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"Why do you want to die?"
"Why do you want to live?"
They do the same dance every day. Every long day, dragging on and on, as Dazai crouches and inspects his matchbox from top to bottom. Chuuya scoffs, eyes on the sky as smoke pours from between his lips.
"Haven't I already answered that? Stupid Dazai..."
"Eh? It's not my fault Chuuya is so quiet all the way down there!"
"I'm still growing!"
Chuuya's foot meets the back of the matchbox, kicking it up between Dazai's eyes - or at least, it would, if Dazai hadn't been expecting him, stepping aside so the sharp kick meets nothing but air.
A whine comes from between the brunette's lips, one of boredom. "Chibi's so predictable..."
Dazai gripes with nothing as he stands, stealing the cigarette from between Chuuya's fingers. It's childish, but he'll allow it. The thrum of heat he gets from the light is already burning through him. "You're the one that's predictable," He chides, watching the bright end of the cigarette glow between Dazai's lips.
"Always trying to kill yourself."
Chuuya steals it back, puts it between his lips, and breathes in.
"Why can't Chuuya just be nice to me?" The cigarette, thoroughly burnt, is already making its way between their hands before either has to say anything.
"Because you're a fucking freak," responds Chuuya, words blunt as he waits. A flash of the streetlamp lights up the matchbox that broke in their smoke as Dazai pockets it, and then throws the remainders of their cigarette on the ground, crushing the ashes under a fine dress shoe. Chuuya goes to stop him half a second too late.
"Fucking - stupid mackerel - I wasn't fucking done!"
Chuuya grabs at Dazai's arm, swinging a gloved fist for his face - or, where his face would be, if Dazai hadn't been expecting him, stepping aside so the blunt punch meets nothing but air. Exactly the same.
He doesn't try to push it this time. He needs his strength for the mission they're on. Chuuya takes a deep breath and turns away, arms falling back to his sides.
His tone is bitter. "Next time you ask for a cigarette, I'm shoving your head into the nearest wall."
He expects a groan, a plead of, but cigarettes are always better when they're Chuuya's (as if they're any fucking different from the shitty ones Dazai buys from the corner store by headquarters - Mafia-affiliated, obviously).
Instead, Dazai grabs Chuuya's collar, pulling him close and pressing their lips together. It's short, and chaste (as chaste as you can get when it's them, he can feel Dazai's tongue teasing his bottom lip for one, hot second) - still, it succeeds in melting the anger from his body, replaced by confusion. It takes Chuuya a second before he kisses back, and then shoves Dazai away.
Dazai just hums contentedly. "So easy," as if he hadn't been the one giving out random kisses to his partner.
You're on a misson. He shouldn't let himself get distracted. The right thing to do would be to focus on the task at hand - to let this go and deal with his thoughts later, and push through to the base.
Chuuya ignores that, and licks his lips. Smoke. Whiskey. "Next time you try killing yourself, I hope it fucking works." Chuuya snaps, before grabbing him for another kiss. Dazai grins. He's getting exactly what he wants and he knows it, diving down to meet Chuuya's eager mouth.
They arrive half an hour late to their destination, and crush their enemies like they always do.
There's blood on the front of Chuuya's clothes and the sleeves of his coat. Dazai's the same, red staining the palms of his bandages as he crouches by a body and pokes it.
"Hey, Chuuya, what if I grabbed the info and ran out of here?" He asks, and Chuuya rolls his eyes, out of sight.
All Dazai notices in return is a scoff. "That's out of character. You'd stay and tell me everything so you don't have to fill in the report."
"Eh, you think I'd stay with a slug like you?"
"If it means you don't have to do paperwork, you'll do anything!"
Dazai dodges the rock that's coming for his bandaged eye, and smiles. Yes, he thinks. I'll stay.
Three months later, he's gone, and Chuuya doesn't understand. He should've known better than to trust a liar.
...
(He wishes he'd stayed, just like he said he would.)
They meet again and it's a mistake. They've never been good at drawing a line between hate and love and it shows, Chuuya's hands in Dazai's hair and Dazai's nails digging into Chuuya's waist as they hit a wall. If it had been one and done, maybe they'd be forgiven.
But it happens again (so, so warm, so many sensations). They take advantage of the way they know each other to touch in all the right places and it's heaven, but the aftermath is hell. Their shared history hangs in the air, and both of them feel like Tantalus, forced to reach for closure that doesn't come. So they return to each other, week after week, in the same bar, and in the morning when Chuuya wakes, Dazai is gone.
Again. Dazai is gone again, and he doesn't leave a trace behind. Chuuya thinks he must be dying.
Next time, he'll stay. He's told himself that at least five times in the last month. Next time, next time...
The next time they meet, he's determined. He steals Dazai's breath with quick kisses, and they continue their cycle, with one change...
Dazai is putting on his tie when Chuuya wraps his arms around his waist.
"Could you stay this time?"
He freezes.
The morning light is gentle, sweet, far too kind on their skin to feel real. Dazai hasn't slept the night in a long, long time - usually, if they meet like this, it's for a quick fuck, and then he's gone again, back to his desk at the Agency and stacks of unfinished paperwork. He tells himself it's because he has no reason to stay - but Chuuya's hands press against his stomach, keeping him seated on the edge of the bed.
"..."
His hands still, and he stays put, but he can't find the words.
Behind him, there's a quiet sigh. If he looks back now, he'll probably see Chuuya, red hair messy and bangs scattered in his eyes, which are still half-lidded from sleep. He's always looked so pretty in the sun. He wipes the thought away as he places his hand over Chuuya's.
The action must seem like denial, because the puff of breath on his back is disappointed - but resigned.
"Never mind." There's defeat in the redhead's voice as his hand slips over Dazai's waist and back onto the bed. The other one tugs underneath his palm halfheartedly, like Chuuya doesn't have the strength to pull away.
Dazai waits, waits, just one second more - and their fingers intertwine.
He feels Chuuya still, unsure, confused. Dazai doesn't blame him - he's certainly sending a lot of mixed signals.
"What, Chuuya thinks I'd leave him all alone again? So cruel..."
The words are whispered, barely audible. Again. He's already left once. He's already left a million times, actually. Sometimes it feels like they're stuck in a loop of nights of reunion (and they don't always have sex, especially when Chuuya's drunk and screaming and crying out four years' worth of pent-up tears) and mornings where Dazai leaves him behind.
Again. He's wasted Chuuya's faith in him (but he had to, he had to get out. It was not enough, and he had promises to keep - promises more important than the ones whispered to his partner).
It's not a soothing thought. Even he, so famously numb, can discern a pang of discomfort in his chest when he thinks it.
He hears Chuuya's breath hitch as Dazai gives his hand a squeeze. Slowly, he lowers himself back onto the bed, the warmth of the mattress bleeding through his shirt. Chuuya still smells like sleep and wine and sex, but he can't be anything more than half-awake, not with the way he curls up next to Dazai and holds him close. No, when Chuuya comes to properly in a few hours, he'll be a ball of passion, denying this ever happened.
However, Dazai tilts his head slightly and sees those pretty blue eyes, hidden by fair screens framed by red eyelashes. They peak out underneath a curtain of ginger, and Dazai takes a deep breath in, unable to resist using his free hand to brush them aside. His Chibi really is pretty.
"Sleep well, Chuuya," He mutters, as the other man's eyes flutter shut. "I'm here."