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Against the gray landscape, the black of his hair and clothes were hardly striking - but Chuuya saw him clearly, as he always had. Chuuya felt a sense of something like annoyance (mixed with concern, though he would never say it) as he observed the rain running in rivulets down his leather coat and then falling unceremoniously to the earth. What would he say to Mori if one half of his favorite chess-piece unit was suddenly incapacitated by something as simple of the common cold, and as a result of his own idiocy no less? Despite how used to Dazai’s antics as he must have become after the years, Mori was not a forgiving man - and with this justification in mind he started towards his absolute train wreck of a partner.
Dazai heard him approaching and turned his grave eyes from the churning water of the port. Chuuya opened his mouth, scathing insults and sharp remarks at the tip of his tongue.
And then Dazai smiled.
Chuuya stopped in his tracks, voice dying in his throat. It wasn’t because the smile was beautiful, though it was in a certain way, but rather because it was so unnatural - the twist of Dazai’s lips was strange and plasticky, too wide, too forced, too cold - and his eyes were devoid of warmth in a way that was all too familiar.
Chuuya fought the feeling of uselessness that washed over him. When Dazai got like this, there was often little he could do to remedy the situation. He had never been one for soft words and murmured reassurances, and anything he could say felt clumsy, awkward, not enough.
He hated to see Dazai like this, hated the frigidity in his eyes - but most of all, he hated how helpless he was, hated the way his arms stretched and stretched until they ached, but could never reach, when all Chuuya wanted was to take his hand and stand by his side.
Chuuya felt the inexplicable urge to do something , though he wasn’t sure what. Even as he began walking towards his partner again, he didn’t have a clear idea of what he was going to do - he just knew he couldn’t stand there, at a painful distance, watching the self-ignited flames consume him, burning away at his insides until he was empty, unrecognizable. As he reached the edge of the water, he lifted his umbrella and covered Dazai’s head with it, resting the rim of the canopy against his neck. With his free hand reached up to stroke his thumb along the cold, cold skin of his cheekbone.
Chuuya pulled gently on the handle of his umbrella, guiding Dazai closer to him, and leaned up to kiss his chilled lips softly.
Whatever Dazai had been expecting, it clearly wasn’t that - he looked surprised, and while it wasn’t exactly what Chuuya had wanted, it was miles better than the hollow look that had occupied his eyes before. This close, Chuuya could see the tiny water droplets suspended on the curve of his eyelashes, and the light tremor of his features, and he wondered whether it was from the cold or perhaps something else entirely.
He’d never been able to make a difference, but every part of his being ached with wanting to.
“Let’s go home,” he said finally, letting an unspoken I love you hang in the space between them.
Dazai smiled again, but this time it was softer around the edges, warmer, the type of smile that Chuuya knew had only ever been shown to him - the kind of smile that stole his breath, filled him with a lyrical warmth, and gave him the feeling that maybe, just maybe, everything would be all right.
“Okay.” I love you.