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⇺Six years ago⇻
Everything slipped through his fingers much too quickly for him to catch, to gather and analyze. In the end, they lost millions, lost subordinates, and some of the enemy got away, now to be dealt with later. If Dazai could throw themself off the pier now, they would. But then Chuuya would be left and…well, his dog won’t be taking his certain punishment come tomorrow.
His hands kept in his pockets as he walks, his head held low in simmering shame, Chuuya murmurs, “Fuck…” Dazai hums, agreeing to whatever it is he meant by it. “What do you think the boss will say?”
Dazai sighs, “Well, he’ll certainly be upset, to say the very least.” Chuuya clicks his tongue, more irritable than usual, his anxiety surfacing. Dazai would usually dig his knife in and twist, cut his emotions out and crush them underfoot. Chuuya shouldn’t be feeling apprehensive, it’s all a risk being in this line of work. This should be an expected possibility. But they’re both so exhausted, so over this night, Dazai will leave it be.
“Fuck, I just wanna forget. I’m tired as shit and I just wanna forget.” Dazai remains silent, ruminating over the mission, their failures replaying in his mind, finding ways to have prevented it all. “Dazai.” Chuuya shoves into him, Dazai’s eye snapping over to him. “What, Slug?” Chuuya raises a brow, “I need a drink, and clearly, so do you.” The other shrugs, eye blank, devoid of gleaming life—Chuuya winces.
He hates when Dazai gets like this, fully blaming himself for their shortcomings. He’s the tactician, the mastermind; he should hold all the cards. But Dazai couldn’t have seen the group of mercenaries coming, predicted the amount of ammunition they held. Chuuya offered up Corruption, but it would’ve worsened the situation, their goods all but lost at that point. It was a matter of protecting themselves after that. Chuuya…can’t blame him for how things proceeded.
Chuuya grabs his sleeve, pulling him along to the car waiting for them, “Come on, Mackerel. We’ll worry about this shit tomorrow.” Dazai scathingly scoffs, “Must be easy for a mindless dog, huh?” Sharply inhaling, Chuuya keeps his cool. He expected Dazai to lash out, to react negatively to their current situation—he reminds himself, repeating the phrase in his mind. “Yeah, yeah. Just come on, asshole.” Dazai sullenly allows himself to be pulled without much complaint.
⇺⇻
Chuuya made the driver stop by a liquor store. Using their fake IDs, the two go around the store, picking out whatever they want. Cheap alcohol, easy to chug down. Chuuya isn’t about to use his expensive wines for this. Their bags in hand, they head over to Chuuya’s—Chuuya absentmindedly wondering where it is that the bandaged fish lives.
Dazai immediately dumps himself onto the couch, popping open his bottle of sake. Chuuya throws his coat off before joining him, uncorking some wine bottle he just grabbed off the shelf, chugging a generous amount down. Blankly staring at the bottle in hand, Dazai mutters, “This will be the only time I offer-”
“If you ask me to a double suicide, I will knock your ass out.” Dazai grumbles to himself, sipping more of his shitty drink. Honestly, how he stomachs that stuff is beyond Chuuya.
“Such a rude slug… Didn’t even let me ask.” The alcohol burns down their throat, warmth spreading throughout their body, the ever-present cold replaced. His mind mellows out, the boundless stream of thoughts and calculations slowing down.
“I feel like shit, but I doubt it’ll ever get that bad.”
Dazai smiles, reverence stained in bitter envy, “Ah…Chuuya’s always so lucky.” Chuuya turns towards him, surveying his demeanor. The rigidness in Dazai’s spine seems to have relaxed, his jaw unclenched, his shoulders brought down. Facing away, Chuuya smiles to himself. For once, he’s helped his partner out of his thoughts, out of his sombre state of mind.
Throwing his head back, he responds, “I’m not feeling too lucky right now.” Breathing out, Chuuya raises his bottle, “To Double Black.” Dazai snorts, raising his sake anyway. Their bottles clink.
⇺⇻
Somehow, they’ve ended up on the carpeted floor at four in the morning, dazedly staring up at the ceiling, asking one another pointless questions. Their tongues have loosened up, numb to the alcohol. Something gentle and sugary sweet flushing through their bodies—a luscious, irreplaceable warmth.
Chuuya hums, “So your type is pretty and easy?” Dazai slowly turns his head towards him, mouth agape in playful astonishment, “That is not what I said.” Chuuya smirks, snickering to himself, “Well, they’ve gotta be easy to go out with you.”
Dazai faces away, pouting now, “All women are beautiful but…I’ve never asked any out anyhow, not seriously.” Chuuya’s eyes widen, “Really? But you’re always asking them for your stupid double suicide.”
He shrugs, “That’s as far as I get, they never agree to it. And I know they never will.” Chuuya’s brows narrow, confusion coloring his features, “Then why do you do it?” A smile, unassuming yet brimming with hidden meaning, forms upon his lips, calling Chuuya’s attention to them. He doesn’t know what it signifies, and Dazai doesn’t continue his thought.
“What’s your type, Chuuya?” Immediately looking away, cyanic blues aimlessly wander the room, Chuuya turning the question over in his mind. “I’m not attracted to women.” Dazai rolls his eyes, petulantly shoving Chuuya, “Eh, I know that, stupid slug. What’s your taste in guys?”
As Chuuya swallows, Dazai notes he refuses to meet their eye, “Why do you wanna know? It’s not like you would understand.” Smile appearing once again, Dazai closes his eye, “Ah, I see.” He hears Chuuya rustling beside him, voice disgruntled, trying to hide his true feelings on the matter—foolish of him, really; Dazai sees right through him, always has. “See what, dumbass?”
“I’ve also found guys to be…attractive as well, Chuuya.” Chuuya chokes on his own spit, Dazai huffing in amusement. “I just never told you.”
Seemingly resettling himself, Chuuya quietly asks, “So you find both men and women attractive?” Dazai nods, “As much as I can be attracted to any person.”
“So you’re…bisexual?” They shrug, his eye kept closed, not quite ready to face Chuuya as they respond, “I don’t know… It’s all arbitrary, really.”
A soft whisper leaves Chuuya’s lips, “It’s not arbitrary, it’s feeling.” Air hits Dazai’s face, warm and heavy with alcohol. A hand, skin hidden beneath leather, gently cups their cheek, Dazai’s breath hitching at the aching care Chuuya touches them with. Touch has never felt kind, merciful, not with the pain it’s usually followed by. And if not pain, it’s the ability he negates—snuffing out its flame, No Longer Human freezing over his skin. But the expected need to remove the touch from his person never arises, the nausea never comes.
Leave it to Chuuya to be different…
Slowly, sepia brown gazes upon gentle sea blues, the two finding their faces much closer than they expected. They each expected one to push away the other—for Dazai to stand up and leave, for Chuuya to move away in disgust. Neither occurs.
Sucking in a breath, Dazai whispers, “Stupid Chuuya…making me feel such things.” Chuuya smiles, sending an inexplicable fluttering in Dazai’s stomach at such a sight, his heart stuttering in his chest, his cheeks beginning to burn—they must be getting sick from being in Chuuya’s dingy apartment, that is the only logical explanation. “You make me feel weird things too, dumb mummy.”
His eyes momentarily gaze at their lips, Dazai’s breathing picking up speed, to the point they simply cannot handle it anymore. Squeezing his eyes shut, he rushes forward, his lips pressing against his partner’s. The hand on his cheek tightens its grip just so, as if to hold him there—as if he would break this connection so soon… Dazai wraps his own hand around it, attempting to ground himself in the moment. It all clicks together, everything falling into its rightful place, the world holding its fateful breath.
It feels so right, Dazai aches, a lump forming in his throat. Butterflies dance in their stomach, feeling as though they could fly away, together with Chuuya by their side—always by their side, always together. The kiss lasts but a moment, tender and sweet as it is. But Dazai isn’t deserving of such delights, shouldn’t be allowed, much less from Chuuya. He slowly breaks away, his eye kept closed.
Before Chuuya could say anything, Dazai throws his arms around him, nuzzling into his neck as Chuuya flops onto his back from the motion. Chuuya’s arms hesitantly move to embrace their shoulders, slowly releasing a breath. Nothing else is said, there is nothing to be said.
Dawn will break in a few hours, yet their lives feel impossibly far away. Sleep murmurs in their minds, willing them to submit to its graces. Here—Dazai feeling absurdly safe and secure—within Chuuya’s arms, Dazai allows sleep to overcome him. Tomorrow, their lives will come back in full force, their failures laid out before them, the pain to come. They’ll pretend this never happened—they’ll pretend their intoxicated minds had all but erased this very moment.
But in reality, they both know they won’t soon forget.