Chapter Text
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The First Act ✦ Das Paradies
(honeymoon paradise)
Ils n'ont pas l'air de croire à leur Bonheur
Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune,
They seem not to believe in their own happiness
And their song blends with the light of the moon,
—Claire de Lune, Paul Verlaine
—
The moon extends a gentle hand towards the swatches of land in front of them, sweeping away the darkness, unveiling the safehouse that he’s specifically reserved for certain emergencies. It’s not something that he’s touched, not even when he’s had to take wobbly, blood-stained steps out of that warehouse, carrying with him nothing but himself, his own clothes, and his friend’s dying wish.
Time has etched its marks onto the cottage, tall blades of weeds swaying along with the breeze tinged with salt. Yokohama Bay glimmers in the distance, dark waters mingling with white moonshine. The cottage is a mix of black-and-white too, white paint chipped away by the weather, revealing the black walls underneath. A row of dried-out rose bushes embrace the perimeter. The single chimney is the tallest point in the general vicinity, vast, empty plains serving as their nearest neighbors.
“It’d be a good place for us, ne, Chuuya?”
The two of them are dressed in white, practically melting along with the moonlight. The chibi in his arms is heavy as always, but it really can’t be helped. It’s rare for the other to agree to any sort of public displays of non-aggression, so he plans to milk this out as much as possible. Chuuya’s head lolls against his chest, a faint line of silver drooling past his slightly-parted lips. He burns this sight to his memory, intent on making fun of his dog the moment he wakes up. Honestly, drooling in his sleep at this age? This is why he calls him a kid.
His arms are growing numb from the bridal carry, but it’s just a few more meters. He’s sure to make it without staggering, because that would be very uncool. And then if he ends up dragging his feet and dropping Chuuya on his head, he’s sure to get kicked and punched and yelled at. And then looked at with such a disdainful expression. That’d be so annoying.
Chuuya’s forehead is cool from the night. He props him up against the wooden door, resting a bit. A bridal carry as they cross the threshold—it’d be nicer if Chuuya’s awake for this, but then again, the chibi will not let him do something like this if he’s awake, will definitely hurl curses at him for even daring to think of something like this.
The circumstances aren’t ideal. A rogue Ability User that allied with Dostoevsky, going mad at the Rats’ defeat, unscrupulously attacking everyone in the vicinity. Chuuya—big-hearted despite his tiny stature, ruled by instincts to protect even when he lives in the underbelly of the city—didn’t even think, simply used his body as a shield to protect everyone. And so, it’s him who bears the brunt of the Ability’s effect, erasing his presence in the minds of others. A powerful Ability, one that he’s still working hard on how to properly counter. In the meantime, his nullification ensures that he isn’t like the others who’ve already forgotten Chuuya.
In the meantime, he can take care of Chuuya here. With undoing the Ability’s effects on him, with healing his wounds from the fight with the Rats, with repairing the damage from using Corruption for too long.
“The sweetest honeymoon,” he murmurs, and leans down to press his lips against Chuuya’s, savoring the sweetness of the kiss that tastes like honey.
—
He’s chosen this abode for a multitude of reasons. A very humble environment that one wouldn’t associate with a recovering mafioso, or the ex-demon prodigy. Surrounded by lots of lowlands that can become a bowl of flowers if he decides to tend to a giant garden. Far away from everyone else that could cause further damage to his partner, but close enough to the city that it wouldn’t be difficult to return once Chuuya’s awake.
Speaking of Chuuya, he settles him down in the makeshift bed, reminiscent of how he’s found him several hours ago.
“It’s so much warmer here though,” he murmurs as he rubs at the other’s lips. “You’ve always called me stingy, but isn’t—” —Mori-san even worse, remains unsaid, his breath snagged upon a thorn of unwillingness to mention someone else’s name while they’re here together.
The infirmary bed from which he picked Chuuya up is all boring white, not even the presidential suite in Yokohama’s top hospital. Of course, knowing the chibi, it’s in accordance to his wishes, not wanting to be too lavish when it comes to these things. As expected of an idiot chibi, he’s fine with sparing no expense with his wines and his hats, but taking up precious hospital space billed directly to the mafia is a no-go.
Thinking of how he’s picked the other up is nice, but then he frowns at the recollection of everyone else’s objections. That he’s not the right person for the job. While it’s true that their partnership has never been the most peaceful, he is Chuuya’s partner. And Chuuya is his dog for life.
There’s nobody else fit for this responsibility.
He shakes his head to dislodge those thoughts.
The faint scent of sea-salt reaches his nose again. He hasn’t cleaned up, aside from piling up a bunch of cushions and pillows, dragging them to the living hall. To help air out the scent of musty disuse, he opens the window to let the draft in. It’s just a single-story cottage, with a lot of windows, so the dust is ushered out rather quickly.
Cleaning up their home can wait, he has to make sure that Chuuya’s bundled up and bandaged properly first.
…Hmm.
One thing that he doesn’t despise Mori-san for in previously housing Chuuya in a hospital that insists on white for their patients—white looks resplendent on Chuuya.
His chibi has always insisted on dark colors, thinking that it makes him look cooler and more imposing. But it’s white that truly brings out his skin color, especially when paired with a blue shirt underneath so it complements his eyes and his hair.
He rummages around, brings with him the things needed to clean Chuuya’s wounds and rebandage him.
“Ah, you should thank me a lot for this, okay? I’ll actually give you a sponge bath, even though you’re a slug.”
Chuuya does things with so much ferocity—in fighting, in eating, in simply breathing. And so he even sleeps with the ferocity of the dead, clinging on to slumber as though announcing that not even an apocalypse can drag him out of sleep.
It has led to many times of him doodling on the other’s sleeping face, or playing with the other’s hair. It’s one of the reasons why he allows the other to sleep with his hat-infested head over his thighs during the aftermath of Corruption. It’s so he has the other’s drooling face within grabbing and doodling distance.
Right now, what he grabs are the other’s clothes, carefully pulling them off him so he can first inspect the wounds. The moon is a big shiny circle up on the sky, removing the need for an extra light source. Chuuya’s skin looks a lovely porcelain under the moonlight, which is why the jagged lines of the wounds are rather distressing to see.
“I wonder, did these hurt so much? You truly are too reckless…” He scolds the other, but his hands are gentle as he cleans the skin up. Dips a face towel into a basin filled with liquid antiseptic, dabs it all around the wounds.
Angry red marks due to Corruption’s extended usage. It’s hard work, keeping his fingers soft instead of acquiescing to his urge to forcibly scrub the marks off. Something hurts inside him, seeing the signs of Chuuya’s recklessness, of his willingness to accept all of the dangerous risks without even a second thought.
“…But it’s alright.” He murmurs as he moves on to remove the other’s gloves slowly. Does it finger by finger, caressing the other’s digits. “You’re here now with me. You’re going to follow all of my orders and arrangements.”
It’s just right, after all. He’s not the sort to take care of anything or anyone, but he’s making an exception for this chibikko.
“You owe me lots for this, you know?” It’s one of the reasons he’s volunteered to do this, despite horrified protests from everyone around him. All of them know how badly he takes care of himself. What they don’t know is that he’s willing to exert effort if it means getting a much better return on his investment. He’d gladly wait upon Chuuya with a loyalty that would shame any butler to an early retirement, because he knows that in exchange, he can ask Chuuya to be his dog for life.
It’s a win-win in his books.
He moves down the other’s legs, continues wiping him down so he can redress him in bandages. White bandages all over his body.
“Fufufu, better wake up soon, so you can yell about our matching fashion accessories,” he teases. Chuuya’s always insulted him for his bandage fashion, but now the chibi can’t say anything about it to him! Not when he’s also a bandaged chibi.
Dazai himself is wearing a white suit right now. He only owns two white suits, his outfits leaning towards black during his mafia years and beige after he joined the Agency. The first white suit courtesy of Shibusawa. Chuuya’s eyes dilated so much upon seeing him in that white suit—the chibi would never admit it, but he did find him more handsome in white, he knows. And so he’s ordered another one—purchased through underhanded means.
Paired with a blue tie and a blue scarf, all in the shades of Chuuya’s eyes. It’s fitting that he wears it to match with Chuuya’s white outfit as he’s stuck in the hospital. He’s also ordered a new suit for Chuuya, measurements fresh inside his mind. Same shade of blue for his inner shirt and vest.
“Mm, not only will you become a mummy like me, but you’ll also wear a couple’s outfit with me. If you keep on sleeping, I’ll consider that as your tacit agreement to this, okay?”
Chuuya continues sleeping, so he continues his re-bandaging. Cleaning from top to toe, re-bandaging from toe to top. He kneels over the other, moving slowly upwards. He hums several tunes as he works. He snickers a bit when he reaches the other’s hips, unable to help himself from teasing the other.
“Now, now, it’d be really funny if you wake up while I’m on this part, huh?”
Nakedness around each other is not a foreign concept for them. They’ve been partnered for so long and they’ve gone on trips to hot spring resorts and public baths. They’ve patched each other up too many times to count. Seeing each other in various states of undress isn’t something new. And yet, Chuuya flushes each and every time, his body’s instinctive reaction to being seen.
…Rather endearing. Chuuya would be gruff and would strut in his skin, sure, but there’d always be that split-second of embarrassment in the beginning. A short moment of vulnerability, something as fleeting as a firefly’s glimmer.
In any case, now Dazai reaches out to lift Chuuya’s hips, so he could wrap bandages on his upper thighs and then slide a pair of boxers, also blue like his eyes.
…Hmm?
The bandages on his hands are slightly damp, darkened with a strange stain. Since when…? He frowns as he belatedly notices that the stain goes up to even the edges of his suit’s sleeves. Since he’s wearing a white ensemble, the stain is all the more noticeable.
His mind races. What is this stain…?
Ah, this is why he dislikes wearing white clothes, they pick up dirt and stain so easily.
He raises his hands and gives a tentative sniff. It’s been a rather long day. He can’t quite pinpoint the exact moment his suit got stained. It doesn’t smell bad—or rather, right now, because he’s been all over Chuuya, all he smells is Chuuya’s distinctive scent.
“Maybe you should sleep for a while longer,” he says instead. After all, Chuuya puts a lot of stock in his clothes. His fashion sense is tacky, but he does like to maintain a clean look. A lot of it is cheating because his gravity manipulation Ability means that he can just repel attacks and stains away. An even greater part is just his meticulousness over being ‘presentable’.
…It means that if Chuuya sees him with a stained suit, he’d make fun of him again. Giving Chuuya ammunition for teasing him is always something he’d want to avoid.
“I’ll be back,” he says with a smile, intent on changing out of this white suit. He can wear this again once Chuuya’s more lucid, so he can rub in his face the couple-like aura of wearing a pair of whites.
He changes quickly, leaving off the bandages from his hands. He still has some suits stashed here, jet black ensembles that wouldn’t be out of place with his previous mafia aesthetics. He feels himself relax a bit more the moment he’s finished changing clothes. To the point that he dawdles a bit, peering into the contents of this safehouse that he’s abandoned for so long.
He finds a box in one of the closets, filled with various yellow flowers, all preserved. A selection dominated by yellow roses, though there’s also a number of yellow versions of tulips, lilies and pansies. He vaguely remembers getting it in preparation for a prank before.
He brings the box with him and sprinkles them all over Chuuya’s sleeping form. He vaguely remembers Chuuya complaining about being allergic to flowers last time Dazai pranked him by presenting him with an extravagant bouquet. Of course, said bouquet actually has a tiny bomb strapped on the wrapping. And the chibi has probably sensed his ill-intentions, therefore rejecting them.
“If you’re really allergic to these, then that’d be such a shame, huh?” He teases as he pinches the other’s cheeks, before resuming the bandaging and redressing efforts.
Chuuya lets out a snuffling breath at that, as though even unconscious, he can sense whenever he’s talking shit about him.
It’s really quite nice.
“It’d be nicer if you’re awake so I can insult you face to face,” Dazai finds himself saying, affectionate beyond measure. He leans down, Chuuya’s natural gravity pulling him in. Right hand interlocks with Chuuya’s left where it rests over the other’s stomach.
He combs Chuuya’s hair tenderly with his left hand, before curving it against his cheek.
He leans down further, until he’s breathing Chuuya in, until their lips are pressed against each other in a kiss under the moonlight.
Chuuya lets out a groan, head moving slightly to tentatively kiss him back.
A swell of affection rises up within him.
“Ah, Chuuya, even asleep, your instincts are really honed in on me, huh?” He whispers, before pressing another kiss.
From the open window, the moon gives its blessing to their union, shining in silver fire.
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✦ End of The First Act ✦