara's laughter again— and when he did, he remembered there was a quick, fail-safe way to get fun to hit the redhead.

"Of course, the chibi cheats!" Dazai bemoans, throwing his head back as to avoid the red 'game over' announcement on his screen. "One is to expect a man's moral code to be as big as the man himself."

"hah!?" The redhead gasped, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. "I don't cheat, bastard. You suck at the game."

Dazai frowned, jutting out his bottom lip in a pout. "I demand a shot at revenge!"

Chuuya snorted, letting him go. "Revenge? I beat your ass!" He opposed, pointing towards the screen that claimed him to have won the game— by a vast difference of points. Dazai scrunched his nose up.

"These are just numbers. I couldn't see." Dazai waved a hand in front of his bandage covered eye. "You're counting victories over someone that's disabled—"

That got a surprised, choked laughter past Chuuya's mouth, that made something bubble deep inside Dazai's own chest. "The only thing you are is unbelievable—"

"I am at disadvantage and you are insensitive—" He continued his drama, lips straining to hold back a self satisfied smile at the way Chuuya's own opened itself.

"You're a sore fucking loser—"

"You're a chibi-shaped brute that wasn't even looking at the buttons you were pressing—" He cut himself off with a shriek as his partner swung his leg in his direction, aiming for a kick that had Dazai jumping out of reach.

That had Chuuya bursting in loud, unrestrained laughter, that filled every corner of the room, despite how packed the place was. Dazai was going to make a comment on how his reach was withered by his small size and short legs, but found himself unable to speak through the smile straining his face.

"I guess we can play again, Mackerel." Chuuya relented, with a roll of his eyes, as he looked away from Dazai's smiling figure. "You are a sore loser, after all."

And Dazai shrugged with a non committal hum, because he didn't feel like a loser then.

3. Sixteen

"What the— Fuck, Dazai!"

The redhead cursed, raising his arms to protect his eyes from the brunette's attack, where the executive had kicked wet sand in his direction.

The breeze of the beach had red strands flying into his face, and Dazai took the opportunity to kick sand high in his direction again, aiming for his hair— and hitting the target.

"I washed it yesterday, you fucking—" sand erupted from the spot right next to Dazai, forcing him to duck, only to be met with another small burst on the other side.

"Can't beat me fair and square, slug, is that what you're trying to say?" He complained, retreating in the direction of the sea, and being followed by a menacing Chuuya. He picked up a handful of sand, throwing it at the shorter, who had to bat it away before it could hit him in the head again.

"Don't aim at my hair!" Random spots of sand in Dazai's way started sinking, forming holes before he could step on them and nullify the gravity ability. Seeing the way Dazai was, little by little, being cornered, his lips tilted upwards.

"And they dare saying dogs are their owner's best friends!" Chuuya's smile fell, right eye twitching. The gravity manipulator scooped his own handful of wet sand, throwing the ball straight at Dazai, who jumped back but didn't manage to avoid it.

A false step was the only thing that made him notice how they were already inches deep into the sea, water hitting at the middle of his calfs, and almost reaching Chuuya's knees.

"And I'm not your fucking dog, asshole!" He shot back, but Dazai could only laugh out loud at the denial, throwing his head back, which only served to piss Chuuya off even more. The redhead ran straight at him, kicking water in his direction, wetting his hair and eye bandage.

"Not like that, you aren't!" Dazai bemoaned, lips twitching upwards at the teasing. "Bad dog, Chuuya. Bad, bad, dog—" All air was punched out of his lungs when a small, angry figure ran towards him, head ducked, and hugged him by his middle before throwing him all the way into the water, giving him half a second to hold his breath before being submerged. Dazai grabbed back at Chuuya's hips, rolling them so he could wrestle the redhead into the sea as well.

Through sheer physical strength, Chuuya managed to fight his way back on top after a few moments, and between the sound of clashing waves and rustling, Dazai could hear it, as loud and clear as if it was the only sound ringing in his ears: Chuuya's unrestrained laughter.

And then, his hold weakened— and really, what was Dazai, if not an opportunistic creature?

He hugged the shorter flush against himself, making him trip into water once more, spluttering in surprise that had Dazai laughing for a change.

When they managed to find their footing again, despite their still tangled limbs, both panted— and when Dazai's eyes focused on the scene in front of him again, he noticed that, well… Chuuya blent in perfectly with the scenery. Fiery orange strands of hair clashed with the setting sun's own bright hot colors, that painted the sky in pink and red hues; sea water reflected on the surface of blue irises, as deep as the ocean itself; Fair, freckled skin was all beach sand.

Chuuya was a force of nature on his own, and Dazai had stopped lying to himself about what it was months ago.

Chuuya was beautiful, and the truth was as simple as that.

There weren't many beautiful things in the world, putrid and rotting from inside out where human nature made sure to make itself seen and know through the cracks, like the deadliest and most hypocritical of poisons. Dazai hated looking at the illusion of life, that in reality was a clock counting down from the moment it breathed in for the first time.

He liked looking at Chuuya, however (which might be hypocritical of himself, considering how passion and movement poured from Chuuya, infecting every living thing around him), but couldn't stand the way the redhead's eyes mapped his face back, just as careful as Dazai hoped his own eyes could look when mapping Chuuya's own beauty.

And then, ocean blue met dark brown sand, both in nature and in the magnetic pull of Nakahara's own irises.

Ocean blue mixed with dark brown sand, both in nature and in the taste of wet, salt flavored lips sliding against Dazai's own before he could even regain is breathing back.

Osamu could swear he was floating and falling at the same time, but the soles of his feet remained rooted to the ground— and then again, Osamu could swear Chuuya had been the first to move, but said boy would deny it for years and throw the accusation right back, so maybe his point of view wasn't to be trusted.

Ocean blue and dark brown sand blent in naturally, inseparable and irreversible, though, so who cared, in the end?

4. Seventeen

"Okay, give her a name!"

Chuuya frowned at him, a little funny, and tilted his head to the side in a way that resembled a confused dog— not that Dazai would point that out, he didn't want to be slapped so close to midnight and ruin his new years kiss because he couldn't keep his humor in check.

He normally couldn't, but he did have more pressing matters that night, as it had been made clear.

"We're not giving the stuffed crab a name, Mackerel." He deadpanned, crossing his arms even as there was mirth dancing in his eyes. He looked nice —Dazai thought, not for the first time that night— with his kimono covering a warm layer of clothes underneath, falling gracefully on his form. It was blue, contrasting with the fiery red of his hair, and clashing perfectly with the color of his eyes. Dazai pouted, shoving the plushie in Chuuya's face. "Off, get that off."

"Don't call our daughter an 'it', Chuuya, that's offensive." He made a face, pulling it back after the shorter slapped it away, joking. The brunette hid it between the long sleeves of his own black kimono. They had won the plushie as a prize after winning a game in one of the multiple booths scattered around the area, all for a New Years Eve celebration that took place near a Shinto shrine that awaited for the midnight announcement. A quick glance at the nearest countdown, and a man's loud warn, told Dazai it was only five minutes away.

"Oh, that's our daughter now?" Chuuya mocked, already resuming their walk across corridors, through booths and seas of people so they could find a spot with a clear view to the sky. Dazai followed.

"Why, of course! Does chibi not remember all my seven and a half months of work—"

"Seven and a half?" He halted, turning his head with a questioning look. Dazai shrugged.

"Well, she's small," He muttered, analyzing the animal before deciding. "Clearly premature." Chuuya choked on his spit when he laughed, coughing it out as Dazai's own lips stretched in a smile at the reaction he managed to get out of his boyfriend. "And now you laugh! I went through labor."

"You did not."

"Well, it certainly wasn't you to birth Zephyrine." He retorted. "We would know if Chuuya was able to gestate by now—ow!"

"You're an asshole, and—my daughter is not gonna be called," he halted, frowning for a moment before resuming. In the background, the brunette could hear the unmistakable sound of a ten seconds countdown beginning. "Whatever the fuck it is you just called her."

"You just hit your baby mama." Dazai complained, rubbing the side of his arm where Chuuya had slapped him mere seconds earlier. The redhead's eyes twitched, but so did his mouth, so Dazai thought he was good.

"Five! Four!" The mass of people roared, but all Dazai heard was the words falling from Chuuya's lips, tilted in an amused smile, when he whispered "Osamu."

"Yeah?" He breathed, eyes falling down as the redhead approached him.

"Three! Two!"

Calloused fingers found his cheeks, and Chuuya's feet stepped over Dazai's own so he could stand taller— and even so, the redhead had to rise himself to his tiptoes. The brunette's breath halted, all the screaming turned into white noise as his vision zeroed on freckles dotting a nose bridge, and plump, rosy lips, that ordered: "shut the fuck up."

"One!"

Who was Dazai not to obey?

He closed the distance between them with ease, feeling Chuuya's smile against his lips for a moment before they slid in between his own. His hands found the gravity manipulator's waist, and his boyfriend arched into him as fire works and paper balloons tore the sky in bursts of color and sounds that Dazai didn't even register, when the roughness of Chuuya's tongue slid against his own.

5. Eighteen

Dazai's eyebrows shot up in shock as he watched Chuuya spit back his wine into a bucket, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, before rinsing his mouth with water. The executive blinked, noticing the winery owners didn't seem offended by the action in the slightest, and looked back at his boyfriend.

"I never thought I'd see you spitting instead of swa—hey!" He jumped out of Chuuya's arm reach when the man tried punching him in the arm for the commentary, choking on the water briefly. "Instead of swallowing the wine, slug, I'm talking about the wine!" He faked offense, trying and failing to hide a smile. "And you're abusing me in front of a crowd."

"Fuck you." He muttered, voice rough from choking, before he gulped down the rest of the water in his second glass. "Does the great Osamu Dazai not know you're supposed to spit it out at a wine tasting?" He asked, to which Dazai pursed his lips, humming as he considered the new information.

"Are you?" He questioned, taking a rather large sip from his own glass and swallowing before the liquid could even fully coat his tongue, leaving behind only a faint, velvet-like sensation that was typical of dry wine. Dazai bit back a smile when Chuuya looked at him as if he had just murdered Ozaki, smaking his lips and pretending to mull over his next words, only to decide— "Eh. Tastes like dirt."

Nakahara's right eye twitched.

"You're doing it on purpose." His boyfriend nodded to himself, breathing in as if he needed to calm himself, and Dazai was half disappointed and half amused at the way he hadn't, for once, been able to get under the redhead's skin yet. He had an entire night to keep trying, though. "Anyway, you're supposed to spit it. It's a wine tasting, for fuck's sake— you'd be drunk in an hour if you swallowed everything down."

Dazai tipped his head back and made a move as if he was to gulp down the rest of his drink before Chuuya could finish, resulting in his boyfriend staring at him like he was personally offensive or hurtful. "Stop that, you'll embarrass me!"

"Oh, is my dog embarrassed of me?" Dazai pouted, only to have the glass removed from his hand before he could really have a sip.

"You don't have a dog. Keep talking like that and you won't have a boyfriend either." He threatened with a hiss, setting Dazai's glass back. "And I mean it, don't fuck this up." He said, pointing a finger at Dazai's chest that had the brunette raising his hands in defeat. "Behave."

"Okay, chibi, okay. You got it."

And let it be registered that Dazai did behave for the rest of the night.

That is, for most of the night, although his first attempts at spitting the wine were frustrating and resulted in a laughing Chuuya gathering blackmail material, until— "what's wrong?" Chuuya frowned at Dazai's antics when the taller man looked at him with wide eyes. Exasperated at the lack of response a humming Dazai with a mouthful of wine could give, Chuuya threw his hands up. "What?"

The brunette swallowed the wine, looking at the dark liquid sitting inside his glass like it had just confessed to him. He looked up at the wine maker, suddenly the mafia executive he was known to be and less the stupid boyfriend Chuuya had grown to know. "This is divine." He praised, while Chuuya took his time to breathe in the fruity scent of the beverage above the rim of his glass, humming while the wine maker claimed his thank you's. "You'll have to give me a pass, I'm not spitting."

"That's a first." Chuuya muttered under his breath, getting a snort out of Dazai before he tipped his head back to drain the rest of his drink. Trying it himself, he was rather surprised at the smooth, jam-like fruit character clashing with the rounded finish of a dry drink. He was about to ask just what that was, when his eyes found the brand, wiping the surprise from his face immediately.

Menage a trois. Of fucking course he wasn't on about the wine.

He fixed his boyfriend with a deadpan stare, as if he could will Dazai's mouth shut with a cutting look alone. Of course, he couldn't, because the executive's lips tilted in a lopsided smile. "I can't be blamed if it is that good." He defended himself,looking back at the wine maker for agreement. "All parts."

"Are you permanently thirteen?" He hissed, rolling his eyes despite the laughter coming from the winery owner that explained about the three grapes used in it. Dazai nodded all along, but Chuuya knew there was more to come. He wasn't expecting, however, to listen a—

"Do you think we could have one, baby?" Dazai asked, almost a whisper, leaning closer to Chuuya with expectant eyes. The redhead frowned, looking between Dazai and the branded name. Surely, he couldn't mean—

"Excuse you?"

Dazai's face hurt with the effort of holding back a smile at the prospect of irritating his future husband to no end. At the sight of Chuuya's hardened stare, he continued: "Come on. It's different from everything we've had. Have you tried it?"

Sure enough, his boyfriend's lips tilted downwards in a disgusted face. "If you want one that badly, go for it. Just make sure you'll find two more grapes for yours."

His eyebrows shot up. Okay, maybe he wasn't expecting to be taken seriously— but Chuuya was already making his way to the next stand, and Dazai cursed lowly to himself, taking his wallet from his back pocket to pay for the bottle of wine— because that's what Dazai had meant, obviously— as quick as possible before rushing towards Nakahara again.

When he caught up to the gravity manipulator, he was already crossing the door to the establishment, hugged by the cool breeze of the night, in contrast to the warm interior. "Chuuya!" Dazai called, hugging his boyfriend from behind before he could have the chance to dislodge himself again. "I was just kidding, baby." He tilted his chin so he could press his lips against the underside of his jaw once. Then twice. Thrice.

"You're so ridiculous." Chuuya muttered, his eye roll pretty much distinguishable in the way his voice sounded, even if Dazai continued his onslaughter of kisses, across his cheek, temples and nose.

"I'm ridiculous and yours. Always yours." He muttered, knowing exactly the effect those words had as he pressed a kiss to his boyfriend's neck. "I love you, I love you, I love you…"

With each repetition, he left a new peck against the redhead's skin, and soon, the tipsy men tripped their way across the deserted road, laughing at each other's antics, despite Chuuya's complaints and attempts to push Dazai away so he would stop nullifying his attempts at stabilizing himself.

"You're the only one I want."

+1. Eighteen — Nineteen

Dazai had no idea how long it had been since his last human interaction. He couldn't put a lot of faith in his intuition either if the way his mind had been playing tricks for God knows how many days (has it even been days already?) was to be taken into account.

On a good day, Osamu's battle with his own head was under control— his psychosis took the form of thousands of heavy hands, pounding incessantly against the wooden door that parted his conscious mind from his unconscious, his understanding of what was real from what was not; stretched the thin line that separated his ability to consider life bearable from the abyssal feeling of not belonging, and from the constant questioning he would never know how to answer.

Oda Sakunosuke had broken down that door, without the slightest mercy for its old, rusted hinges—or rather, his death had— and Dazai couldn't even commit his suicide as one final act of freedom, because Osamu was many things, but free would never be one of them.

What was keeping him here, after all? A promise to live made over a corpse?

Pathetic.

Dazai's skin seemed to crawl, thick with a filth that could have been as psychological as it was physical. He could no longer remember the last time he had gotten up to take a shower.

No. That wasn't right… what was keeping him here, after all? A promise to live made for the sake of the most vivid human being Dazai had ever known, one capable of igniting the flame of passion even within a heart as unfeeling as his.

Where was Nakahara?

Ahh, yes. Of course. Dazai had abandoned him— but had he, really? To abandon Chuuya was to abandon his reason for living. Dazai had enjoyed living these past few years, even if the admission left a bitter, uncomfortable taste in his throat and threatened to make acid churn in his stomach.

Maybe Dazai didn't deserve a reason to live. Maybe it was time to find everyone he had sworn to meet again in hell. Maybe, maybe, maybe—

"I heard the news."

Dazai's body went rigid for a moment, an agonizing moment in which he begged his mind for mercy—because it wouldn't be fair to hallucinate something like this, to hallucinate—

"I’m talking to you, Mackerel."

Dazai lifted his head from the mattress, unable to believe the sudden rush of adrenaline and relief that, contradictorily, coursed through his body at the sight of red hair cutting through the black and white that dominated the darkened room. He choked on a sob, his chest constricting in a way so uncharacteristic of him, and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Chuuya."

Before he could gather the courage to open his eyes again, arms wrapped around his shoulders; hands that had never been taught to do anything but hurt, torture, and wound, yet somehow still knew how to hold Dazai with such gentleness. He wondered whether he had ever given Nakahara the same comfort as he felt his body collapse against the shorter man.

"I’m sorry, Osamu." It was whispered, lips pressed against his hair, followed by other words that made Dazai feel the weight of the world being lifted from his shoulders little by little, without a single objection or complaint from Chuuya. Chuuya had never minded the weight, anyway—perhaps because of the power that allowed him to manipulate weight at will, but Dazai had always nullified him all the same. "I’m sorry. I’m not going to leave you."

Murmurs of apologies and assurances that “I’m here” slowly made Dazai melt, wrapping his arms around Chuuya's body in return, pulling him against his own with all the strength he had, as though he could fuse them together if he tried hard enough— as though that alone would be enough to make Dazai want to stay.

He didn't notice he was crying until he tasted the salt of his own tears, Chuuya's fingers threading through his hair. He didn't need to speak; he never did with the redhead, but still— "Odasaku asked me… he asked me to be better." His voice came out hoarse from disuse.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered leaving clues for Chuuya in his container, where no one but the redhead would dare set foot, so that he could be found.

Maybe Dazai had wanted to live all along.

"I can't do that in the Mafia, Chuuya." He whispered, pulling his head away from his boyfriend's neck, tear-filled eyes meeting blue irises. "I can't save orphans, take care of the wounded, or change anything there." Chuuya's expression gave nothing away, and for the first time, Dazai found himself unable to decipher the redhead on his own. "I…" The unfamiliar words caught in his throat. Words the Demon Prodigy never uttered, words that— "I’m sorry."

Chuuya stared at him for endless seconds before shaking his head, letting out a wet laugh. "We can talk about that later." Dazai's chest exploded with relief, because a later meant Chuuya was going to stay. Their foreheads pressed together, and Dazai's eyes closed on instinct. "Now, you can start being a good person by getting up and taking a shower." He continued, using one hand beneath Dazai's chin to lift his head and make him look at him again. The brunette looked at him expectantly, as though his world began and ended with Chuuya—and, to some extent, that was true. "Because you can't take care of your daughter like this."

Dazai furrowed his brow in confusion, but before he could question the redhead, the boy pulled a stuffed crab from behind him. "You can't hug Zephyrine while you stink, Osamu."

He shook his head solemnly as he hugged their daughter.

Dazai hadn't seen her in months.

It was so ridiculous and unexpected that it made a laugh bubble up in his chest before he could stop it, spilling freely and young from his lips. Chuuya's eyes lit up at the sight.

"Yeah, I guess I can't." He agreed, too drained for jokes at the moment, and Chuuya's bare feet nudged against his body.

"Exactly. And she misses you, so you should hurry up so you can spend some time with her."

"Can her father come with me?" He asked, his voice weak and quiet. As though leaving the room and Chuuya behind would prove that the redhead had never been there in the first place. He didn't want to lose his only reason yet.

Chuuya sighed, a small, sad smile on his lips as he pretended to consider his boyfriend's request. "Well, I suppose Zephyrine will be able to survive on her own for a few minutes…"

Dazai let out a breath of relief he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, a fragile, tired smile shaping his lips. Fragile, tired, and so utterly real.

He didn't want to lose his only reason yet, and he didn't—not when the redhead listened to Dazai at dinner hours later and agreed to leave with him and Zephyrine, promising to stay with his hands clasped between the brunette's larger ones.

Dazai had always wanted to live, really.