Chapter Text
To think the sight of their partner opening his eyes for the first time in a week would bring Dazai such relief. The heavy weight hanging, weighing him down in his chest to his very knees, has finally lifted.
Dazai had been by Chuuya’s side the entire time, even calling into work to inform the president they wouldn’t be going in for a while because they knew Chuuya would force them to. He masked the pain that crushed him from within well. How the phone trembled in his anxious hands. They didn’t even have the energy to curse themself for it, too occupied by the shallowly breathing body beside them.
In his mind, Dazai was entirely undeserving of Chuuya’s attention and affections, how he gave it all to Dazai so easily. And so, the detective would return the care in other gestures, gestures he believes are insignificant compared to the mafioso’s.
While Chuuya had been bedridden, his partner had informed Mori of his condition, forcing aside their own contempt with the boss of the Port Mafia. Then, they kept the penthouse clean and tidy. As Dazai wouldn’t leave the other’s side, they had been sleeping and eating there.
And finally, it came down to the comatose patient. Nurses provided by the mafia would come in and check on his vitals and such. Making sure he was getting enough drugs through his system. Usually, these nurses were inadequate, not nearly as caring as regular nurses. Of course, the detective used to run with the wolves of the mafia, his persuasion tactics never faltered. Dazai knew Chuuya despised the idea of hospitals and doctors and nurses due to his past with the lab, so these visits could only occur while he was none the wiser.
Knowing Chuuya would hate to wake up in his own filth, Dazai would keep the other as clean as he could manage. Seeing as the detective couldn’t move Chuuya, they resorted to using wet cleaning cloths with soap on all extremities. It was the most they could do while their partner was out of it.
Chuuya takes note of these things, slowly and…so painfully fondly. Why Dazai believes these actions to be inadequate, he’ll never understand. But he will try his absolute hardest to dismiss these beliefs from his partner’s mind.
With Chuuya conscious, yet still drowsy and almost out of it, Dazai made him canned chicken soup. It was…a daunting task. Somehow, the kitchen remains intact. (Yes, Dazai did indeed call Kunikida to lead him through this process step-by-cautious-step, without telling him what it was for, of course).
Pouring it into a bowl, with a few droplets spilling out, they grabbed a spoon and continued on to the Slug’s bedroom.
They’ll pretend the sight of a sleepy Chuuya gently smiling at them doesn’t send their heart into overdrive. Dazai sits beside his partner, the bowl in his lap, and begins to spoon feed the mafioso.
The redhead raises a brow in question, his amused smile remaining, “You know I can feed myself, Mackerel.”
Dazai turns his nose up, closing his eyes from the sight that’s too dangerous for his heart, and pouts. “I disagree. Chuuya is too weak to hold the spoon, so of course his wonderful, magnificent partner will do so for him!”
A soft chuckle breaks through their haughtiness, forcing their eyes to return to Chuuya. “Fine. Just hurry up, I’m starving.” With a smile illuminating their face, Dazai begins to spoon feed the completely capable mafioso.
“Did you clean me while I was asleep?” The next spoonful was quickly jammed into his mouth. He rolls his eyes at the other’s actions.
With a light pink brushing over his cheeks, Dazai mutters, “I’ve always cleaned you after Corruption. Why question it now?”
Swallowing down more soup, Chuuya looks Dazai in the eye, “You and I both know you’ve never stuck around this long.” An abrupt stop to the conversation hits, leaving Dazai lost.
He’s right. Of course he is. You’re too much of a coward to face the truth… Weakweakweak-
A warm hand, trembling due to fatigue, cups their face. Their breath stops for a moment, their eyes moving to meet their partner’s. “Stop, alright? I said it…because I had to.”
A solemn nod answers, honey brown eyes moving away from cerulean blue. “I know… I’m…so-”
Removing his hand, Chuuya shuts his eyes, smiling, “Don’t say it.”
Dark eyes widen, “But-”
Chuuya takes a hold of Dazai’s free hand, enveloping the frigidness it emanates with warmth, “You don’t have to, Shitty Dazai. Don’t you know that?” Looking hopelessly lost, Dazai shakes his head ‘no’. The mafioso appears exasperated, but filled with adoration, “You say it all the time, idiot. I mean, look at where we are. Would you have done all of this years ago?”
Feelings and emotions are complex, abstract things that Dazai has a difficult time understanding. He knows, from an objective standpoint, that what he feels for Chuuya is unlike anything he has ever experienced. What it is exactly is lost on him, but he knows he cherishes it. They know they will give anything and everything to keep it. And until this moment, they hadn’t taken into account how different this is from where they were years ago. If he thinks too much about it, he’ll lose sight of what’s in front of him.
Wordlessly, they slowly shake their head again. Their partner opens his arms. Dazai quickly places the bowl on the bedside table, tumbling right into Chuuya’s awaiting arms. They wrap their bandaged arms around his torso. A shaky hand cups the brunet’s head, the other arm wrapped around his shoulders. “For a genius, you’re a dumbass.” The fish in his arms releases an unsteady laugh.
Dazai rises from the other’s chest, straddling him in the process. Their faces just a breath apart, both eyes half-lidded. They breathe into the infinitesimal space between them, “I must be.” The distance closes. Cold, anxiously bitten lips colliding with warm, chapped ones. Hands run through dark hair, once again unwashed. Bandaged hands tighten their hold on the other’s waist. Breaths speed up, their heart rates spiking. The unhurried kisses continue, deepening.
Molten heat rushes through Dazai’s veins, bringing with it a sense of longing, a sense of… His heart beat whispers the words over and over and over, just begging him to say them aloud. A lightness that fills his entire being, the feeling of finally coming home.
In between the dizzying kisses, they whisper, “Chuuya…I…”
Chuuya cups his face, with a tenderness he only feels for this one person, his person, gently murmuring, “I…do too, Osamu.” He feels his partner smile, a beautifully tender smile.
Moments pass, as slow as sugary maple syrup dripping from a tap. Delicately, and reluctantly, they release one another. Yet their breaths continue intermingling, both of their cheeks a rosy pink. The content smile gracing Chuuya’s face momentarily stops Dazai’s breathing, their eyes impossibly dilating further.
The mafioso speaks softly, his hoarse voice doing strange things to the detective’s heart, “For our second kiss, that was…much better.”
Shutting his eyes, nuzzling into his partner’s neck, a helplessly embarrassed whine escapes Dazai, “The first one does not count. We were 16 and drunk off of cheap liquor, I refuse to count it.” Chuuya can only affectionately laugh at their expense, holding his partner closer.
Opening his eyes again, Dazai quietly asks, “But…you know now, right?”
Looking up at the ceiling, Chuuya can’t help but tease his fish. Grinning, he asks, “Know what?”
“You absolute Slug!”
Chuuya laughs at the other’s distress. He cups Dazai’s face, looking right into those bewitching eyes, “I do, I do know. And you know how I feel, eh?” A loving smile graces Dazai’s face as he nods, filled with the certainty of where they both stand, knowing this is real and it isn’t going away.
He won’t leave…and I won’t either.
As if they had all the time in the world—and deep in their hearts, they can only yearn for such a thing—Chuuya slowly brings them together once more.