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It all started when Chuuya visited Dazai’s apartment for the first time in years. It was ages better than the old shipping container, but still bare and uncomfortably empty.
Chuuya was supposed to be here for a report on behalf of the alliance, but Dazai managed to trick him into staying longer with an expensive glass of wine. He is confused about why Dazai wants him around for so long even when it’s unnecessary, but Chuuya is not one to refuse free luxuries.
As Chuuya takes a slow sip, Dazai slides into the seat next to him, tossing him a notebook. “The report’s in here.”
Chuuya flips through it briefly, surprised by the amount of notes, “Okay. Thanks for the wine. I guess.”
He is never really sure how to talk to Dazai anymore. Does he pretend like the past never happened? Every genuine word he has spoken to him after their overdue reunion has been shadowed by an insult or a disgruntled comment.
But Dazai remains neutral, as always.
He only gives him a sharp smile as Chuuya leaves the apartment. It wasn’t until he returned home that he realized there was something very, very wrong about the notebook.
There had been a throbbing headache at his temple for the entire day. Chuuya has had a painful cramp in his legs ever since he got off his mission yesterday, and he is in desperate need of a hot shower after not washing his hair for two days.
It was a warm evening, and Chuuya’s apartment felt almost suffocating. He hangs his hat on the door before he decides to read the report.
The report was messily crammed on the first page, a single piece of paper with hastily scribbled notes followed by detailed descriptions that were probably written by the uptight blond guy with glasses at the agency.
Chuuya’s mind wanders to other places like how he is definitely treating himself to a nice dinner this weekend as he distractedly traces his fingers over the letters. Before Chuuya gave up on trying to understand the vocabulary used, he realized something intriguing.
The notebook was still full of writings.
Out of pure curiosity, Chuuya turned over a page and began to read.
I don’t think I know how to settle my grievances with you otherwise, but I haven’t written anything remotely interesting in my life. So bear with me.
This might be the first time I have struggled with words as usually they easily pour out of me, but I doubt you want to see the many discarded drafts of my unexplainable feelings. The purpose of this letter is for you to understand the truly puzzling effect you have on me. You might have given me a rare disease with these strange symptoms.
Such symptoms include but are not limited to an accelerating heartbeat whenever your skin brushes mine, a hidden eagerness to always be around you, and the problem that you are all I think about sometimes. I refuse any inclinations that these symptoms are normal for teenagers around the age of sixteen.
How could it be that I only feel these intense blues around you? How is it that you are the one to finally revive my dead heart with nothing but your brash personality and effortless charm? How is it sensical that I cherish all of the words that come out of your mouth, regardless of your intentions?
Well, perhaps the whole point is that it isn’t sensical. Maybe I am just being dishonest to myself. But then again, who am I but a liar?
Chuuya sat there on his satin couch for a solid minute with disbelief proven by a hanging jaw. Dazai’s name is signed underneath the letter in his quick signature. Flipping to the next few pages, he sees the familiar careless scrawl. Pages and pages and pages with endless content. Faded words in Dazai’s handwriting.
The late sunset glazed over the words, highlighting them with almost a golden undertone, and making it all seem more unbelievable.
Reading over the sentences, Chuuya is hit with waves of confusion. There is no other way to describe the feeling Dazai is portraying other than…
Love? A crush? It seems like Dazai wrote this when he was sixteen given the context clues. Could Dazai have forgotten about his teenage woes in this notebook and accidentally gave it to Chuuya for the report?
The idea of Dazai writing simpering love letters as a secret admirer is hilarious. This has to be some sort of joke or prank. But Dazai has never been the type to fake confess to anyone, even back in their days in the mafia.
So what is it then? Was it some hidden crush that Chuuya somehow never knew about? That strikes Chuuya as impossible as Dazai was never a social butterfly. The only friends he’s heard of are the late Oda Sakunosuke and Sakaguchi Ango.
Maybe this letter is to one of them? Chuuya could tell how much they both, especially Oda meant to Dazai. That seems plausible. Turning over the next few pages only proves that Dazai has written much more about this mysterious person.
So what is this twisted storm in his gut? Is he…mad that Dazai has experienced the most human emotion of love before he did? Is Chuuya jealous of Dazai?
He thought about returning the notebook by saying the rest was not needed, but a furious itch in the back of his mind refused.
Why not find out more about the subject of Dazai’s desire?
***
Later in the week, as Chuuya tiredly stumbled through his door with a draining ache in his bones, he collapsed by the counter.
It was the third mission of the week, and it was only Thursday.
Somedays, Chuuya really dreads his job. He rubs his eyes, blinking the sleep out of them as he calmly brews coffee. He still has some paperwork to finish up and cannot afford to be distracted-
His weary gaze fell upon a certain leather notebook sprawled by the counter, feigning innocence.
Suddenly Chuuya felt like he was splashed by ice water as his mind immediately demanded him to read another one of Dazai’s letters. Perhaps some useless sleuthing about Dazai’s teenage love life could be the thing that energizes him.
Looking past the previous page, Chuuya reads the next.
My previous issue is becoming more and more alarming to think about. Most days I wake up and your shamelessly bright hair and eyes pop into my head. I dream about the softness of your touch and the brilliant gleam of the smile you have whenever you are convinced that you have the upper hand.
Today I managed to see another side of me when we went on the mission together. It was our first joint mission with some other organization to take down one of our biggest enemies, and I remembered you were so excited to fight. I could never understand how violence makes your blood sing and your eyes shine, but I’m always wrapped around in things I cannot understand anyway.
There’s a hint about how Dazai’s love has bright hair and bright eyes. Perhaps they have blond or red hair and maybe blue eyes?
(Obviously, the first option that popped into his head was Chuuya himself. But that couldn’t be the truth.)
Chuuya is decently sure that Oda has red hair and blue eyes, which would fit nicely with the context of the message. But Chuuya knew that Oda was a peaceful man who was at the bottom of the mafia hierarchy because he refused to kill, which would disprove the excitement about violence.
The mission was something Chuuya recalled. It was the first time that he and Dazai along with a few other Port Mafia members went on a joint mission that succeeded. Still, Dazai was in a noticeably bad mood for the whole night, resulting in unneeded kills and overly aggressive bargaining.
Chuuya didn’t bother to ask why since he knew Dazai would never tell him the full reason.
He continues to read.
You were nothing but infuriatingly oblivious that some guy from the other organization made flirtatious comments one after another. His compliments about your fighting style were so basic it made me shudder. But you weren’t pushing him away, you looked annoyed (thank God), but you were indulging in his offers of an expensive dinner.
He had you almost caged in his arms at one point, murmuring some stupid line that nobody needs to hear. That was when I snapped. I managed to get you to another area immediately, pretending there was an unsolvable emergency. He glared at me as if I was the one who was disrupting things.
After a few simple threats, he finally backed off, but this experience was precious to me. Would you have accepted such advances from someone else? Would you have flirted back with your alluring voice and gentle touches? What kind of person deserves to be seen like that under your eyes?
It seems that I have an overwhelming desire for your gaze to only be on me. When you entertained one of his jokes with a laugh and a genuine smile, the one thing I could think about was how I wanted to be the one to coax happiness from you. I wanted to be the one with you tucked in my arms. I wanted you to consider a dinner with me.
I know you don’t belong to me, not in any sense of the word. But I want. I have never wanted something unreachable so badly. It’s almost an aching need. I want to leave my marks and traces all over you. For you will be ruined for anyone else who tries to hold you the way I did.
These feelings are nowhere near normal, but I don’t know where else to explain them. I don’t even want to begin unraveling all of this. I should try to detach myself from these complicated feelings. But I don’t think I can ever detach myself from you.
Chuuya heaves a deep sigh. So that was why Dazai was so mad. That means Dazai’s love was part of the Port Mafia group on that mission. Chuuya even remembers the guy with the laughable flirting skills.
Chuuya was one of his targets, but he also made advances on a few of the women who were present. But Chuuya has completely forgotten who they are.
On another (unrelated) note, Chuuya felt his hands almost shaking. He heaved in a few deep slow breaths, closing the notebook so he no longer had to see the pitiful message.
Why was reading about Dazai’s possessiveness towards someone else so unsettling? Dazai was always possessive of him back then. How he gave Chuuya that choker and all of the stupid dog jokes. The red glint in his eyes scared away some of Chuuya’s subordinates. In fact, Chuuya remembered that mission startingly well.
The guy had quite literally slithered up to Chuuya with a bright but fake grin, “Hey, my name’s Dai. What’s yours?”
Chuuya recalled giving him an unimpressed look as he shouldered past him, “Chuuya.”
“First names already?”
“You’re not special. I just prefer it.”
Dai continued with his off-handed compliments and remarks to mostly ignorance or brief, short answers.
“You know, I wouldn’t expect someone like you to be in a line of work like this,” Dai said, he was way closer than he was at the start of this one-sided conversation.
Chuuya wrinkled his nose, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just saying,” Dai dropped his voice, “You’re far too precious to be here.”
Precious is not a word that goes along with Nakahara Chuuya. He felt an irritating sense of frustration at the comment, shoving the man away, “And you should shut up about me.”
That was when Dazai casually intercepted the distance between them, placing his elbow on Chuuya’s head as he fixed a rather harsh glare at Dai, “I need Chuuya for something important. Excuse us.”
Even if Dazai said the guy was sketchy, Chuuya was still grateful for the escape. Later on, when Dai managed to corner a beyond-pissed Chuuya against a wall, Dazai pulled him away by the shoulders and told Chuuya to go back with the rest of the Port Mafia group. Dai didn’t approach him again after that.
“I could’ve handled that just fine myself,” Chuuya grumbled later.
Dazai shrugged, “I really didn’t care if that guy died or not. Seeing you around him rubbed me the wrong way. I know you hated him too.”
Chuuya didn’t deny it. And that was that.
Wait a second.
Chuuya reread the paragraph in which Dazai’s crush was in Dai’s arms. Could it be-
No. No of course not. He must have tried this with others as well.
It is oddly specific to his own experience though. He slams his head on the table in frustration, followed by a steely ache in his forehead.
It couldn’t possibly be what he was thinking of. Dazai would never have written something this dramatic about Chuuya. Much less when they were sixteen. That was almost laughable.
But Chuuya was completely stone-faced when he went to bed. His mind tingling and heart racing for all the wrong reasons.
***
For the next weeks, Chuuya continued to avoid any collaborations with the agency like the plague. He was sure Mori noticed, but either he didn’t care or just didn’t bother with questioning.
He tells himself that Dazai’s crush is none of his business, and this is basically a huge invasion of privacy. But even as he keeps the notebook out of sight in his bedside drawer, he can still feel its burning presence. The next few entries in the notebook didn’t seem to have any particular purpose or event and were only full of Dazai’s continued longing.
Did you know that you have made me start counting the days? In the past, I would’ve never done that because I saw no need to keep track of time since death was always a happy and lurking possibility. But the opportunity to work together has almost made me giddy enough to get a calendar and mark it down with a bright marker.
These entries have made me feel more and more like a teenage girl confessing to her middle school crush, but I find that unplausible. That’s because I don’t understand why you’re so important to me. It makes no sense with your unshakable humanity and passion.
If you would read all this, I’m not sure what you would feel. Maybe I need to wait forever for you to accept it. But I would wait as long as it takes.
Your loyalty and courage manage to confuse me every time. Somedays, you walk around with bleeding wounds while trying to disguise your blunt movements. Every time, I notice. Every time, you insist it’s nothing.
I was told that this time, the enemy had you captured in ability-nullifying handcuffs, and I know how you hate feeling powerless.
I peeled back the gauze to reveal the fresh flow of your blood, and the bullet lodged in your shoulders. I ask you how you were caught off guard, and you reply that you were trying to protect someone.
I scoffed. Of course, you would put someone else’s life above yours, even for a split moment—something so useless and nonsensical, as all things related to you are.
But you won’t regret it. No, I don’t see a single speck of regret in your eyes. Not when I dug the tweezer deep into your shoulder. Not as you bit down on your own hand to keep from screaming in pain. Not as you wiped away your cold sweat and gripped the edge of your shirt so tight your knuckles turned white.
This is the mafia life we are a part of, I am aware. Blood and pain are a part of our job. But not even many regular citizens would think about committing the selfless acts you hand out on a daily basis.
Why do you suffer for others? And why am I so inclined to do the same for you?
Chuuya sighs. He treated Dazai’s crush like a soap opera for him to binge.
But who is this person? What’s so great about them that even Dazai could secretly drool over them like this?
And why was Chuuya so mad about it?
This was Dazai Osamu. The Demon Prodigy. Chuuya’s ex-partner. The smarter half of Double Black. He was nothing but an annoying pain in the ass for three years straight before he left everyone and tried to better himself when his blood was already tainted mafia black.
He constantly threatened to kill him, so why was he upset when Dazai did the second-best thing?
When Chuuya first heard the news of his betrayal, he wasn’t too surprised. Dazai always felt like a fleeting, temporary figure who enters your life with a flourish and leaves without a second thought. Chuuya was only mad that his car was blown up but deemed the occasion worthy enough to drink to.
But as time went on, Chuuya realized that Dazai was truly gone.
He had felt…confused that he even felt anything to begin with. Was he spiteful? Angry? Even hurt or betrayed? He couldn’t be.
Double Black no longer existed, and Chuuya was now more alone than ever before.
He knew he had nothing to do with why Dazai left. That fell under the influence of Oda Sakunosake’s death. But Dazai was a major asset for the Port Mafia and was the widely rumored next-in-line replacement for Mori.
Dazai also factored in many of Chuuya’s daily decisions and his most powerful ability. Chuuya was justified to feel just a little upset that the bastard would cause a mess that ruined everything for the next year.
Then Mori informed everyone that Dazai was now working under the Armed Detective Agency, a group of largely different, but powerful people. Chuuya tuned out the rest of Mori’s speech.
Dazai was trying to live a better life. How ironic for him of all people to do so.
Chuuya swallowed the irony down with bitter alcohol and dusty cigarettes.
When Chuuya saw Dazai in that dungeon again after four years, the first thing he noticed was his eyes.
Two of Dazai’s dark eyes were now uncovered for everyone to see. Chuuya had seen Dazai’s other eye before, but seeing them so exposed felt wrong to witness. Now it’s free real estate. Something about Dazai exposing a part he kept hidden from Chuuya for the longest time makes him fume silently. He had felt a sudden surge of bitter anger rearing its ugly head. With his hand tangled in Dazai’s hair, he stared into the pupils of the man who once knew him better than himself.
It was satisfying to beat him up. Fists and kicks flinging Dazai into the wall. Seeing the marks on his cheek and feeling the bandages scrape his skin again.
Dazai still knew when to dodge and how to get him bothered and ready to fight. Everything felt more like a practiced dance. With his hands wrapped around his throat, Chuuya could hear his blood rushing and his heart twisting uncomfortably. Dazai was a traitor. He is no longer anything else.
Yet Chuuya still plays into his hands in the same foolish way. Still, he indulges him with his high-pitched rich girl voice because he knows the reaction he would get.
Laughter.
Pure, unfiltered laughter rang in the hollow dungeon. The sound echoed around the four rock walls as Chuuya’s face turned a faint red. It was so nostalgic of when they were barely teenagers, trying everything they could to make the other as embarrassed as possible.
“It sounds better than ever, Chuuya,” Dazai called, voice still shaking, “Have you been practicing it?”
Chuuya turned, willing his tone to not sound shaky as he answered, “Fuck off, mackerel. That was just for old times’ sake.”
Right before he walked out of hearing reach, Dazai muttered, “You’re the same as always, Chuuya.”
He didn’t bother asking more.
***
I think you should be proud that you are one of the few people who manage to evoke complex emotions from me.
You know, I have always been terribly jealous of you.
There are some things I have only experienced in novels in dull shades of gray. Different ideas and concepts that are beyond what I could comprehend. Things like passion and regret, which you could only feel if you cared enough about something, but I never did.
I’ve known that you’re extraordinary. I’ve heard bits and pieces from admiring colleagues about your confidence and finesse, but I think they all overlook something invaluable. Something that I’m not sure you even have.
You live with a vibrancy I can never visualize. Your feelings are like massive tsunamis and deadly earthquakes. Powerful and unrelenting and unbearably real. Your world is tainted with shades of color so vivid I would have turned blind if I ever tried to take a peek. The brightest I have seen was the first time I gazed into your eyes.
So think of my surprise when I heard of the recent tragedies in your life. I’ve seen your anger, your rage, your unforgiving tirades, but nothing quite like this. Your hands were trembling, your breath quickening, but your face remained fixed, even if I saw the nervous twitch of your eyes. Of course, you would still stay strong at a time like this.
I was told the story, and even though a tale as gruesome as this one is not uncommon in the mafia, your reaction plagued my mind, and refused to leave. Your raw humanity shone through these cracks, as you are only so affected because you cared for them. Your love burns brighter without words. And I wouldn’t know how this feels without you. Everything comes effortlessly when it’s about you.
One day you will understand just how much I could care, but for now, I will settle for hoping.
Chuuya realized his own hands were shaking. He is now very aware of the wall digging painfully into his back, but he can’t move. Every inhale and exhale felt grating in his lungs, scratching painfully against his chest.
The words swam in and out of focus in his eyes, but he decided to continue reading.
Just when I thought I couldn’t be more in awe of you, you have proven me wrong once again. It’s one of your favorite things to do.
I have known about the evils that reside in your body, that was one of the reasons I was so intrigued with you to begin with. You would avoid this conversation time and time again, but one day I knew it would come out eventually.
And today was the day.
My curiosity burns brighter than anything else I could feel, and I would have let you destroy the city than to deny you (and me) the opportunity. I was determined to engrave everything into memory. I remembered your eyes rolling back, your mouth dropping open, and your clothes tearing and shedding.
The voice you screamed in was not yours. It was ancient and evil, its marks overriding your body. Everything was so overwhelming, like seeing disaster strike in front of your eyes. But you were something I could never look away from, like a forceful hand gripping my chin and turning it your way. You were brilliantly blinding.
It was the first time I realized that your warmth was a raging inferno. An ever blaze. A mirage of black flames. Past all of the surface-level softness was a hollow ache for your past and the companions you had lost. It seems like everything you cradled in your arms has wilted away in ashes.
And they say you were a monster. Something unsalvageable and ruined. Unholy and unsacred. Soulless and devoid of humanity.
It was a sight that took my breath away. I must have looked like a child with wide eyes, lips parted, and hands outstretched for something unreachable.
It was the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed.
That sounds…strangely familiar.
Whatever Dazai was describing sounded a lot like Corruption, and Chuuya had to suppress an involuntary shudder.
Chuuya could hardly describe how horrible he feels when he enters the broken state. His skin feels tainted, his heart is barely beating, and his head is full of wild screams of violence. He could see everything he was doing, but control nothing. It strips Chuuya of the remaining shreds of his humanity, and it pains him to no end.
He didn’t tell many people about this special power, as it sounds horrific and feels even worse.
The only people who know about Corruption are Dazai, Kouyou, Mori, and a few other unlucky subordinates who stumbled on his transformation.
After that, they avoided Chuuya for days. Not that he cared, but he had never been more aware of his fragile humanity.
Corruption was like molten lava flowing in his veins. Upon The Tainted Sorrow would feel ten times heavier than it normally does, and Chuuya could do nothing to stop the crushing impact of the invisible weight. It was like a fuse that wouldn’t stop burning until Chuuya was at death’s doorstep.
But Dazai’s there. He always is.
His touch makes time stop in Chuuya’s tainted mind. The briefest brush of his fingers and the tight hold around his wrist makes him feel lightheaded. It is like a pair of freezing, patient hands slowly bringing Chuuya down from his corrupted high. His heart begins beating again, his breathing resumes, and his body sags down from exhaustion and pain.
Chuuya would fall.
And Dazai would catch him.
Skinny arms held Chuuya tight as he was set down to the ground, calming whispers said into his ear. Skin against the skin would make Chuuya feel safe.
It would make him feel human.
The next entry almost made Chuuya burn the entire fucking book.
Today I had the chance of a lifetime. Surely, you must have regretted it after, but this was truly an eye-opening experience.
To be the one above you as you fell apart and to be the very reason that such a strong person is reduced to nothing but pleads. To be the person who has control over you for just a few precious moments. I have always been intrigued by the sound of your voice but hearing the usually loud and unwavering tone crumble because of me was something I never knew I needed.
I think I can allow myself to be a bit more greedy and selfish in a situation like this. I tangled my fingers in your hair and pulled, not enough to cause actual pain, but only a prickle of discomfort as you clawed at my chest. I can wrap my hands around your waist and tug you towards me. In every kiss we shared I fought and bit until you relented. My lips trailed down your throat and left my mark all over your skin.
Imagine my delight and surprise when I spotted tears trickling down your face. You said you were fine, but I was merely transfixed by the tear marks on your cheek. We continued, but every sound tore through your throat with a sob. Your voice was raspy but you egged me on.
At this point you were barely sane, every inch of your composure slowly but surely slipping. Every little physical reaction you had whenever my hands ghosted over your body gave me a different kind of thrill.
The twitch of your lips when you’re too embarrassed to beg for more. The tremor in your thighs as your body struggled to hold you up. The red flush crawling down the entirety of your skin. The delicious way in which you chant my name like a prayer.
I remembered wrapping my arms tighter around you as you spasmed and shuddered in my hold.
You looked up at me, eyes wide and teary. Hair messy and unkempt. Lips red and swollen. Marks and hickeys littered across your body. My arms wrapped loosely around you as you pressed into me.
I ruined you. And I loved it.
You collapsed right after, and I made sure you were safe back in your apartment. But you were more addicting than ever.
Now that I’ve gotten a taste of what you’re like, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go.
Was Dazai just fucking everyone back in his mafia days?
Chuuya can’t be talking since he and Dazai fucked once when they were seventeen. It was really just for the bet to see if Chuuya could actually handle him. Chuuya shuddered, and Dazai almost fucking destroyed him. He remembered completely passing out after a couple of rounds due to the sheer intensity. It was more embarrassing than anything because Chuuya would rather die than admit how enjoyable it was.
But surely, that couldn’t be what Dazai is talking about. Because that would mean that all these love letters were for Chuuya, and that was something that would seem ridiculous in a fever dream.
***
Ever since Chuuya started to read Dazai’s mysterious love letters, he has been trying his hardest to avoid him. How can he look at him and their experiences the same way after realizing Dazai fell head over heels for someone while Chuuya was blissfully unaware?
And what is this ugly twist of knots in his gut?
Dazai and Chuuya were undoubtedly a pair back in their mafia days, and things have always been different. Despite Dazai’s complaints that Chuuya was ‘always around him’, he was clearly the clingy one. And Chuuya has gotten used to Dazai’s attention.
So it should be easy enough to act normal on his most recent mission with him, right?
Wrong.
After the third awkward silence in the first minute of choppy conversation, Dazai peers down, excitement racing in his eyes.
“You okay, Chuuya? You’ve been awfully quiet today.” He says off-handedly as they walk down the stone path towards the warehouse.
Chuuya scowled, “Of course. Just thinking about some things.”
“What things?”
You, dumbass.
“None of your business,” Chuuya mumbled, shooting him a glare that lacked any real heat.
“No need to be so rude, slug,” Dazai replies cheerfully.
Get it together, Chuuya. It’s just Dazai. Who cares if you know about his pitiful yearning for someone you don’t even know?
The mission should be fairly simple, as all tasks are, but of course, things get out of control when the group has far more units than they had anticipated.
“This is fucking stupid,” Chuuya complains under his breath as he narrowly dodges a group of enemy fire, “This always happens on a mission with you.”
Dazai shrugged, looking entirely unbothered, “Maybe the boss knew about them and just sent us because of our power.”
“You would be useless without me in combat.”
“You would’ve died seven years ago without my plans.”
They’re both true, but neither of them acknowledges it.
Chuuya shook his head, he could worry about personal affairs later. He has always been a diligent worker and fighter, he’s not going to start slacking off now. Dazai knew it too, he listed off some possible plans and then they sprang into action.
They were fast, but Chuuya’s ability was quicker. In no time, Chuuya has eliminated most of their men.
Chuuya landed on the dusty concrete, sweat dripping down his temples as he gasped for breath. He never realizes how tired he is fighting until the high dies down. He looks around drearily for Dazai before he hears a loud clutter of approaching footsteps.
Chuuya turns around as quickly as he can before the man fires. The bullet was soaring through the air, Chuuya’s world halted for a few moments before a tall figure came streaking in front of him and he saw an implode of blood.
“Shit,” Chuuya cursed loudly as the enemy charges forward. The red blaze of anger surged through his veins, and in a brief second, the enemy was slammed against the wall across the room. The dust shook from the rickety ceiling and the sound echoed.
With his dazed mind, Chuuya spun around, desperate to find Dazai in the broken debris. It took him a few steps before he stumbled across him.
“I could’ve stopped that,” He mutters as he knelt down beside him, “Fucking idiot mackerel.”
He is suddenly aware of the freezing night wind howling against the unstable structure of the warehouse. Sounds that mimic a terrifying beast pushing the wobbly wood, making the floors shake and the ceiling tremble. Leaves rustle loudly but Chuuya can distinctly make out the low contained sounds of Dazai’s unsteady breathing.
Dazai’s eyes were rolling up in pain. It’s far from the first time he’s been shot, but Chuuya knows it never gets better even due to experience.
“I know,” Dazai grunts, trying to sit up but being pushed down, “It was worth it anyway.”
“What were you thinking?” Chuuya asks, fumbling over his phone to find the agency’s doctor’s number that he got a few months ago. The call went through thankfully, and Yosano says she’ll be there as soon as she can.
“You’ll be fine,” Chuuya says, more to himself than Dazai, “You’ll be fine.” He repeats, more to himself than for reassurance.
Dazai shrugs before wincing, “I’m not worried, Chuuya.”
Of course, he’s not. It’s Dazai. Why would he ever think that?
Chuuya did the best he could with a loose piece of fabric, grumbling under his breath as his hands moved quickly and practiced. Dazai laughs at him despite the situation. And he feels fifteen again.
The stale breeze swept them away and took them back to younger times. Of angry fights ending in immature conflicts and insults that have crossed every line they’ve ever drawn. Of only being able to depend on someone just as bad as you are. Of falling deeper than you can ever imagine and scratching at anything good like a stray dog.
And how strange but further dehumanizing Chuuya felt when the one who could share his rage left the dark pit that they all struggled in. They all live in the shadows, attacking each other over simple humane luxuries, competing like rapid, wild beasts. It has never felt so empty to throw your life away to the presumption of savages but with the light edging his fingertips.
This is not the correct time to question him about this, but Chuuya doesn’t want to wait for answers anymore.
“Why did you do that?” He presses again, “You’ve never cared before.”
Dazai frowns, “I do. I did. I’ve always cared.”
Chuuya snorts, “You let me think otherwise.”
“I let you think a lot of things,” Dazai admits.
“And you still wonder why I don’t think you care?”
An unsettling silence fell over them before Dazai shattered the tense atmosphere, “I never would have done that before you.”
“What?”
Dazai looked almost sad, “I did that because I thought you would have been shot otherwise.”
“I wouldn’t have been,” Chuuya points out. It’s rare for Dazai to have a moment of honesty.
“I know that now. It’s just an in-the-moment thing,” He shifts on the hard floor.
Chuuya glances down, Dazai’s hands are shaking, and his voice almost trembling.
“You alright?”
Dazai only nods, a faraway look in his eyes. The moonlight peeks through the large windows of the warehouse, and everything seemed still, freezing like a picture. The silver shine glistens across Dazai’s hair, the glow bouncing off his dark eyes. His coat folds around himself, the red blood staining the tan fabric.
As Dazai shifted in pain, as Chuuya reached out his hands in alarm, as Dazai gave him another dreary smile with something so indescribably intense behind his irises-
Chuuya knew.
The realization was long overdue anyway.
The world seems to spin rapidly in motion as he stares down at his gloved fingers clutching Dazai’s bandaged ones. The implications of the future and what this might mean swell in front of his eyes. Reality felt like it had been shaken and dismantled in every sense of the word.
Chuuya tries his best to breathe in, he does, but-
Dazai’s hands grip his tighter, brown eyes peering at him gently. No words were exchanged, yet he understood what he meant.
Chuuya blinks harshly to disguise his visceral reaction.
Later, back at his apartment in his bathtub, Chuuya stares down at his skin and imagines the fervor heat that ignited all over his skin when he read those letters. His ability turned the soapy water a furious red before the makeshift energy was released. Water sprayed all over Chuuya’s usually clean and pristine washroom.
Chuuya stares down at the mess he made tilts his head back against the marble walls and admits defeat
He never thought he would be the one to suffer from something as mundane and humane as unrequited love, but he supposed life is full of surprises.
**
With that unwelcome revelation, Chuuya decided that the best thing he could do was to forget about the notebook. Nothing is going to come out of this situation anyway, and it would be better to not read about Dazai’s sleepless nights thinking about someone else.
Easier said than done.
Even if Chuuya stashed the notebook away in a corner of his apartment in a rarely-used cupboard, the old pages seem to call out his name in the middle of the night, encouraging him to take another read.
Chuuya was used to temptation, but nothing like this.
So if he is going to replay the same words in his mind until he says it during his sleep, he’s just going to forget about it in his favorite solution: alcohol.
He walks into his usual bar with the full intent of getting wasted. Drinking away his troubles has always served as a distraction for him when times get rough.
The night was going to play out like it always did before the problem itself sauntered through the door.
“Chuuya? What a displeasure to see you here, even though I’m not surprised,” Dazai said cheerfully, sliding into the seat next to him.
Chuuya rolls his eyes, running away from his problems that have never worked, as they always managed to appear miraculously in front of him, “Fuck off, Dazai. I want to enjoy myself tonight. Go bother those agency friends of yours.”
Maybe he sounded jealous, but he could hardly care less.
“It’s funnier to bother Chuuya though~” Dazai chirps, still unbothered.
“It’s not funny,” Chuuya retorts before he sinks back into his seat. What did he do to deserve such karma?
“It’s a little funny,” Dazai smirks, “Because Chuuya always talks a big game but gets wasted before ten o’clock. Then I would have to drag a terribly drunk Chuuya back home, trying to understand the bullshit you say when you’re intoxicated!”
Chuuya tries to punch him, but Dazai easily dodges out of the way. “Do you really want to be hurting someone who’s going to have total control over you when you’re drunk and passed out?”
“What does that mean, you creep?”
Dazai laughs, “I could just dump Chuuya on the side of the road.”
“I will find you and kill you if you do. Last time, it took me ages to wash everything out of my hair,” Chuuya threatens.
“It would be a shame if I just cut your precious hair in your sleep-”
“If you do that I will fucking-”
For some reason, Dazai was the only one to distract Chuuya from the issues that Dazai himself created. How ironic.
Even if Chuuya argues, he knows that Dazai is right. After chugging down more drinks than necessary to prove a point, his mind felt sluggish and his body felt like mush, clinging on to anything solid for support. He also forgot about most of his troubles and was having fun taking shots with random men with sinister intentions.
“Chuuya, I think you’ve had enough,” Dazai said, stopping by the table where Chuuya was sitting.
“One more?” Chuuya asked as if he needed his permission. Even if he knew these men surrounding him were nothing short of degenerates, it felt nice to have such flattering attention.
Dazai leaned down to whisper in his ear, “You know these men want nothing good with you. So instead of going home with them and having to go home the next morning with a killer hangover, just let me take you home safely.”
Chuuya groans, “But they love it? Don’t they?” He flashes the men a wide smile and Chuuya swears that Dazai’s hold on his shoulder became more tense.
Dazai directed his attention to the crowd, “Please leave Chuuya alone. I assure you he thinks of you all as nothing but lecherous incels.”
“And he thinks you’re any better?” One of them called out.
Dazai gave them a smile that Chuuya didn’t really see except when he needed to prove a point, “Of course. I’m his partner after all.”
Ex-partners. Chuuya’s brain corrected uselessly.
After Dazai successfully cleared the crowd, he gave Chuuya an expectant gaze.
“Fuck you,” Chuuya replies, blinking hazily.
“You owe me for the drinks,” Dazai reminds gently as he hauls Chuuya up.
“Yeah yeah, whatever. I’m rich.”
A light chuckle escaped Dazai’s lips before Chuuya felt himself being lifted up, he heard the bar doors close and a car door open.
“You driving? We would have more luck if I was behind the wheel and I’m completely wasted,” Chuuya complains sleepily.
“Do you always have to complain?” Dazai wondered as he clipped Chuuya’s seatbelt.
“Of course. Why else would I talk to you?”
The car ride was quiet. Only the sound of late traffic surrounded them.
The night draped itself around Yokohama like a velvet cloak, thick with the scent of booze and the distant hum of revelry. Chuuya stumbled out of the car, his senses blurred by the heady concoction of alcohol swirling in his veins. The world spun, colors blending into a kaleidoscope of blurred visions. His footsteps were uneven, wavering between the cracks on the pavement.
"Dazai," Chuuya slurred, tongue heavy with intoxication, "I don't need your help."
But there he was, as always, already walking up to him with that infuriating smirk plastered on his face. His gaze held an unmistakable hint of amusement as if Chuuya’s drunken antics were the highlight of his night. Damn him.
"There’s no way you won’t get lost in a state like this," he said, his voice laced with a mixture of amusement and concern. "Let me take you home."
Chuuya wanted to protest, to shove him away and prove that he could handle himself. But the truth was, his legs felt like jelly, and the thought of navigating Yokohama's labyrinthine streets in this state was a daunting prospect. Reluctantly, he nodded, allowing Dazai to sling his arm over his shoulder and guide him along the deserted streets.
As they walked, the silence between them stretched like a taut wire, punctuated only by the occasional stumble and muttered curse from Chuuya’s lips. He couldn't bring myself to look at Dazai, couldn't bear the knowing glint in his eyes that seemed to peel away the layers of his carefully constructed facade.
“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…” Chuuya’s voice grew fainter as he continued his slow chanting.
“I know,” Dazai responds, hands still gripping onto Chuuya’s shoulders.
"But can I ask why?" Dazai's voice cut through the silence like a knife, curious with a hint of something else in his tone.
Chuuya frowned, confusion marring his drunken haze. "Ask why for what?"
"Why do you hate me so much," he clarified, his tone devoid of his usual sarcasm. "Everyone’s reasons are true, but I want to know about yours."
His words hung in the air like a weight, heavy with unspoken truths. Chuuya wanted to lash out, to hurl insults and deflect his probing questions with wit and sarcasm. But beneath the bravado, a part of him yearned to bare his soul, to unburden himself of the countless things that were haunting him.
"I hate you," Chuuya repeats, the words tasting bitter on his tongue as he knows it’s untrue.
“But why?” Dazai insists, “Come on, Chuuya, just tell me.”
“Because I-” Chuuya’s brain felt like a scrambled puzzle. Why does he hate Dazai again? He would usually have a list of things ready…
Now that he thinks about it, he really doesn’t hate him. All the stupid smirks that he finds secretly enticing, the way Dazai seems to read his mind with a single twitch of his eye, how he’s always there when he truly needs him, how he has never failed him once.
They’re two sides of the same coin. Dazai’s touch was the first thing that made Chuuya feel human. To understand what it’s like to live without the heavy burden of a god’s ability coursing through his veins. For a weight to be lifted off himself, even if just for a little while.
To be with someone who knows him. That’s all Chuuya wants. And Dazai is the person.
So why does Chuuya hate him?
In a state of drunken honesty, Chuuya blurts out, “I don’t.”
“Hm?” Dazai tilts his head, “You don’t what?”
Suddenly, a low flush began to spread from Chuuya’s nape. Dazai’s body and warmth next to him felt overwhelming. He pulls away defiantly, and Dazai stops in confusion.
“I don’t-” Chuuya stops, he feels trapped for one reason or another.
“You don’t?” Dazai raises an eyebrow.
“Hate you. I don’t hate you. Quite the opposite actually. But you probably hate me, even if you love someone else. Your journal entries are so sappy.”
Dazai froze. The sentence hung in the air. The only sounds were crickets chirping. Even drunk Chuuya seemed to realize he said something he shouldn’t have said.
Dazai shook his head and sighed, “We still have to get you back to your apartment, Chuuya. We can’t take all night.”
Dazai's grip tightened slightly on his arm, a silent gesture of solidarity that caught Chuuya off guard. For all his infuriating quirks and inscrutable motives, there were moments like these when Chuuya caught a glimpse of the man beneath everything he faked.
As they stumbled through the streets of Yokohama, burdened by the weight of their shared pasts, Chuuya couldn't shake the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, Dazai would fulfill his promise this time.
By the time they reached his apartment, the first light of dawn was beginning to creep over the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched like fingers across the pavement. Dazai helped Chuuya up the stairs, his presence a comforting anchor in the sea of uncertainty that churned within him.
"Just know that you can call me," he said softly, his words tinged with a melancholy that echoed Chuuya’s own. “I’ll be there.”
Chuuya wanted to scoff at his words, to dismiss them as the words of a self-professed nihilist.
"Thanks," Chuuya muttered gruffly, unable to meet his gaze.
Dazai merely nodded, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the early morning. With a final pat on the shoulder, he turned to leave, disappearing into the pre-dawn gloom without a backward glance.
Alone at last, Chuuya collapsed onto the couch, the events of the night swirling through his mind like fragments of broken glass.
The next morning, he woke up with a killer hangover and a glass of water and painkillers by the living room table. Chuuya also doesn’t remember anything except the rushing night wind and the relief of Dazai’s arms around him.
**
After the drunken escapade, Chuuya has given up trying to block Dazai’s addicting smile and goads out of his mind.
It’s not like anyone would see, and they wouldn’t even care if they did, but Chuuya took the journal and read it under the covers with a flashlight like a nine-year-old at a sleepover.
Flipping past the last entry, Chuuya noticed that one of the pages had been ripped out. The tattered remains still clinging to the side of the notebook. What was written on there for Dazai to tear it out?
Looking past it, Chuuya started to read. He noticed that the handwriting was worse than usual with smeared pencil shades on the side of the paper. The entry was only one sentence, and Chuuya soon realized why.
Odasaku’s dead. I need to get out of here. I’m sorry that I had to leave you. But I must fulfill his promise for a brighter future. I must.
Dazai doesn’t keep dates on any of these entries, but Oda passed when Dazai was eighteen, which could help Chuuya piece together the timeline of these events.
Chuuya rubs his temples. There aren’t that many entries left. Is it possible that Dazai had gotten with this person so he has stopped writing to them?
It’s been a crazy few months. Going into hiding and being alone is not an easy task, especially without the promises of being able to confide in Oda, or seeing you.
I think I’m getting withdrawals from not seeing you. That makes me sound like an addict, but that’s pretty accurate as well.
After all, who wouldn’t get addicted to the sound of your laughter and the faces you make when you’re mad at me? Or when you sleep and unconsciously tangle your legs together. Or when you decide your own path and make your decisions no matter what. Or even your pouting expression every time I win a game, which is always. That's the only reason I offer bets and games in the first place.
How strange that I will be missing two people at the same time.
The next entry is in a similar fashion.
It’s been another couple of months. I’m nineteen now! Another year closer to the sweet release of death.
Though I would gladly delay death’s waiting arms if I could see you again. After being forced to lay low for a year, I’m not joking when I say I would kill an army of men just for you to look at me with the same familiar fond disdain.
I would do a lot to be reminded of your brilliance.
I wonder how you are doing. It’s not like I can just waltz into your apartment with the same old confidence and demand your attention like I used to. I have a feeling that you would knock me out cold if I ever try to do that. Things have changed. And the voicemails you have left me are filled with nothing short of rage.
Hopefully one day you won’t be so angry. I don’t enjoy being the reason for such negativity concerning you.
Unless your loyalty wavers, we will be on opposite sides, which I didn’t want, but I must honor Odasaku’s last wishes.
You understand, right?
I passed the entrance exam for the Armed Detective Agency. I know Fukuzawa was an old acquaintance of Mori.
Guess I’ll see you the next time we fight. Go easy on me, okay?
I saw you again.
At this point, after four years, I was thinking maybe the timing would never be right. But when Atsushi had his first conflicts with Akutagawa, I knew I would see you soon.
I have to say, the Port Mafia should implement chains in their dungeons that are less easy to pick. But it might not be fair since I know that dungeon like the back of my hand. I used to torture people in the exact spot I was chained up in. And you would look on with discomfort and disapproval.
Anyway, I have dreamed of this moment for the past four years, wondering what you’re going to say or what you’re going to do. You might think such time to prepare might have made me less affected by you, but you would be dead wrong as always.
The moment I heard your voice, which has largely remained the same, I knew I was screwed. I raised my head, and you walked down the stairs with the same aura of confidence and assurance. You gave me a smug smile and your blue eyes sparkled under the dim lights.
We traded insults, then you beat me up.
I don’t like pain. But I do like you, so everything is justified. You still had the same fighting techniques that I memorized by heart, but you have improved. I remember you had a tight grasp on my throat as your blade prickled my skin, and I felt fifteen again.
You let me go, of course, and offered some information I already knew, but I asked anyway to hear you talk for just a while longer.
And your rich girl voice is still spot-on after all this time. I haven’t laughed harder in years.
Wait.
Chuuya reread the previous entry, eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated. The words described his interaction with Dazai in the dungeon after four years almost perfectly. Including the rich girl voice impression.
Dazai was writing about Chuuya in this entry.
Which means he was writing about Chuuya in all the entries.
Which means Dazai is…
Chuuya’s eyes widened.
The next entry only confirmed his suspicions.
The Guild is proving to be a pain to deal with, but of course, you make it easier.
The whole mission I was worried because I knew Corruption was going to have to be a tempting option or the solution, and I was paranoid that you would no longer put your life in my hands like when we were younger.
But all my worries were disproved when you took off your gloves and muttered the same wretched words.
It’s been years, and your beauty has not faded. Neither has your trust.
I watch you like the same mesmerized teenager, lips parted and eyes wide. I watch as you set the sky ablaze with your power, as the trees fall around you. And to be the one to bring you down from your high felt as addicting as always.
Chuuya slams his fist onto his table as gently as he can.
Some people might want to avoid confrontation with someone after realizing they have been pining over you for the past seven years, but Chuuya feels the opposite. After feeling so conflicted with this journal and realizing it has all been about him, he feels almost stupid. His heart pounds loudly in his chest as he realizes his unrequited love isn’t so unrequited after all.
Flipping to the next page, Chuuya sees a short message instead of an entry.
When you’re reading this, you know where to find me.
Chuuya sighs, tracing over the words.
He promises himself he will treat himself to a glass of wine later before grabbing his hat and heading to the detective agency.
**
Chuuya takes a deep breath before knocking on the doors of the agency. He hears footsteps before the friendly blond farmer kid opens the door.
“Hello! Welcome to the- Oh wait, it’s Mr. Fancy Hat!” Kenji beamed, sounding delighted to see him.
The rest of the agency did not.
Yosano and Kunikida quickly came to the door after Kenji’s loud greeting, both sporting skeptical expressions on their faces.
“Why are you here, Nakahara?” Kunikida asked, formal as ever.
Yosano didn’t say a thing, but she had her huge knife perched on her shoulder and glistening dangerously under the light.
Chuuya held up his hands in mock surrender, “I’m not looking for a fight. Not now anyway. I’m here because I wanted to talk to Dazai.”
Kunikida seemed to stumble for a bit before adjusting his glasses, “He’s not in the office right now. He left early today since he was feeling unwell.”
“Oh,” Chuuya’s eyebrows furrow, “So he’s at his apartment?”
“I suppose,” Kunikida responds, voice still suspicious, “If you don’t mind me asking, what business do you have with Dazai anyway? I don’t think that the agency is collaborating with the Port Mafia in anything specific right now.”
Chuuya wasn’t sure how to put the true situation into words, “Uh, ex-partner business, I guess.”
Yosano tilts her head, “Sounds interesting.”
Chuuya has the suspicion that this woman knows much more than she lets on. Yosano shifts closer, her huge blade now resting by her side, “You’re the one he got drunk rambling about.”
“What?”
Yosano smiles, and Chuuya is taken aback by how someone so beautiful can look so sinister with a simple expression, “Dazai gets drunk about you sometimes. Rambling about the ‘annoying hatrack’. He’s not even a fun drunk because he just talks about you. You should talk to him about that.”
Chuuya wants to curse himself for not realizing it sooner. Looking back at the entries, his suspicions have been correct and there have been multiple early signs that Dazai reciprocates his feelings.
Kunikida narrowed his eyes, “I’m still not sure why he would want to contact Dazai-”
Yosano put her hand on Kunikida’s shoulders, “Just let him go. I doubt he’s going to do anything bad. Even then, Dazai can handle himself.”
The knowing gleam in Yosano’s eyes forced Chuuya to look away, “Yeah. I’m not going to hurt him.”
Yosano led Kunikida back inside with promises of taking him out to loosen up for once.
Where did the ADA find these people? Chuuya shudders at the thought of being co-workers with them.
**
Chuuya considers just breaking into Dazai’s apartment, but he still chooses to knock in the end. Even if his knocks are loud and impatient.
There was no answer for a good minute, “Dazai! I know you’re in there! I’m going to break this door down if you don’t answer!”
It must have been concerning for the neighbors to hear, but Chuuya was only focused on one thing: talking to Dazai.
After another moment, Chuuya was contemplating whether or not he should kick down the door before it finally creaked open. Dazai standing there, looking sheepish but not surprised.
“Oh, it’s Chuuya! Making so much noise as always!” Dazai beams, but Chuuya notices the slight fidget in his hands. Dazai’s nervous.
That’s almost surprising since Dazai is rarely nervous. He never lets fate decide his path blindly and always has a backup plan he can rely on either through the trust of his colleagues or his pure intelligence.
But this time, Dazai truly has no idea.
Chuuya brushes past him and lets himself in, before sitting by the same counter that he picked the journal up from, “Explain.”
Dazai tilts his head, “Explain what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” Chuuya can feel his nerves rising unsteadily in his chest. “You know what I’m talking about.”
He can tell Dazai is going to keep up this bit for a little longer, so he takes out the journal and puts it on the table. There was a silent pause before Dazai sat down.
“What is there to explain, Chuuya? You read it. You should have understood everything,” Dazai says, voice strangely calm, but his hands are still restless.
“I just…don’t understand. When did you ever feel like that? What do you even feel?” Chuuya questions.
Dazai gave him a smile that looked so tiring as if he had been wondering the same thing, “You know that one page I ripped out?”
Chuuya frowns, “Yeah?”
“I ripped that page out of shame because I didn’t want to accept it,” Dazai looked almost nostalgic.
“What did it say?”
Dazai pulled out a piece of crumpled paper, but he looked doubtful about it. Before Chuuya could say anything, however, Dazai began to read.
“Today I realized something that made me feel truly pathetic. And as always, it has to do with you,” His voice almost sounds monotone, but Chuuya knows that’s not the case.
“It’s been months of speculation, of confused nights and days spent tip-toeing around you to come to this embarrassing conclusion. Denying is one of my favorite pastimes, but even I was starting to feel stupid for not realizing it sooner,” Dazai was trying very hard to not make eye contact, his hands gripping the paper tightly before he cleared his throat.
“I am irrevocably, hopelessly, tragically in love with you.”
The words hung in the air before Dazai continued.
“Usually, my letters are far longer and more detailed than this one, but I think I’ve written all that needs to be said.”
Chuuya felt frozen in his seat. There it is, the undebatable truth.
“I thought you hated me.”
Dazai chuckled, it was a bitter sound, “I wish, Chuuya.”
“But all those things you said to me-”
“Were lies. I’m a fucking liar. Surprise!” Dazai sounds a little bit crazy now, “Isn’t it pathetic? I spent so long pining after you and writing these little notes about you. About the color of your eyes and the sound of your laugh. I went against everything that I followed for you .”
For a second, Chuuya just sat there, dumbfounded.
So Dazai loves him.
And Chuuya loves Dazai too.
What was he so conflicted about?
It seems almost funny looking back.
So Chuuya laughed. He busted into laughter in front of Dazai’s confused face.
“Chuuya?” Dazai asked, “What are you-”
Chuuya stood up, suddenly feeling like he had the confidence to say and do everything. He grabbed Dazai by the collar of his shirt.
“It’s so stupid, Dazai. All this time I was sad that you were pining over someone else. I was getting fucking jealous reading these entries. And they were all about me in the first place!”
Dazai blinked, “Wait, so that means…You love me back?”
Chuuya wasn’t really sure what had gotten into him, but he inched closer, so that Dazai’s face was mere centimeters away from his own, “Of course, mackerel. Why else would I care?”
Dazai looked shocked, there was no emotion on his face for a moment before he asked, “Can I kiss you?”
Chuuya responds by crashing their lips together.
**
A few days later, Chuuya is lying on Dazai’s surprisingly comfortable bed with Dazai’s fingers combing through his hair.
“I still can’t believe you love me,” Dazai muttered into the silence.
“Why not?”
Dazai shrugged, “I don’t know. Just didn’t seem like a possibility to me. I was content with writing about you.”
Chuuya snickered, “Yeah. Didn’t know you liked writing about my voice and how mesmerized you were by my untouchable beauty-”
Dazai threw a pillow at him, “I still stand by those words. You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Chuuya’s face heats up as he isn’t that used to these completely honest compliments. Dazai looks amused.
“I am honored that Chuuya got jealous of himself though.”
“Can you shut up? You can’t talk about being jealous with how you acted at the bar,” Chuuya retorted, “Can’t stand the thought of me being with someone else?”
“Yeah,” Dazai admits bluntly, “You’re all mine. And I’m yours.”
“That’s true,” Chuuya groans, “I’ve been so caught up with you for the past few days I just remembered I still have work lying on my desk.”
Dazai moves closer to him, “Don’t worry about it. You have me now, and I’m not going anywhere.”