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[15]
Dazai has stubble.
It came as quite the surprise when Chuuya discovered it.
For the first few weeks they knew each other, Chuuya hadn’t initially seen anything. It wasn’t until he ran into Dazai coming out of the hotel bathroom that he found out why. Dazai’s stubble was very light—incredibly so. With the brief glance Chuuya stole, he saw that the short hair was a lighter brown—almost blonde in direct light.
If Chuuya is being completely honest, he isn’t surprised in the slightest. He knows Dazai is chronically lazy, so it would make sense if he didn’t shave (unless it got annoying—then Chuuya figures the bastard musters up the energy to do it).
In the end, Chuuya does think the stubble suits Dazai in a rogue-looking way, though he will never admit it.
—||||—
[16]
“Do you even shave?” Chuuya asks the question out of the blue one night. The two of them are curled up on the redhead’s couch, a half-finished bucket of popcorn between them as the end credits of a movie roll across the screen.
Surprise briefly flashes across Dazai’s eyes before he blinks it away. A cheeky grin appears as he tilts his head in the way he knows spells trouble. “Why do you ask? What, jealous you can’t grow facial hair?”
“What?! No, I can grow it just fine!” Chuuya exclaims, scowling. And he’s right, he can grow facial hair, he just happens to shave it. Having coarse hair on his face isn’t a feeling he particularly likes. That, and the fact he looks better clean-shaven. “Just answer the damn question.”
Dazai makes a show of scratching his chin, contemplation Chuuya instinctively knows is bullshit. With the avoidance the brunette was exhibiting, Chuuya wouldn’t be surprised if the next words out of his mouth were lies. The bastard was allergic to the truth, after all.
“Facial hair doesn’t exactly like me.” Half truth, then. One Chuuya needs to read between the lines.
When he figures it out, a self-assured grin breaks through. “You can’t grow more than stubble, can’t you?”
Eyes grow fractionally wide before Dazai can hide it. “Pray tell, chibi, what makes you think that?”
The grin turns triumphant. He finally got one over Dazai. “For starters, I know you have sensory issues,” an almost imperceptible choked inhale from the other boy, “so you would have shaved it when it got too long. Second, I would have seen small cuts on your face by now if you were actually shaving.”
The brunette doesn’t even bother to mask his astonishment. His mouth opens and closes marginally before his jaw snaps shut. A calculated glare that screams of danger quickly takes over his features. “If you already figured it out, why did you bother asking?”
Chuuya gives an unbothered shrug, not affected at all by the aura radiating off of Dazai. “It was just a speculation. You’re the one who confirmed it.”
Seconds pass until Dazai hums, “fair play, chibi.” It comes out with an undercurrent of what sounds like pride.
—||||—
[17]
Some days, Chuuya is a fan of waking up bright and early in the morning with birds chirping in the air and soft sunlight streaming through the gap in his curtains. On other days, it’s quite the opposite. This morning happens to be the latter.
The minute Chuuya opens his eyes, a blaring headache throbs behind them. Apparently, he had, once again, drank too much wine last night (what a surprise). With a groan, Chuuya rolls over, snuggling his face into the other bed occupant’s shoulder. A quiet chuckle escapes Dazai as he places his cheek on top of Chuuya’s head, nuzzling into the redhead’s hair.
“G’mornin’, chibi,” Dazai whispers, not wanting to break the calming atmosphere around them. An unintelligible grumble is Chuuya’s reply as he further curls into Dazai’s side, throwing an arm and a leg over him to essentially become the octopus he always accuses the brunette of being. In response, Dazai turns onto his side and wraps an arm around Chuuya’s waist, lightly gripping the fabric of his shirt.
Time seems to inch by as the two stay like that, not daring to move away from the warmth and comfort of the other. At some point, Dazai slips his hand under Chuuya’s shirt to gently rub his side, easing away whatever tension he has with talented thumbs. Little gasps and quiet groans escape the redhead at this, tapering off into pleased sighs. When the brunette suddenly stops his ministrations, however, Chuuya’s next groan is one of annoyance.
Wanting to see why Dazai stopped, Chuuya blinks his eyes open and squints at the sudden flood of light. Leaning back, he’s about to ask what’s wrong, only to see the look of pure impish glee written on Dazai’s face. Realization is one to slowly dawn on Chuuya, and by the time his eyes widen in abject horror, Dazai is already making his move. “Wait—no!”
Dazai descends on Chuuya, rubbing his cheeks all over him. A barely contained squeal leaves Chuuya as he weakly pushes at Dazai’s chest in a futile attempt to stop his attack. This does absolutely nothing to deter Dazai as he continues to rub his stubble over Chuuya, the coarse hairs tickling his face. Ever since Dazai did this the first time and found out Chuuya was ticklish, the brunette would do this at any given opportunity. It didn’t matter if they were at home, on a stakeout, or in a closet at the Port Mafia, it could and would happen (at this point, Chuuya firmly believes this is Dazai’s weird way of showing affection).
“Stop! Please—it tickles!” Chuuya gets out between gasping laughs.
“Nope~! Not gonna happen!”
Chuuya’s peals of laughter are soon joined by Dazai’s own.
—||||—
[18]
Chuuya’s first kiss with Dazai doesn’t go as how he imagined. Instead of a romantic candlelit dinner or cuddling under the night sky or hell, in the middle of a battlefield, Chuuya is stuck in a hospital bed, hooked up to numerous wires and beeping machines keeping him alive.
A few nights ago, Corruption had to be unexpectedly unleashed. It did its job, wiping out the ranks of the other gang in bloody gore, but nearly at the cost of Chuuya’s life. According to Dazai—who had been sticking to Chuuya’s side ever since he nullified Corruption—he barely got to Chuuya in time, chunks of concrete and a bullet to the leg slowing him down.
In the end, Chuuya ended up with his left leg completely shattered, a broken right arm, and heavy internal bleeding to the point of surgery.
“How are you feeling?” Dazai asks the third time Chuuya wakes up after the surgery.
It takes a bit of effort—mainly due to his fucked up vocal cords—but Chuuya manages to grit out, “like shit.”
A subdued hum, like Dazai isn’t completely present. “Makes sense. Corruption did a number on you this time.”
Chuuya did not like how Dazai sounded at all. It was like a hollow noise, one that held nothing and absolutely everything at the same time. The only time Chuuya ever heard Dazai sound like that was when he retreated from the world, too stuck in his own hell-creating mind.
Figures that the bastard would blame himself for what happened.
Chuuya gives a sigh, one that’s too heavy and pain-filled for someone his age. “It’s not your fault,” he says. He tries to imbue the blamelessness he feels in his words, but unsurprisingly, it leaves no mark on Dazai’s impossibly high and impossibly thick walls.
“I should have predicted it.” His words are hard, leaving no room for argument. Well, jokes on him, Chuuya loves to argue.
“You can’t predict everything, Dazai.”
“Yes, I can. I have to.”
“No. You. Can’t,” Chuuya growls, patience thinning as he punctuates every word. He’s always angrier after Corruption, Arahabaki’s rage still lingering in his veins.
Chuuya’s rising anger doesn’t deter Dazai. Calmly, as if he’s explaining it to a child, Dazai says, “I can. I must.”
A sound of pure disbelief escapes Chuuya. With a scoff, he snaps, “why the fuck can’t you get it through your thick ass skull?! You’re human, Dazai, so, no, you can’t fucking predict everything.”
That seems to shut him up. The mask Dazai has on cracks, showcasing the unfiltered fear and worry underneath. Dazai’s breath catches as he stills, never breaking eye contact with Chuuya. Words seem to stick to the tip of his tongue before they’re visibly swallowed with the bob of his Adam’s Apple.
“Chuuya’s unfairly good at surprising me,” is what eventually comes out of Dazai’s mouth with an exhale. He forces a wavering pout as he places his chin on his palm, expression half-guarded.
Something about the vulnerable admission catches Chuuya off guard. With a sharp inhale he studies the brunette and catalogs the minuscule changes in the cracked mask he isn’t rebuilding. It leaves Chuuya floundering, the proverbial ground beneath him unsteady. The cocky grin Chuuya forces comes naturally, albeit a bit shaky around the edges. “It’s a talent.”
Instead of giving the typical snarky remark, Dazai’s expression hardens, an unknown determination stitching the cracks. Chuuya watches as Dazai gets out of his chair and leans over him to the point his breath is ghosting the redhead’s lips. Stunned at the unexpected closeness, Chuuya does nothing as Dazai closes the gap between them.
Wound-bitten lips meet his chapped ones in a caress. The action is soft and featherlight, causing Chuuya to close his eyes and melt into its warm embrace. Slowly he reciprocates, gently pressing back as he slightly tilts his head for a better angle. A pleased hum comes from Dazai when Chuuya reaches up and cups his cheek, the roughness of his stubble adding to the sensations coursing through him. Dazai’s response is to take a hand and card it through the hair at Chuuya’s nape, scratching at his scalp every few seconds.
Eventually, the need for air overtakes the need to keep kissing. Dazai pulls away first, inhaling breaths as he rests his forehead against Chuuya’s. A ghost of a smile could be felt in the space between them; who’s it was, neither knew.
“I’m glad you’re alive, Chuuya,” Dazai whispers against his lips like a prayer.
A warm exhale, promising more kisses to come. “Me too.”
—||||—
[22]
“Do I really have to, Chuuya?” Dazai whines for the fourth time in the span of seven minutes.
“Yes, you do. Now sit down and stay still,” Chuuya growls out, pushing Dazai onto the shower stool.
Later that night, the two of them have a joint undercover mission at an upscale dinner hosted by a couple suspected of human trafficking. Their job is to find information they could use against them during the counterattack later. This meant that the two of them have to clean up and dress up—something Chuuya is absolutely ecstatic about—but it also means Dazai has to shave.
Something he, unsurprisingly, is vehemently against.
An aggrieved pout is on Dazai’s lips as he slouches forward, head hanging between his shoulders. Chuuya ignores his act as he gets everything he needs, putting his razor and shaving cream in easy reach on the bathroom counter. Knowing that Dazai rarely—if ever—shaved, Chuuya had made the executive decision to do it himself. The only problem, however, was Dazai’s willingness to cooperate.
Sensing that Dazai is going to whine again, Chuuya beats him to it. “When was the last time you shaved?” No response, save for his pout turning into a scowl. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
A towel is the last thing Chuuya grabs before he places it on the brunette’s shoulders. After making sure there is enough shaving cream in his hands, Chuuya instructs Dazai to lean back and begins to apply the product. When thumbs start to stroke at Dazai’s pulse points, he lets the tension in his body unwind as he sags against the redhead behind him. The action earns an appreciative hum from Chuuya, pride at Dazai’s submission flowing through him.
Dazai very rarely showed any form of submission, but when he did, Chuuya couldn’t help the sense of pride and happiness he felt. It made him think that, with every fallen mask, Dazai was willingly letting him take care of him. That every intrusive thought, depressive episode, and bad day Dazai had, Chuuya was given permission to take all that pain away, to give him the comfort and love he had been denied for so long, to protect him.
The pride becomes visible with the smile Chuuya directs down at Dazai.
Once the razor meets Dazai’s throat, he slightly flinches before closing his eyes, letting himself submit that much more to the other man—trusting Chuuya with his fragile and more than unwanted life. Chuuya’s smile turns softer as he whispers, “good boy.”
Chuuya ignores how Dazai goes still under him, gliding the razor along his skin. Swipe after swipe, the stubble is shaved away to reveal smooth pale skin. It’s when he’s almost done that Dazai quietly speaks up. “Say it again.”
“Hmm? Say what?”
“The—” Dazai stops and licks his lips, a light blush forming along his cheeks. Averting his eyes, he gets out, “the… ‘good boy’.”
Chuuya’s eyes widen before he narrows them, a mischievous grin forming. “Oh~? Do you like it when I call you that? Good boy~?” he says, practically purring the praise.
The reaction it gains is one Chuuya savors. Dazai’s eyes grow impossibly wide as the blush becomes infinitely brighter. A little shiver even runs through his body.
The next words out of Chuuya are spoken without an ounce of shame. “I didn’t know you had a fucking praise kink. Figures, with the number of dog jokes you make, huh?”
This causes Dazai to bolt upright, narrowly missing knocking Chuuya in the chin. He looks like he’s about ready to run when he rushes out in a flustered mess, “I—I don’t have a praise kink!”
“Ah, but you do, my good boy~.”
“Stooop! I don’t! Chuuya’s the one with a praise kink!” It’s a weak attempt at distracting Chuuya, one that makes him huff out a fond chuckle. Shaking his head, he gently guides Dazai back till he’s leaning against him once more.
“Calm down, alright? I’m just teasing ya.”
A pout instantly comes from Dazai. “Chuuya’s so mean, insinuating that I’m a dog!”
“Aren’t you, though?”
“Chuuya!”
“Alright, alright, I’ll stop,” Chuuya concedes.
The blush remains on Dazai as Chuuya finishes shaving his face. Once he’s done, Chuuya turns and grabs the aftershave, a thought suddenly crossing his mind. “Have you ever used aftershave?” he asks Dazai, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.
“No, I haven’t,” Dazai answers, eyes narrowing in suspicion as he regards the bottle in Chuuya’s hands. “What’s it do?”
Chuuya has to fight to keep the chuckles from breaking through as he replies, “it’s what makes my face smell so good.”
Realization dawns in the brunette’s eyes, though there is still some suspicion as he wearily watches Chuuya pour the liquid into his hands. The suspicion quickly turns to shock, however, when the aftershave comes into contact with his skin. With a yelp, Dazai shoots off the stool, hands coming to rub at his cheeks as he turns around, betrayal clear and upfront on his face.
Chuuya instantly starts roaring in laughter, growing louder at Dazai’s affronted “Chuuya’s mean!” He ends up doubled over, one hand holding his side while the other braces himself on the counter. All the while, Dazai just stands there, watching in offense at Chuuya laughing at his pain.
“That’s it, I’m done! Chuuya’s sleeping on the couch tonight!” Dazai declares as he spins around, arms crossing over his chest.
“Nooo, I’m sorry!” A heaving gasp as he tries to reign in his laughter, “don’t—don’t do that, I’m sorry!”
Wiping his eyes, Chuuya makes his way over to Dazai, wrapping his arms around his waist. Even though Chuuya’s frame is still jolting with suppressed laughter, Dazai deflates as he uncrosses his arms. With a huff, he hugs Chuuya’s arms, leaning back so the redhead has to support his full weight. “Chuuya’s cruel, you know that?”
“I do, but…” a snort, “it was worth it.” As soon as the words leave him, Chuuya lets go and books it out of the bathroom, causing the brunette to stumble backward. At Dazai’s indignant squawk, Chuuya guffaws, the sound filling the apartment.
Later, smooth skin is felt under Chuuya’s lips. It’s a little weird but not unpleasant, though Chuuya will always prefer Dazai’s rough beauty and rough love.