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The mission was an absolute mess.
Dazai truthfully didn’t necessarily dislike working with Chuuya, however, it dredged up a plethora of emotions he wished would stay buried. So instead of confronting them, he simply covered them up under layers of disgust and hatred, often analyzing every difference they had and turned it into something he could use against the other boy.
Which was unfortunately, exactly why their mission had turned out so poorly.
Chuuya had already been in a bad mood that morning, refusing to speak to Dazai as he picked him up from his respective apartment, shoving keys into the ignition like it had personally offended him. Usually, Chuuya would want to stop into a gas station or corner store for a drink and would come out with a piping hot cup of coffee for Dazai, then turn on his terrible radio and play some heavy music while they lightly bickered, attempting to pretend they were normal teenagers for a moment of time.
None of that had happened, Chuuya was still reeling in anger from the text Dazai had sent him that morning, something along the lines of not believing he was trusted to carry out important assignments because he couldn’t keep up. It struck a chord, one that Dazai desperately wanted to understand but one he couldn’t allow himself to.
Because the thing was, Dazai wanted everything from Chuuya. Wanted to study his habits, learn everything about him, practically be glued to him, and it scared the living shit out of him. The boy had crashed into his life unexpectedly and then flipped it upside down, Dazai wanted to know why. He was well aware of his… interest in Chuuya, but all of it felt too human for him to have.
Now, he was trying to get Chuuya back into the passenger seat under the moonlight while the boy was covered in blood and holding onto fickle consciousness.
Chuuya’s body was practically dead weight even though he was attempting to stand up, shoes planted on the gravel with knees buckling towards the seat, one hand on the cracked leather and the other braced against the open door. Dazai stood behind him, hands awkwardly at his side as he watched Chuuya try to pick up his leg again and try to get it into the car, missing the mark.
Dazai wasn’t sure if he should reach out to help his partner, as it had gone terribly many times in the past. Helping an unconscious Chuuya after Corruption was one thing, helping him after while he was self aware was absolutely off the table. Something about bodily control, something about Chuuya maybe not fully trusting Dazai to not turn it into a joke.
“Fucking hate…” Chuuya trailed off as he moved all his weight onto his arms, attempting to pull himself into the car.
It was pathetic, really. Dazai didn’t find Chuuya weak by any means, Chuuya was easily the strongest person he’d ever met- both mentally and physically, but watching him try to keep consciousness, keep control and get himself into a car with legs made of jelly was making Dazai want to break many of his own rules he’d created for himself.
Chuuya’s arms gave out from under him and within an instant, Dazai had an arm around his chest, struggling but holding him upright before he could smash his face in the car seat.
Dazai couldn’t understand where the instinct came from, to reach out and actually stop someone from getting hurt, to care about someone else’s wellbeing enough to where his hand reached out before his brain could stop it.
But it did, he had a grip around Chuuya’s waist, palm flat against the other boy’s hip, keeping him upright. Chuuya braced himself with shaking arms and was able to pull himself into the vehicle from the stability of Dazai’s arm around him. Neither said anything as he lazily reached over to shut the door, a pained sigh left his mouth as Dazai secretly helped shut the car door.
Dazai circled the car and hopped inside, he turned it on and adjusted the seat so he could fit. He had driven Chuuya’s car before so he didn’t have to think about it too much, although that had been over a year ago under similar circumstances. He tried not to look over at his partner, who he was sure was attempting to will all the pain out of his face.
Their opponent had roughed Chuuya up pretty badly. They went undercover, as undercover as two deadly mafioso’s could be. Mori had explicitly stated they should not use their abilities unless it was to eliminate the enemy as they didn’t want the nature of two of their strongest members to be found out, especially considering Chuuya was becoming a trump card for the Mafia.
For some reason, it made Dazai’s skin crawl. Chuuya was useful, his ability proved to be more and more valuable for the Mafia as the days went on, yet for some reason he couldn’t stand it. At first he thought it must’ve been some sort of jealousy but he realized it was because he wanted Chuuya at his disposal.
Not to manipulate, but simply to have.
“Why’d you do that?” Dazai asked, keeping his voice monotone and devoid of any emotion.
“Do what?” Chuuya grumbled, his voice cracking at the end.
“Let them hurt you,” Dazai replied, although it should’ve been obvious.
“Boss,” Chuuya coughed, “Told us not to use our fuckin’ abilities.”
“That’s not it,” Dazai pushed, sneaking a glance at Chuuya. He was looking out the window, arms crossed protectively over himself looking incredibly small in the passenger seat.
“You hate pain,” Chuuya shrugged, then winced.
Dazai hummed in response although it made him want to swing open the door and vomit onto the road. Chuuya had been particularly mouthy when they got ‘captured’ and it had annoyed Dazai at first, his usually cocky and confident partner had come down tenfold on them, taunting and teasing every chance he got.
At first, Dazai thought he was trying to sign his own death wish, then he thought Chuuya was just simply headstrong and idiotic, way too full of himself. A small part of him wondered if his partner was trying to provoke the group into beating him up instead of Dazai and now, with confirmation that was the plan, it wasn’t satisfying to know.
Chuuya should never have done that.
Dazai could handle himself, he wasn’t something that needed protection.
He chose not to respond as the thoughts ran rampant in his mind, trying to keep his attention on the road and getting them back to the city in one piece. There was no radio on, no chatter of two teenagers trying their shot at normalcy- nothing.
Somewhere along the way, Chuuya had leaned heavily against the window, pushed so far up against it he looked like a folded pretzel. Dazai took notice, the streetlights illuminating his plump cheeks with every pass, highlighting his long lashes and freckles spotted against his cheeks.
There was something there, something Dazai wanted to reach out and hold, something that turned him into a softer version of the weapon he’d become. Chuuya had been used as all sorts of things in his life, the same as Dazai, he understood, and it scared Dazai absolutely shitless.
Dazai pulled into Chuuya’s apartment complex and tried his best to park the car quietly. There was a demand in the air, nagging Dazai on what to do in the current situation. Chuuya was in no shape to get himself up to his apartment, not to mention drop Dazai off at his apartment building. Of course, Dazai could just walk, but he didn’t exactly have the energy for that at the moment. He’d stayed over at Chuuya’s a few times now, usually after Corruption, so it shouldn’t be much of an issue for his partner, just his terrible mind.
“We’re here,” Dazai tried, making his voice as low as possible. Chuuya gave no response, his breath fogging up the window where his head was pressed.
Dazai sighed and opened the door, closing it before making his way around the car. He could’ve opened it and let Chuuya fall on the ground, it would be the most normal thing for their dynamic, yet he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Instead, he knocked on the window, close enough to Chuuya’s face that the other boy would definitely wake from it.
“Fuck!” Chuuya shot up and Tainted was apparent on his skin in an instant, looking around before he grumbled something under his breath and opened the door with a pained hand, his ability retreated at the contact.
He chose not to comment and watched as Chuuya slowly pushed himself out of the car. It looked painful, the screwed look on Chuuya’s face giving it away, his shaky hands another tell. Neither spoke as they made their way through the back entrance of the building, Chuuya leaned heavily against the railing of the elevator as the floors counted upwards.
They made it to Chuuya’s apartment; it took a few tries for the pin to be entered correctly but eventually they got inside.
“You shower first.” Chuuya gritted his teeth as he placed a heavy hand on the wall while trying to peel off his coat and vest.
“I’m staying?” Dazai asked, feeling a bit put on the spot by the demand. He planned on staying, against everything inside of him, but the sentiment being spoken out loud had him hesitant.
“I figured,” Chuuya got off his shoes with a huff, “Do what you want.”
“What do you want me to do?” Dazai was unsure of himself, feeling a bit out of his depth.
They hadn’t ever spoken like this and although it warmed something within Dazai’s chest, part of him wanted to run and hide. He couldn’t do this- let himself get close with Chuuya. He supposed they were already close, had some sort of trust between them and quite a bit of camaraderie but this was beyond that.
“Whatever you want,” Chuuya grunted in pain, “Just get in the fucking shower.”
—
Dazai sat on Chuuya’s couch, a place he had been many times before, feeling a little more alive than before.
He had on some oversized stuff his partner had laying around and had rewound his bandages with a stash Chuuya kept on hand. There was a cup of water in his hand, one he had been lightly sipping on since Chuuya had locked himself in the bathroom for nearly an hour now. Dazai tried not to think about the undertone in it all, the domesticity and friendship laced between the clothes he was wearing and the bandages on his body.
It could be chalked up to being partners, and the fact Chuuya probably didn’t have much fight left in him. The group had gotten him bad, Dazai could understand that. But Chuuya never went down without a fight, the fact he had obviously taken the brutality so Dazai wouldn’t get hurt- something terrible was brewing.
The bathroom door opening tore Dazai from his thoughts. It only opened a crack and Chuuya hadn’t emerged. Maybe he fell asleep standing up, or maybe he needed help getting to bed. He wasn’t that badly injured but the thought of leaving Chuuya to sleep in the bathroom didn’t sit right with Dazai. He stood from the couch and hesitated, placing his cup of water on the coffee table before he made his way to the bathroom.
Dazai truthfully did not want to push the door open; that meant opening the can of worms in his chest, it meant breaching their flimsy yet rock solid guards and walls of trauma. It felt like admitting to himself he actually cared about the boy he called his partner.
Which of course, he did, but admitting it felt like destroying the person he’d turned into from the things he’d gone through.
“Dazai,” Chuuya breathed, his voice distant and slightly distraught. It forced Dazai’s hand against the door, forced him to breach the threshold and into whatever Chuuya had in store for him behind the walls.
The first thing he noticed was that Chuuya’s dirty and bloody clothes hadn't made it to the laundry bin, something he knew the boy usually was on top of. The next was the fact his partner looked absolutely terrible, standing in front of the mirror with a hairbrush in his hands, eyes sunken into his skull, lips chapped and split open, body boneless.
It was a sight Dazai had never seen before, even in the aftermath of The Flag’s deaths, not that he was really around to witness it.
Dazai wanted to make a joke, ruffle the matted hair on his partner’s head, turn and leave the bathroom, but his voice betrayed him as he spoke, “Hey.”
“My fucking hair,” Chuuya bit, his words not matching his posture in the slightest, harsh and angry in comparison to a body that held no fight in it.
“It looks… bad.” Dazai settled on truthfulness. Not teasing, just a simple statement, “Matted.”
Chuuya threw the brush against the mirror and gripped onto the counter with naked and shaking hands. There wasn’t as much force behind it, Dazai knew Chuuya could shatter the mirror if he really wanted to, but it was more of a statement of resignation than anything.
And now Dazai was confronted again, with what to do with that ugly feeling in his chest.
Inwardly, Dazai knew his interest in Chuuya was dangerous with jagged edges. He did care, against everything he was, but now he was being thrown into a situation where he had to either show it or conceal it by twisting the knife in Chuuya’s heart. His partner’s biggest weakness, the thing that beat so loudly in the cavity between his spine and ribs that proved he was human.
Dazai wanted to turn and run, instead, he wordlessly picked up the hairbrush from where it lay lifeless at the edge of the counter. A hairline crack formed above it on the mirror, physical proof of how they both probably felt.
He held the plastic in his hands and stared at it for a moment. Chuuya valued very little things in his life; trust, camaraderie, his motorcycle, cleanliness, his hair. Dazai took the feeling in his chest head on and stepped behind Chuuya, who had his head hung between his shoulders, eyes downcast but no doubt tracking Dazai’s every step.
Dazai brought the brush up to the back of Chuuya’s head. He’d never really done this before, hadn’t even done it to his own hair most of the time, but he was going to give in. Maybe it was the fact he watched his untouchable and cocky partner take multiple punches to the face earlier, maybe it was that he’d stood strong and didn’t waver when they came down harder on him, maybe it was his brilliant manipulation tactics that successfully took their attention off of Dazai and onto him.
Maybe it was plainly Chuuya.
Either way, Dazai made contact with Chuuya and tried not to pause at the flinch that the smaller man produced. He tried passing the brush through the auburn hair, getting the hang of how this was supposed to go, Chuuya relaxing under the ministrations.
A while had passed and there was a particularly stubborn tangle of knots that Dazai couldn’t seem to get out. Logically, he had known since he saw the back of Chuuya’s head, that it wouldn’t be able to be brushed out. But Chuuya was displaying an amount of trust right now that neither of them deserved, his back open and vulnerable, one of his most protected elements being combed by Dazai’s own hand.
“Chuuya,” Dazai broke the silence and looked at his hidden face through the mirror, red-rimmed eyes looked up to meet his own.
“Don’t,” Chuuya said, his voice absolute and final.
Dazai sighed, “I don’t think this can be brushed out.”
“Then I’ll fucking do it,” Chuuya turned and snatched the brush from Dazai’s hands. His anger now was volatile, not exactly directed at Dazai but turbulent all the same.
Dazai watched as Chuuya slammed the brush into his hair and tugged down harshly, repeating the motion a few times while the frustration grew on his face. It was a graceless attempt to quell whatever was plaguing Chuuya’s mind, Dazai knew this. In honesty, it was sad to see his partner this way, nothing more and nothing less.
A hand reached out to stop Chuuya from throwing the brush into the mirror again, Dazai having seen the move coming before Chuuya could follow through on it. He caught his wrist and gripped hard, using more force than he wanted to slow the brute force. Chuuya struggled for a moment before he released the hairbrush, letting it thud against the counter.
Dazai released his wrist but didn’t move to grab the brush. He dropped his hand by his side and settled behind Chuuya again, close enough that he could feel the ghost of his rising and falling back against his chest from their power struggle.
“Just fucking cut it.” Chuuya’s voice was angry, his body heaving with something Dazai could only chalk up to as embarrassment.
They both had things they were weirdly protective over, and it still wasn’t lost on Dazai how much Chuuya’s hair mattered to him.
“Chuuya-”
“Do it before I do.”
Following the demand, Dazai pulled open one of the drawers and grabbed the pair of scissors he knew rested in it. He took a step back and threaded his fingers through the loops on the scissors, staring down his worst enemy yet: the vulnerability that came with cutting Chuuya’s hair.
To quicken the blow, Dazai took the soft and untangled chunks of Chuuya’s hair and pushed them in front of his shoulders, trying not to think about how they felt under his skin. He was left with the longer section of Chuuya’s hair, where he had begun to let it grow out a bit, a shaggy mullet of sorts. It felt like a reversal of progress to cut the auburn locks, but it unfortunately was the best option for the current situation.
Dazai stepped closer to Chuuya and lifted the matted chunk of hair, then brought up the scissors and placed the hair between it. With one swift chop, the hair fell lifelessly from where it was once attached to Chuuya’s head.
As soon as the hair hit the floor, Chuuya’s shoulders hitched. Dazai took the liberty to ruffle his hands through the waves to assess the damage. It didn’t look bad at all, it looked only a bit longer than it had when they first met, and it wasn’t noticeable part of it had been cut out. He tossed the scissors in the open drawer and pushed it shut, for some reason thinking it would help Chuuya’s mind.
It didn’t, Chuuya turned even more volatile under the fluorescent lighting.
His mismatched eyes were flooded with tears he wouldn’t let fall, face red and chest puffed like he was holding in a breath he couldn’t let escape him. Dazai didn’t know what to do, he thought the look in Chuuya’s eyes might kill him. He wasn’t prepared for a tear to fall and a brash hand try to wipe it away quickly, more falling in consequence as Chuuya continued trying to rid his face of the wetness.
Chuuya still hadn’t breathed but he looked away from Dazai now, covering his face in his hands. It was so unlike the boy Dazai had grown to know that it felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. Chuuya was embarrassed, he let this get to him and for once, Dazai wouldn’t use it as a bargaining chip.
The ugly feeling in Dazai’s chest didn’t melt, it burst, cracked open straight down the middle and flooded his body with desire.
Desire to get rid of Chuuya’s pain, to comfort him.
His touch had always been unwelcome to others, yet after Corruption, to Chuuya, it seemed grounding. Dazai should have run off with whatever it was that unloaded itself into his chest but instead he timidly stepped into Chuuya’s back and brought his hands to rest on scarred forearms, not grabbing tight but just resting there.
Dazai expected a grandiose reaction, expected Chuuya to swat him away, argue and yell, do anything in his power to guard and protect himself.
But Chuuya lurched forward as he finally expelled the air he had been holding in his lungs, letting it rush past his busted lips with urgency. He sucked in another breath and Dazai took it as an opportunity to fully circle his arms around his partner, letting the shockwave of sobs roll through the both of them.
Dazai held him as he cried, quiet and devastating, the only sound filling the space was labored breathing and small mantras coming from Chuuya, things along the line of just how unfair everything in his life was. Dazai knew better than to pity Chuuya, the thought didn’t even cross his mind. Chuuya deserved to get it out, he deserved to be able to cry for once, and Dazai couldn’t believe he was even thinking something as soft as that as an Executive.
Chuuya’s knees buckled under him and they found themselves on the floor, Chuuya between Dazai’s lanky legs, back to his chest, leaning against him like he actually trusted Dazai to keep him upright.
Dazai would rather watch the world burn than drop his partner now.
They stayed on the floor for a while until Chuuya calmed down, his body worn and his mind no doubt exhausted. Dazai felt awkward but didn’t move, keeping a measured pressure on Chuuya, his arms still circling around him, holding the boy close to his chest.
There was something quietly intimate in the moment, something Dazai thought would make him nauseous but actually just made him feel alive.
After a few more minutes, Chuuya’s head slumped forward.
“Chuuya?” Dazai asked, voice unsure and timid.
There was no response and Dazai knew his partner had either fallen victim to the exhaustion or passed out. Either way, he’d have to move them or resort to the bathroom floor for the night. He could leave Chuuya, it would help them fall back into their typical dynamic, one that was safe and familiar.
Did Dazai even want that? To fall back into their toxic cycle?
No.
The answer blindsided him, coming into his brain with such clarity it made his vision swim. He’d enter this unfamiliar territory and wade through unknown waters as long as Chuuya did it with him. Exhaustion was creeping into his bones too and now, the decision was easy. He’d see how Chuuya felt in the morning, if he kicked him out or cursed him for existing.
For now, he pulled deadweight up with him as he stood and maneuvered them to Chuuya’s bed, laying Chuuya down before contemplating his next moves. He could always lie his way out of why he was in Chuuya’s bed in the morning, or he could leave before the other woke up- the couch was an option but it was wildly uncomfortable and Chuuya’s sheets were soft against his naked and sensitive skin.
The choice was easy then as Dazai crawled into bed next to his partner, pulling the comforter over them as he settled against the pillows.
Unconsciously in his sleep, Chuuya shuffled closer to Dazai until he was wrapped around his right arm, forehead resting on his shoulder, breath tickling his exposed neck. It wasn’t uncomfortable, if anything it pulled the edges of Dazai’s mind into one of darkness.
They could hash it all out when sunlight peeked through the curtains, but for now, Chuuya’s touch was enough to lull Dazai to sleep.