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Dazai stood in front of Fyodor, knee-deep within the ocean. Waves crashed and lapped against him, and he wiggled his toes experimentally against the sand, a small smile brewing upon pale lips. Despite his bandages growing damp and soggy, his mood didn’t seem to lessen. He appeared as cheerful as ever, which was quite a rare sight.
“Come on, Fedya!” Dazai glanced over his shoulder, calling out to the other man, who eyed him warily. Fyodor crossed his arms over his chest, stifling a sigh upon hearing that familiar nickname Dazai had assigned him long ago, back when they’d first met.
They had known each other for a handful of years now. Through the good and bad, they’d been together. When Dazai was at his highest, Fyodor was there. When Dazai was at his lowest, Fyodor was still there. While other people might have left the dysfunctional brunette a long time ago, Fyodor didn’t. He stuck by Dazai’s side when no one else would, and that meant a lot to him, more than he would ever properly say.
Somewhere along the way, their intimate friendship had transcended into something more. The shift into an actual romantic relationship had been subtle. Neither of them were overly affectionate or caring people, although Dazai did have some moments where he craved intimacy, but that was extremely rare. Being with Dazai felt natural, when Fyodor had assumed from a young age that he’d never in his life find a partner. He was too different, too cold and abrasive, for the general populace of people.
Yet Dazai was different, too.
He understood Fyodor in a way that no one else could. Their intelligence was practically evenly matched, and it felt nice to meet someone on his own level. To actually be able to uphold rigorous and engaging conversations. He could recall countless nights he spent awake, simply talking with Dazai, either over the phone or in person.
Fyodor didn’t think he had the capacity to genuinely care for anyone, but if he did, then he would certainly care for Dazai. Despite the brunette’s long list of bad qualities, Fyodor still stayed with him. He even ignored Dazai’s less positive traits, because he himself was far worse. They were both manipulative, and perhaps not the best people. That’s why they worked so exceptionally well together. Neither of them could manage to manipulate or use the other.
Although sometimes they certainly tried.
It was fun, like a game of sorts, to try and outwit Dazai. They were constantly attempting to one-up each other, as if it were a competition. Whether Fyodor won or lost, however, didn’t matter. He just enjoyed the experience, the rush he received from finally meeting someone who could be a worthy opponent. Dazai of course felt the same way.
But for right now, their little mental sparring match was put on hold. They were on vacation, to be precise, which meant that the mind games could be left on pause for a bit.
Fyodor had taken a long-deserved break from his job. He worked remotely, within the safe confines of his own home, and while he enjoyed such a lifestyle, it meant he was arguably more busy. His hours were more flexible, which meant he could be called upon for a job at nearly any time or day. He specialized with computers—coding, to be exact. Perhaps he would have opted for a shadier job, one that involved hacking and utilized his technological skills to the max, but Dazai held him back. Insisted he be good.
As for why Fyodor listened? He had no idea.
Dazai’s slate wasn’t exactly clean, either, but as of recently he seemed to be striving to do better. Maybe it had something to do with the loss of his one and only best friend, Odasaku. The man had passed away from cancer a year or so into Dazai and Fyodor’s relationship. Luckily, Fyodor was there to offer some sort of comfort, though he obviously wasn’t the best person to help anyone cope with grief. Still, it was enough.
There were quite a few extremely bad days, days where Dazai could hardly move from his bed to do anything. Or days where the brunette would reach for the embrace of a noose or a razor blade. Each time, Fyodor would be present to stop him. It was a good thing he was, because otherwise, Dazai would have likely killed himself a while ago.
And Fyodor didn’t like to consider a life without Dazai. It simply wasn’t possible.
The brunette seemed to be doing a bit better mentally, at least. He had started working a new job; a daycare one, to be specific. It had startled Fyodor when he first heard of it, but Dazai claimed that he wanted to help out some orphans — whatever the hell that meant.
Surprisingly, Dazai seemed to actually be good at his job. He claimed that the kids (mostly) loved him, and appeared to even like his profession. Working with children seemed to have dispelled some of the darkness constantly plaguing him; it was like his own little slice of brightness. It was almost beautiful to see Dazai in such a state.
Though Fyodor would never admit that.
Dazai had been able to take a week off to spend the several days with Fyodor exclusively, at this little beach house they had rented. (Although he added that the kids would simply die without his gracious presence amongst them. Overdramatic and arrogant, as per usual, though it was sweet to see Dazai seem to care about the kids’ states.)
“Fedya!” Dazai repeated, which disrupted Fyodor from his thoughts. He blinked, looking up to see that Dazai now had his hands on his hips, looking quite annoyed. “Are you just going to stand there the whole time in the shade? Don’t be boring, now!”
Of course the beach had been Dazai’s idea. Since Fyodor chose their vacation last time, he wasn’t able to protest when Dazai selected this. Although he clung to the shade like a vampire, using umbrellas to keep away from the sun’s violent rays. Due to how pale he was, he burned pitifully easily. And from experience, Fyodor knew sunburns were torturous. Not even sunscreen could fully help him. It seemed as if he was just plain cursed.
“Are you worried about getting burnt?” Dazai went on, arching a brow. “Don’t worry,” he cooed, his tone shifting into something more teasing. “I’ll take care of you if you do! You can call me Dr. Dazai.” The image of Dazai being a doctor made Fyodor visibly grimace, and he quickly shook his head, stifling the urge to sigh exasperatedly.
“I’ll be fine,” he lied. “I’m coming.”
Rising to his feet, the Russian made his way over to join Dazai, creeping warily into the ocean’s murky depths. The water was cool against his skin, offering a bit of solace against the sun’s heat. He already felt as if he were being flayed alive, his thin lips pulled downwards into a disapproving frown. Yet for Dazai, he kept his mouth shut, refraining from unleashing a slew of violent complaints.
Dazai giggled, extending a hand to poke Fyodor’s cheek with one thin finger. “Look at you,” he crooned. “I can tell by that expression you’re making that you hate this.”
Fyodor immediately wiped the expression off of his face, opting for a more deadpan look, one which he maintained constantly in public. Since he and Dazai were alone at this beach, he’d allowed his guard to drop slightly, which Dazai took full advantage of.
“Hate what?” Fyodor inquired, feigning obliviousness. As the common saying went, ignorance was bliss. But playing dumb was useless against Dazai. Those chestnut brown eyes simply narrowed into calculating slits, a huff of laughter echoing into the humid air.
“You’re cute when you try to act stupid, you know,” Dazai teased. He moved throughout the water, edging deeper into the ocean. “Say, Fedya, what are the chances that I get attacked and eaten alive by a shark?” Dazai’s interest was clearly piqued, his dull gaze brightening with genuine excitement. “I heard that there were great whites around here. If I go just a little bit deeper, maybe . . .”
Fyodor rolled his eyes, splashing idly at the water to entertain himself. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he retorted dryly. “The chances of such a preposterous thing happening are slim to none. For starters, sharks don’t just senselessly attack anything that moves. You would have to resemble a seal, or perhaps even a sea turtle, neither of which you look anything like. On top of that, great whites typically never hang around these types of shallow waters, so your plan is rather futile.”
Dazai ignored Fyodor’s rambling. He was more than used to being dumped with factual information by the Russian, and by now he’d learned how to blot it all out. If there was one thing he excelled at, it was ignoring people and common sense. It was what got him into trouble more than half of the time.
Glancing over his shoulder, he went to say something to Fyodor, when he suddenly vanished underneath the water. It looked like something had pulled him under. There was a cluster of waves as Dazai splashed and thrashed, clearly struggling. Fyodor, of course, assumed immediately that Dazai was playing some kind of elaborate trick on him.
Nonetheless, he moved forward despite his instincts, diving into the water to help his lover. And, as expected, Dazai resurfaced only to cackle, splashing at his partner’s face when Fyodor joined him. “Did I finally get you that time?” He inquired hopefully. When Fyodor remained both unphased and unamused, Dazai pouted, clearly discontent.
“Dammit,” he murmured, caressing his chin thoughtfully. “Next time I’ll get you for sure. Although, the more I feign incidents like this, the more likely you are to abandon me when a real emergency comes, assuming I’m just lying. How perfect!” Dazai practically beamed, and Fyodor scowled, sighing softly.
“You are yet again wrong,” he deadpanned. “I would come to save you even if you were tricking me, simply because I can’t risk losing you.” Once the words settled between them, he paused, his eyes widening slightly.
What did I just say?
Such a tender and heartfelt statement, coming from him? He wanted to throw up. A part of him was tempted to suddenly wretch, while the other part wanted to crawl away and never reveal himself again. Allowing himself to be so openly vulnerable, even in front of Dazai, felt sinful. Admitting that he didn’t want to lose something was a weakness. Dazai had become his weakness.
How awful.
Dazai didn’t seem to think the same, however. He merely grinned, suddenly leaning forward to throw his arms around Fyodor’s neck. “Fedya cares about me!” He cried. “You really do care about me! How sweet! I never expected you to become so soft!” He squeezed the Russian, who huffed, fighting back against the warmth threatening to flush his cheeks. “Dazai, you’re choking me,” he muttered weakly.
Dazai’s grip loosened slightly, although his enthusiasm never faltered. This close, Fyodor could see the way his eyes glimmered. They usually looked so dead half of the time, but as of right now, they’d never seemed so alive. He wondered how his own gaze looked. With a racing heart, he reckoned he was probably in the same boat as Dazai. Looking far less dim and perhaps even . . . happier than usual.
His chest swelled, a strange sensation that didn’t often encompass him. It only happened when he was around Dazai, during the seldom tender moments they shared. At first he’d assumed it was a sickness, but when he’d asked Dazai’s doctor friend about his symptoms, she simply burst out laughing at him. Such an embarrassment was absolutely mortifying, and so he never told anyone else about what he was experiencing.
But a part of him wondered if Dazai was going through the same thing he was. He had to, surely. If Fyodor was ill, then by default so was Dazai. They did everything together, so it was impossible for Dazai not to catch it.
Whatever it was.
“I really like it when you look at me like that,” Dazai whispered, his tone softening.
“Like what?” Fyodor inquired, studying Dazai closely. He truly was beautiful, as if he had been crafted by the gods themselves, or taken straight out of a painting. Perhaps it was why Fyodor had been so instinctively drawn to him at first. He was a sucker for pretty things, though he had never met anyone as purely stunning as Dazai was.
“Like you love me.”
Fyodor blinked, genuinely caught off-guard for a long moment. His lips pursed into a thin line, and words seemed to fail him for a prolonged period. No one had ever mentioned love to him before. He’d heard of it, obviously, and yet he assumed it wasn’t something within his capabilities. Nobody existed for him to love, although he supposed that if someone did, it would have to be Dazai.
He struggled to formulate a proper response, uncertain of how to approach this sensitive topic. Dazai never really talked about love, at least not to him. He knew that Fyodor wasn’t good with emotions, and experienced them quite rarely. The same could be said for him, yet Dazai seemed better than he was. It almost, almost, made Fyodor want to improve, too. But he doubted it was possible.
Before he could think of an answer, Dazai chuckled, pressing a finger against Fyodor’s lips. “You don’t have to say anything,” he reassured the other. “I know that your brain’s working on overdrive to reply without upsetting me, but there’s no need to do such a thing. I understand you already. You can’t upset me with such a simple matter. I don’t need you to love me. All I need is you. Your presence beside me . . . Yes, that’s enough.”
“You are truly strange, Dazai,” Fyodor breathed, and Dazai grinned. “The same could be said for you,” he retorted, leaning forward to capture Fyodor’s lips in a kiss.
Kissing Dazai was usually violent and forceful, a mess of teeth and rough biting. Blood was spilled more often than not, and their tongues typically clashed against one another in a brutal battle for dominance. This time around, however, there was something softer about the way they kissed. Something that was explicitly more tender.
It had butterflies dancing within Fyodor’s stomach, butterflies which he attempted to chase away with vehemence. Nothing worked to dispel them, unfortunately. When Dazai lifted his damp hands upwards, caressing Fyodor’s face, he felt the butterflies intensify, multiplying in numbers until they became a swarm that he had no hope of getting rid of.
Tangling his fingers through the brunette’s chocolate curls, he tugged lightly, ensuring that his actions were careful. In this rare instance, he didn’t act to inflict pain or suffering onto Dazai. Usually he would be much harsher and even borderline cruel, but now he was being deliberately soft. What was wrong with him? Had he truly lost his mind?
When Dazai eventually pulled away for air—which was a miracle because typically he’d try to suffocate himself against Fyodor’s lips—he was smiling. A pale string of saliva still connected their mouths, which he wiped away hurriedly. “What if we had sex in the ocean right now?” He suggested teasingly, though from the look in his eyes, he meant it.
Fyodor snorted, playing with a lock of Dazai’s damp hair, wet from the ocean’s waves. “Unfortunately, I have to decline,” he drawled. “I don’t fancy the idea of fish coming close to my more private regions.”
“Oh, come on! It’s not like a fish is going to bite your dick off or something,” Dazai whined. “But fine, fine. What about the beach, then?” He perked up quickly, and Fyodor rolled his eyes. “Far too messy. I don’t want sand all over my body, let alone in more sensitive areas,” he mumbled dismissively.
“Gah! You’re no fun!” Dazai lightly smacked Fyodor’s shoulder. “How about the beach house, hm? There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Fyodor grinned, moving closer to nip at Dazai’s exposed neck. “You’re right,” he agreed. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it, no.”
Dazai brightened, tugging enthusiastically on Fyodor’s wrist. “Then what are we waiting for?” He blurted out. “Come on, let’s go then!” His excitement caused Fyodor to chuckle, though he allowed himself to be pulled from the ocean, and dragged across the hot sand to their secluded beach house.
Once inside, they wasted no time.
When Fyodor took Dazai, it was how it usually was, though there was something slightly different this time around. Despite the rough pace of his thrusts and the harsh way he bit and marked Dazai’s pale skin, it didn’t feel as intense as usual. His suspicions were reaffirmed when Dazai suddenly reached out, slipping his hand into Fyodor’s.
They’d never held hands like this before, especially not during something like sex.
Instead of flinching or pulling away like he would have done for anyone else, Fyodor found himself entwining his fingers with Dazai’s. It didn’t feel like he was fucking Dazai anymore. Something had changed, and yet for once, he couldn’t explain what it was.
A memory appeared within his mind, a conversation he had overheard from Dazai and his friends. They had been talking about their romantic lives, which Fyodor didn’t mind. As the details became more scandalous and detailed, Dazai declared that Fyodor didn’t ‘make love’ to him, rather just fucked him. His friends had all sounded shocked and confused, but Dazai didn’t seem bothered by it, so it didn’t bother Fyodor either. If it wasn’t an issue, then why care?
The puzzle pieces fell into place for him, then. All at once, he began to understand.
This was what ‘making love’ meant.
They were ‘making love.’
And he didn’t dislike it.
In fact, looking down at Dazai’s flushed face and their intertwined hands, he realized that he enjoyed it. Perhaps he really was changing.
[ ☼ ☼ ☼ ]
A few days had passed, and before Fyodor knew it, the Fourth of July had rolled around.
Dazai, of course, wanted to celebrate.
“Why would we partake in an American holiday?” Fyodor inquired dryly, standing beside Dazai with a blank expression. Obviously neither of them were American, and so he found celebrating the fourth to be a pointless endeavor. He wasn’t grateful for America earning independence; frankly he just didn’t care, and he doubted Dazai did, either. There was surely an ulterior motive.
And sure enough, there was.
“Fireworks,” Dazai cooed. “Fireworks, Fedya. Imagine how remarkably beautiful it’d be!”
“Isn’t that illegal?” Fyodor deadpanned.
“We won’t get caught,” Dazai retorted slyly. “This place is as secluded as can be!” He cupped his hands into a begging motion, beginning to flutter his eyelashes pleadingly. “Oh please, pretty please please please pl—”
“Fine.” It didn’t take much convincing for Fyodor to agree. After all, he didn’t particularly enjoy hearing Dazai’s whining.
“Yay!” Dazai cheered, rushing forward to happily kiss Fyodor’s cheek. “I’ll go get everything ready!” He exclaimed. Fyodor stared at him incredulously; of course he already had all the materials ready. As expected of Dazai, he’d planned this all out.
When nighttime eventually rolled around, Fyodor found himself helping Dazai set up the fireworks. He didn’t want his boyfriend to accidentally blow himself up or lose a limb, after all. Knowing Dazai, he would willingly do such things without a care in the world, and Fyodor didn’t fancy the idea of mopping up blood and gore off of the sand.
As the fireworks began to sizzle, threatening to explode, Fyodor yanked Dazai forcefully away, moving a safe distance to the side. Dazai didn’t seem to mind and simply leaned against Fyodor, his gaze glittering with genuine excitement. It was odd to see Dazai so honestly enthusiastic, let alone over something so childish. The excitement transferred over to Fyodor, even only slightly.
With loud booms and cracks, the fireworks erupted, launching high into the sky alongside the moon and stars. They were a wide range of colors, varying shades from across the entire rainbow. Dazai chose everything specifically; he must have wanted to light up the night. The glow of the fireworks lit up his own face, the various bright colors playing across his pale cheeks. Fyodor found that it made him look serene.
Dazai’s expression suddenly transformed into something more thoughtful and solemn, almost forlorn. He abruptly shifted, slipping his bandaged hand into Fyodor’s, just like he had when they slept together. Only this time, it was yet again different. This was a new form of intimacy, a type of connection that Fyodor wasn’t yet used to. He stiffened on instinct, though Dazai didn’t react, he simply continued to stare up at the fireworks, transfixed. Did he even realize what he did?
Of course he did; he was Dazai, but . . .
He made it all seem so natural, so nonchalant. Perhaps it was supposed to be, and Fyodor was just reading too much into it. But there was always more when it came to his relationship with Dazai. Nothing was so simple. Everything was always more complex, and that was just how he liked it.
Slowly, he wrapped his hand around Dazai’s, entwining their fingers together. All the while, he stayed quiet, moving his gaze towards the sky. Eventually, holding Dazai’s hand like this didn’t seem nearly as foreign.
It felt normal.
The silence was interrupted only when Dazai sighed softly, his eyes glittering with a strange type of sadness. “When I go, I hope I’ll go out just as beautifully,” he murmured.
“You will.”
Fyodor’s response surprised both himself and Dazai, who flinched slightly. The brunette blinked as if emerging from a trance before he laughed, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.
“You think so, Fedya?”
“I know so.”
Dazai smiled just a bit wider, leaning forward to rest his head against Fyodor’s shoulder. “You know,” he whispered. “I think I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That scares me. I shouldn’t be so attached to someone, and yet . . . It happened anyways.”
Fyodor’s heart skipped a beat. For a while, neither of them spoke. The silence seemed almost tense until he opened his mouth, the words spilling from him quite naturally, now.
“I think I want to spend the rest of my life with you, too.”
Dazai blinked, before his expression softened. His grip on Fyodor’s hand tightened, and together, the two lapsed into a silence that was nothing but purely peaceful.
Later that night, as they laid together in bed, Dazai did something unusual. He rolled over, directly into Fyodor, and clung onto the man.
Fyodor was taken aback, unable to speak as Dazai held him, resting his head upon the Russian’s chest. This was yet again a new form of intimacy, something different from both sex and hand holding. This was something close and tender and intimate, in a non sexual way. It was so soft, it startled Fyodor, taking his breath away. He didn’t think something like this could feel so good.
He didn’t think he was able to feel good at all, not until Dazai came crashing into his life, and made his miserable existence just a little bit more bearable.
Dazai didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Fyodor was already wrapping his arms around the brunette, pulling him subtly closer. Locked in one another’s embrace, they both found comfort in each other’s touch, a comfort that they could only obtain when they were together. No one else on this earth could satisfy them the way they satisfied each other, like two missing halves finally coming to completion. They would always be connected; two halves of the same exact coin.
“I really like you, Fedya,” Dazai whispered, nearly soundlessly, into Fyodor’s ear. It was the closest he’d ever get to an ‘I love you.’
“I really like you too, Dazai.”
With a tired smile, Dazai drifted off within Fyodor’s arms, content with the response he’d been given. It was all the confirmation he needed, and he found that he slept nearly ten times better locked in Fyodor’s embrace.
Nightmares didn’t plague him anymore, not when Fyodor was there to chase them away.
[ ☼ ☼ ☼ ]
When Dazai eventually returned to work, he brought along a strange Russian man with flushed red skin. He appeared to be badly sunburnt, much to the kids’ (and Dazai’s) amusement. Dazai claimed he looked like a crab, which Fyodor decided to pointedly ignore. He was used to the brunette’s taunts.
Having an entire room full of kids teasing him as well was something . . . New, though.
“This is my husband!” Dazai announced, gesturing towards Fyodor, who stared awkwardly towards the children. When Dazai nudged him expectantly, Fyodor offered a pathetic wave. The kids regarded him silently for a while, before a clamor immediately broke out. Everyone rushed to speak over each other, all of them shouting.
“Mister Dazai got married?!”
“Where are your rings?”
“Run while you still can!”
“Mister Dazai . . . He’s married?” A pale, almost sickly-looking boy collapsed onto the ground. He seemed absolutely devastated, his mouth hanging slightly open, those gray eyes of his wide with horror. A small girl who resembled him, presumably his sister, patted his shoulder reassuringly. “There there, Aku,” she soothed the inconsolable boy.
Though neither Dazai nor Fyodor had officially proposed, and though neither of them found marriage to be important, Dazai still flaunted the status around to anyone and everyone he could. When he introduced Fyodor to people, he claimed that the man was his husband instead of just his boyfriend. And to be honest? It felt . . . Nice.
He began to do the same, although Dazai didn’t notice. When he announced that Dazai was his husband to his two coworkers, both Nikolai and Sigma nearly fainted on call. He wished he could have seen their reactions in person, although perhaps not, considering the fact that Nikolai couldn’t stop screaming.
Everyone seemed so shocked that Fyodor actually managed to find a lifelong partner.
And yet . . . He supposed there was someone for everyone. Even a monster such as him.
As Dazai interacted with the various kids, answering questions and consoling a devastated Akutagawa, Fyodor knew more than ever that he wanted to be with him.
For as long as they both lived.