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This is stupid. He knows it’s stupid. He has run through all the various possible outcomes in his head over a hundred times, and he has yet to come up with very many positive ones.
And the few that he has, definitely fall into the category of wishful thinking.
God he has to be insane doing something like this.
But there is no going back now, well there is, he could turn on his heel right now and sprint out of this building and throw the bouquet into the river—and maybe himself along with it.
But Chuuya doesn’t like quitters, and well he may not like roses either. But even if Dazai makes a complete fool out of himself, Chuuya can’t call him a coward.
Wait, roses?
What is wrong with him? Why did he pick roses, that’s so cliche! Chuuya is going to think that he didn’t even try.
But he did, honestly he probably tried a little too hard.
He asked the poor lady at the flower shop probably a hundred different questions, all with varying levels of sanity. And somehow he landed on the most basic option of all time.
He thought about camellias, but that seemed too pretentious, but any other flowers just seemed wrong.
He wanted the flowers to be red, it was really his only thought going in. But now he’s got them and they’re blooming and beautiful and in an equally beautiful vase, and it feels all wrong.
Though there is a tiny bit of comfort knowing that even if Chuuya does end up hating the gift itself, at the very least he’s likely to appreciate the price tag.
There was a small part of Dazai that had a glimmer of hope that maybe Chuuya would really like them. That he would get the perfect flowers and write the perfect note saying everything he wants to hear. And Chuuya would…
He’s not even sure himself.
The thought of the two of them running off into the sunset together to live happily ever after, just seems like a cruel joke.
And frankly, he’ll consider himself lucky if he doesn’t end up with one of those roses sticking out of his eye.
Maybe he shouldn’t even leave the note, it would probably be better if Chuuya didn’t know they were from him.
It’s not like Chuuya is expecting him to do something like this.
Honestly sending someone Valentine’s roses after abandoning them, followed by four years of radio silence, is not really a standard practice.
Oh god, what if Chuuya thinks this is some kind of cruel joke, that Dazai is taunting him. Why didn’t he think of this sooner? What if—
“ Ahem.”
Dazai’s head snaps up.
And staring at him is the worst possible case scenario: Chuuya comes home early .
Oh fuck. Oh god. Oh no.
This might be the worst moment of Dazai’s life.
And yeah, no one’s died—yet, that window is looking pretty tempting right now.
But Dazai doesn’t find himself embarrassed very often, or ever, really. Being as shameless as he is. But this feeling, of being red faced and sweaty, along with the sensation of every nerve ending in his body being electrified. The bare bones feeling of humiliation and blood curdling fear.
This is it. This is the worst feeling in the world.
Other than his best friend dying in his arms—obviously. But he’s not in that moment right now, he’s in this one. And it is agonizing.
He’s sure the panic is written all over his face for a second, but he’s quick to hide it behind a bright smile. He’s sure it is doing nothing to convince Chuuya he’s actually calm, but it makes him feel a little better.
“Oh Chuuya, you’re home early.”
Chuuya crosses his arms over his chest, looking
thoroughly
unamused.
"It's not what it looks like?" Dazai tries.
Chuuya ignores that and instead looks down at the vase. He looks back up to meet Dazai's slightly panicked stare. "Those for me?"
Dazai presses his lips into a thin line. "Would you believe me if I said they were for your neighbor?"
"Since you're leaving them in front of my door, I'm gonna have to say no."
"Well maybe I got the room number mixed up."
"Please,” Chuuya scoffs. “You couldn't forget something as simple as that, if you tried."
Dazai’s gaze falls to the floor in defeat, and embarrassment.
“So, you bought me roses.” Chuuya isn’t asking for clarification, that information is as plain as day, he just feels the need to simply state the absurdity of it.
“Yes…”
“Why?”
Dazai bows his head, bangs obscuring his features. “It’s Valentine's day.”
Chuuya has remained largely unfazed this whole time, but his expression is shifting from that of slightly confused indifference, to out right exasperation. “It’s Valentine's Day? That’s your answer?”
Dazai just nods.
He knew that this would be a bad idea, but he still went through with it anyway. The title of suicidal maniac has never felt truer than it does in this exact moment.
Chuuya sighs and rolls his eyes, but still walks over and picks up the vase.
Dazai doesn’t dare look at his expression, just holding tight to the note in his hands, trying to subtly tuck it into his pocket before Chuuya can see it.
And usually he is the master of such things, but right now he can’t even seem to get his hands to move.
Cautiously, Dazai lifts his head. Silently taking a moment to mourn his poor bank account after using half of his most recent paycheck on the most high quality flowers he could find, as he is certain that he is about to see his money smashed onto the floor.
A horrible mess of flower petals, broken glass, and little pieces of his own heart lying in a puddle on the floor.
But when Dazai looks at Chuuya’s face, he doesn’t look particularly angry, or offended by the offering. Though he doesn’t look all that pleased either.
“Is that for me too?”
Of fuck .
Dazai was so dostracted by his own potential heart ache, he didn’t even notice that he still has that fucking card in his hands.
“Um…”
Chuuya just raises an eyebrow, he’s starting to look a little annoyed. Probably already losing his patience with Dazai’s bullshit.
It’s not like he even wanted you to bring flowers.
Who would want to spend Valentine’s Day with a monster like you?
All you’ll ever be to him is his useless ex-partner.
The traitor.
The asshole that never called.
“Well, is it?”
Oh fuck it, there’s not really much point in pretending at this point. It’s not like this little display can get any more desperate.
“Yes.”
Chuuya extends a hand to retrieve it, and Dazai gently places his last remaining shred of dignity into his waiting palm.
Chuuya looks at the note, and he blinks a few times, looking genuinely surprised.
Dazai braces himself for whatever is coming next. Internally gathering the mental bricks to start building up his walls again. Maybe he’ll add a roof this time—see just how far he can close himself off when he really puts his mind to it.
But whatever he was anticipating, is not what happens.
As Chuuya then bursts out laughing.
Dazai feels himself stiffen defensively, putting his hands in his pockets, much like a moody teenager.
Chuuya continues looking at the note, more and more laughter spilling from his lips.
And if Dazai wasn’t in such an intense state of panic he would know that Chuuya’s laughter isn’t mocking. He is down right delighted.
Chuuya finally manages to speak between his rounds of laughter. “Who knew it would only take a tan coat and a fucking bolo-tie to turn you into the sweetest little thing?”
Dazai’s brain practically short circuits at that comment. As it was neither an insult nor a rejection—honestly it sounded almost like a compliment. Dazai was not at all prepared for it.
“What?” Dazai squeaks.
“You know if I had thought that you switching sides would make you this cute, I would have kicked you out of the mafia myself.
He laughs again. “Hell, I would have given you my credit card to buy your goofy ass ‘good guy’ outfits.”
The laughter still doesn’t stop. “God could you imagine a little sixteen year old you. getting me flowers ? You would have been the cutest thing!”
Dazai finally gets his brain to come back on. “Chuuya is bullying me!”
Chuuya smiles up at him, still giggling. “I’m not bullying you, I’m just enjoying your gift.”
What?
No, that can’t be right.
“Really?”
For the first time in this entire encounter Chuuya seems to realize how genuinely unsure Dazai is. So he drops the playful attitude, and his deeply amused expression becomes a tad more serious—but only a tad. “Yes, of course.”
“You know how much I like gifts, even coming from a mackerel like you.”
Dazai bites his lip for a moment, thinking. “So you’re not angry?”
“Angry?”
“That I got you flowers…”
Chuuya sighs and looks off to the side. “That’s a bit complicated, Dazai.”
“When isn’t it complicated with us?” Dazai says forlornly, but it makes Chuuya crack a small smile.
“I am angry with you, but not because of the flowers.” Chuuya turns to look back at him, expression soft and somber. “I really like them, I promise.”
Dazai feels some of the tension leave his body.
It’s not quite as exuberant or lustful as he had daydreamed about this going, but he doesn’t currently have thorns or glass in his skin—so he’calling it a win.
Dazai doesn’t really do much in the way of positive thinking, and likes to keep a steady dose of stone cold reality in his system at all times. And Chuuya genuinely liking his gift was not something he considered would actually happen.
Chuuya has shown him a great deal of mercy over their years together, even when Dazai likely deserved the full extent of his wrath. This might be the most thoughtful and kind thing Chuuya has done for him. To know that Chuuya likes the roses, the stupid cliche roses, from a useless traitor like him—it feels like a gift from the gods themselves.
And Dazai finds himself wanting to beg on his knees for another tiny scrap of that kindness.
“Hold this for me, will you?” Chuuya hands Dazai the vase.
Dazai takes it and watches Chuuya unlock his front door. And before Dazai can say anything, either worshipful or down right stupid, Chuuya is spinning back around to take back the flowers. He allows their fingers to brush together and holds them there for a second longer than strictly necessary .
And then Chuuya does something he probably shouldn’t, the list for why not is miles long at this point. But, what the hell? It’s Valentine’s Day.
So, he leans up onto his toes and kisses Dazai on the cheek.
“Thank you.”
And with that Chuuya turns to walk inside.
But not before Dazai grabs hold of his wrist. “Wait—um.” He swallows. “Can we…maybe, talk sometime?”
He’s not really expecting a response in the affirmative, at least not something definite. Flowers are one thing, but actually talking—communicating, is an entire other beast.
Chuuya smiles. “Sure, I’ll give you a call.”
“But you don’t—”
“Oh I think I do.” A smirk makes its way onto Chuuya’s face. “Because some little cutie wrote his phone number on a love note for me.”
“That's—!”
“Goodnight Osamu.”
And now Dazai is left standing in the hallway, infinitely lighter than he’s been in years. And Chuuya’s deeply cruel teasing aside, he thinks that definitely could have gone worse.
And as he walks down the hallway toward the elevator he notices something in his pocket. He carefully reaches inside and pulls out a pink rose that he does not remember putting in there.
Half of its stem is cut and it is free of all its thorns. The petals seem to be a little wrinkled, probably from being in a pocket, and wherever Chuuya had been hiding it previously.
But with how distracted Dazai had been in the moment, Chuuya could have been carrying the damn thing in his mouth and Dazai wouldn’t have noticed.
The poor thing is in desperate need of some water, but that’s no worry, Dazai plans to show the small flower nothing but affection for however many more days it lives. Then he will freeze it in some water and keep it in his freezer forever! Or maybe he’ll press it into a book and frame it.
He’ll have to think about it some more.
Dazai lifts the flower to his nose, and as the sweet scent washes over him gentle waves, he smiles.