Chapter Text
Chuuya woke to the sound of rain landing on his balcony. He waited a while before opening his eyes, mentally scanning his body for aches and injuries. There were several.
Last night was hell, and the mafia executive had spent most of it underground, screaming orders until his throat bled. He sat up, running a hand through his hair and sighing out some of the tension. At least today was an off day. He could make a big French breakfast, open that Moscato d’Asti he’d bought last week... and just exhale out all the bullshit of his life.
Clack clack clack. There was someone knocking at the door to Chuuya’s apartment. There were only ever three people who knocked on the executive’s door, and two of them knew better than to fuck with him on his day off.
“Fuck off!!!” He shouted from his bedside, voice cracking with the strain of last night’s abuse.
Clack-clack-clack. The knock came again, because of-fucking-course it did.
Clack-clack-clack. And again. Shit was fucking incessant.
“I’ll kill you!!” Chuuya stomped across the hall and into the foyer, sore, exhausted and just fucking done. He knew exactly who was on the other end of his front door and Chuuya did not have the energy to deal with Dazai or any of his strange impromptu dates today so he threw the door open, hinges wailing, and spoke directly into Dazai’s moronic chest.
“Go home, Mackerel, I don’t have time for this shit today.“ Chuuya held his breath and prepared himself for the whine, the clinging and complaints. What he didn’t expect to hear was Dazai’s soft acquiescence.
“Alright...” Dazai’s voice was subdued, somber. His body turned to leave.
Oh.
Fuck. Chuuya’s hand shot out to grip the taller man’s wrist, and, now that he looked more closely, he could see the subtle tremble in his ex-partner’s fingers.
Dazai’s face was cut from stone, but his eyes were empty, and his frame wavered just a hint as he spoke. “I’m confused, first Chibi tells me to leave, and then he won’t let go of my hand?” Dazai’s tone was accusatory.
“I said something I didn’t mean, dimwit.” The redhead sighed.
Dazai’s expression shifted darkly. “So Chuuya lied?”
“And you’ve never done that before, Mackerel?!” The words fell out harshly, without his consent. Chuuya took a breath and held it, slowly counting to five in his head.
Since their reconnection, Dazai had been showing bits of himself to Chuuya, slowly, and letting him fill in the blanks. It was.... progress from what they had before, in the mafia. It was at least something more than leaving everything unspoken. He didn’t want it to stop, so he spoke again with more control. “I’m sorry, ...just come inside.”
But Dazai hovered over the threshold still. “So Chuuya...” and his voice tilted into the shadow of a mock on Chuuya’s own brash tone, “has the time for this shit today?”
“Yes, shitty Dazai, come inside.” Chuuya groaned, ushering him inside and pressing the door closed to keep out the rain.
Dazai stepped about three feet into the apartment before all the pretense bled right out of him. His face blanked out as he sagged against the wall, silently letting Chuuya shrug him out of his rain-soaked overcoat and reach up to towel his hair a bit with an old sweater he had hanging at the back of the door. He paused for a moment with his hand on the tall man’s cheek, brushing his thumb at some of the wetness there. Was it only rainwater?
Dazai stirred, but his pupil’s were wide as an addicts. “Chibi...”
“Hush, come with me you wet mummy.” Chuuya pat his cheek and grabbed the man’s fingers loosely, leading him through the kitchen and into a stool on the serving side of the counter, before turning back to the business side himself, reaching into the icebox to draw out some eggs, peppers and cheese.
“Ne, will you kill me, Chuuya?” Dazai asked him sweetly while he whipped a half-dozen eggs with Mirin.
“No.”
“Well then, will you kiss me?” Dazai sighed.
“I’m cooking.” Chuuya poured the mix into a frying pan and turned up the stove.
“Chibi is so cruel~” The script was correct, but Dazai’s tone was still too soft and sullen.
Chuuya chose to ignore the whines and continued tossing the omelet one handed, his other hand still cupping Dazai’s loosely across the table.
Needy fuck. And yet...
Chuuya supposed he would prefer Dazai here being needy, to him being found idling on the edge of the landmark tower, or worse. Chuuya let go of the mummy’s hand to grab a few cups of rice and some chopsticks, ignoring more faint whines and plating the dish.
They ate together in silence for a while, and Chuuya could almost pretend that this was a normal lovers meal, that they were both whole people.
Dazai’s voice drifted faintly across the quiet of the room. “Ne Chuuya, do you think...would anyone... if I... would anyone?”
Does anyone need me here? Would anyone care if I wasn’t? Chuuya heard what Dazai didn’t, and would never, say.
“I would.” He pressed himself closer to Dazai, shoulders touching, knuckles brushing, and they sat like that until Chuuya finished his breakfast, carefully reaching over and lifting the chopsticks from his sometimes-lover’s motionless hand.
Dazai turned towards him and Chuuya could read the story of sleeplessness all over his face. The idiot had probably wandered the city all night before knocking on his door. Fucking dumbass.
Ah well, Chuuya hadn’t had much planned for his off day anyway.
“Come to bed, bandages.” Chuuya guided the taller man into his room and tucked them both into the futon, draping himself atop Dazai and brushing the bangs away from his face.
They lay still for a time, until it was Chuuya’s turn to speak into the silence. “You know I want you here, Dazai. I want you here, alive.”
Dazai made a soft noise, breath catching, and when he spoke the sound made Chuuya’s chest ache.
“Tell me again, Chuuya.”
“I want you here, Dazai.” Need you here, he still couldn’t say.
“I’m sorry.” Dazai’s voice was barely audible. “I keep forgetting. I can’t... and Chibi is the only one who...” He murmured, trailing off.
And suddenly Chuuya was relieved to have let Dazai in today; this was more honest emotion than the man had ever shared with him before.
“Don’t they need you at the agency?” He prodded, carding his fingers through Dazai’s rain-curled hair.
“I wouldn’t know.” Dazai sighed, leaning his head into the soft touches, but Chuuya felt the stirrings of rage in his gut.
“What? They don’t tell you?” He asked.
“They... I don’t know....” Dazai trailed off.
“Oi, come back to the mafia, Mackerel. Honestly, Mori is a creep but at least he didn’t let you spiral out like this unattended. He keeps asking me to bring you in.” Not that Chuuya had ever fucking listened to any of those requests. But at least... At least in mafia they had all known about Dazai. They had known to watch his moods, to prevent him from wandering off alone near the water, to fucking call Chuuya if he did.
Dazai seemed amused by the suggestion, however, a bit of spark returning to his eyes as his shifted onto his side to face the petit mafia.
“And why would I come back to mafia, eh, Chibikko?” Dazai said, eyebrows raised.
For me? The words hid themselves in Chuuya’s throat, and silence poured into the space between them.
Dazai’s eyes widened anyway.
“Can it be that... Hat-rack actually wants me back in mafia with him?” Dazai’s tone was teasing, but his eyes were sharp. Chuuya paused, taking a long look at his ex-partner-current-lover.
If he really thought about it, he could maybe admit that the ADA, and living by whatever strange do-good policy the late Oda Sakunosuke imparted unto Dazai through the agency was, at least semi healing for him.
Coming back to the mafia now, while Dazai still believed he only deserved to live if he followed a dead man’s wish would just split his spirit further.
“Of course not, shitty Dazai. Being near you makes me nauseous.” He grumbled.
Dazai grinned, face turning playful as some of that awful hollowness finally left his eyes. “Well, that’s not what you said last week when you had your tongue in my-”
Chuuya cut him off with a punch to the gut and the man wailed dramatically, writhing around on the futon.
“Oh! Chuuya put his hands on me in anger! Chuuya is abusive! Cruel! Evil!” The bandaged idiot was practically sparkling with mischief, and Chuuya would probably never get used to this kind of mood whiplash that was so integral to being with Dazai.
“Shut up, misfit, go the fuck to sleep.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, overwhelmed.
“All right, since Chibi asks so politely.” Dazai teased, eyes still gleaming even as they blinked with sleepiness. Chuuya pressed the man’s shoulders flat against the futon, a bit roughly, draping himself atop his erratic lover once again.
As he listened to Dazai’s breathing finally start to slow, his mind began to wander.
If Dazai was going to stay at the agency long-term, Chuuya thought they could fucking stand to learn a thing or two about handling the mackerel better, and he realized that he would happily beat that knowledge into them if need be.