Work Text:
Dazai was beginning to regret coming to work.
Not that it was particularly unusual. On many days he regretted it before he even crossed the threshold of his apartment.
But today, his regret had a very specific reason.
“Happy birthday, Dazai!”
He lifted his gaze from the stack of reports he clearly had no intention of reading and offered a smile.
The kind of smile that came far too easily.
Light. Polite. Practiced enough to look natural.
“Ah, thank you.”
Atsushi stood beside his desk, holding a small box wrapped in blue paper. The ribbon was crooked, as if it had been tied in a hurry.
“I… didn’t really know what you liked,” Atsushi said nervously, “so I thought sweets would be a safe choice.”
Dazai took the box.
It was light.
“How thoughtful, Atsushi-kun.”
He lifted the lid just enough to peek inside. Small colorful sweets from a confectionery near the station.
“They look delicious.”
Atsushi smiled, clearly relieved.
“That’s good! I wish you lots of health, Dazai-san!”
Dazai sighed, still maintaining the polite smile as he muttered a quiet “please don’t”—careful to make sure Atsushi couldn’t hear it.
He closed the box gently and placed it on the desk.
Next to four others.
It was nine thirty in the morning.
Everything had started far too early.
Ranpo had somehow found out—as he always did—and announced the information to the entire agency as if he were revealing the solution to a complicated case.
“Today is Dazai’s birthday.”
Just like that.
Since then, everyone seemed to have decided it was something that needed to be celebrated like some kind of office event.
Dazai could not have been more tense.
Every few minutes someone stopped by his desk.
Another greeting.
Another small gift.
Another short conversation.
“Happy birthday!”
“Congratulations!”
“Hope you have a great day!”
He smiled.
Thanked them.
Made some witty remark.
Repeated the process while trying not to sound robotic.
Kunikida appeared shortly after ten.
He placed a carefully wrapped package on the desk before saying anything.
“Happy birthday.”
Dazai tilted his head.
“Kunikida-kun… you prepared a gift for me?”
“It’s just something simple,” Kunikida replied, adjusting his glasses, “but I thought it was appropriate.”
Dazai opened the package.
Inside was a brown hardcover notebook.
New. Perfectly aligned.
“For organizing your notes,” Kunikida explained. “Perhaps that’s what’s been missing for you to actually do your work. I’m glad I can help motivate your efforts.”
Dazai ran his thumb along the edge of the cover.
“Ah… how useful.”
Kunikida nodded, satisfied.
Then he extended his hand.
“And I also wish you a long and healthy life.”
Dazai shook his hand.
His smile didn’t change.
“How terrifying.”
Kunikida immediately frowned.
“That is not an appropriate response.”
“Isn’t it?”
Dazai tilted his head as if genuinely considering the idea.
“I thought it was rather honest.”
Kunikida let out an irritated sigh and returned to his desk.
Dazai placed the notebook on the growing pile of gifts.
By noon, the surface of his desk was almost completely covered.
Small boxes.
Wrapped packages.
Cards.
Even a cheap bottle of sake someone had left there without saying anything.
The sounds of the agency filled the room.
Keyboards.
Conversations.
Occasional laughter.
Normally, Dazai didn’t mind any of it.
But that day every interaction seemed to demand more energy than he actually had.
The afternoon was worse.
People began returning from missions or errands, bringing new things with them.
“Ah! I almost forgot!”
“Dazai-san, I saw this on the way and thought of you.”
“I picked this up on my way back since it’s your birthday.”
“It’s nothing special, but…”
More gifts.
More smiles.
More well-intentioned wishes.
A long life. Good health. Many years ahead. Happiness. Peace. Prosperity.
“Take care.”
“Hope you have a wonderful year.”
“Live a long life.”
A long life.
A long life.
A long life.
Each word seemed to drop inside him like a small weight.
His smile began to hurt.
Literally.
His cheeks were stiff from repeating the same expression.
His social battery had run out hours ago.
He felt like he might crack like rotten glass at any moment.
He wanted to go home.
Desperately.
Every time someone mentioned living a long time, something tightened painfully in his chest.
Another year.
Another year still here.
Another year failing.
He laughed at another joke.
Accepted another package.
Thanked someone again.
And again.
And again.
When the sky began to darken outside the Agency windows, all Dazai could think about was leaving.
Going somewhere quiet.
Somewhere dark.
Somewhere he wouldn’t have to smile.
Somewhere no one would wish for him to keep living.
He liked the people at the Agency. He really did. If it had been anyone else’s birthday, he would have been happy to see someone so loved—arms full of gifts, receiving hugs and kind words that, to a normal person, would have been comforting.
But Dazai was not a normal person.
When he finally managed to escape the Agency, the sky was already dark.
The city lights had begun turning on one by one, reflecting across the rain-damp asphalt from earlier that afternoon.
Dazai walked down the steps at the entrance of the building carrying a bag full of gifts, breathing deeply for the first time in hours.
The night air was cold.
Quiet.
And, most importantly, free of people wishing him a long life.
If someone told him that one more time, he was fairly certain he might actually put a bullet in his own head.
He let out a slow sigh.
His smile vanished almost immediately, as if someone had flipped a switch.
The muscles in his face finally relaxed.
It hurt.
No—everything hurt.
His cheeks. His eyes. His head.
He could feel every muscle in his face begging for mercy.
Dazai tilted his head back slightly, staring at the dark sky between the buildings.
Another year.
The thought felt heavy in his mind.
Another year waking up.
Another year breathing.
Another year failing.
He let out a small humorless laugh.
“How tragic.”
His phone vibrated in his coat pocket.
Dazai didn’t even need to check who it was.
Still, he pulled it out slowly.
A single message.
Chuuya:
Have you left the agency yet?
Dazai stared at the screen for a few seconds.
No congratulations, no celebration.
Just one sentence.
Short and direct.
Exactly how Chuuya wrote.
He typed back with his thumb.
Dazai:
What a coincidence. I was just thinking about committing a dramatic suicide in the river right now. Chuuya always shows up to ruin my happiness, doesn’t he?
The reply came almost immediately.
Chuuya:
If you drown before coming home I swear I’ll resurrect you just so I can kill you again, you damn slug.
Dazai let out a small laugh.
The first genuine laugh of the entire day.
“Aggressive and affectionate as always.”
He slipped the phone back into his pocket and began walking down the street.
The city was quieter at that hour.
Some restaurants still full.
Warm light spilling from their windows.
The distant sound of passing cars.
Normally, Dazai might have stopped somewhere.
Wandered the city without direction for a few hours.
But that night his steps followed a very specific path.
Home.
Or more precisely—
Chuuya’s apartment.
The idea of a quiet place suddenly seemed almost irresistible.
Just Chuuya.
Probably complaining about something. Maybe with a bottle of wine open. Maybe calling him an idiot before he even took off his shoes.
Dazai felt something in his chest loosen slightly at the thought.
He didn’t even notice when he started walking a little faster.
The building was quiet when Dazai arrived.
Most of the windows were already dark, and the hallway on Chuuya’s floor was lit only by a faint ceiling light.
Dazai paused in front of the door for a moment.
Normally, he would just walk in without thinking much—Chuuya had long since given up trying to stop him.
But that night, he hesitated.
Maybe it was because the silence there was different from the silence of the street.
More intimate. More peaceful.
He let out a small sigh and turned the doorknob.
The door opened with a soft click.
The first thing Dazai noticed was the light.
It wasn’t the apartment’s usual lighting.
It was dimmer. Warmer.
Flickering.
He frowned slightly.
“Chuuya?”
No answer.
Dazai stepped further inside, closing the door behind him. He left the bag of presents on the floor by the entrance along with his coat and shoes.
When he turned to walk deeper into the apartment, he saw it.
The first photograph.
It was taped to the wall in the hallway with a small piece of tape.
He stopped.
For a moment, he simply stared.
It was an old photo.
He and Chuuya were sitting in a bar, probably after some mission, several empty bottles scattered across the table.
Chuuya looked irritated about something.
Dazai was laughing.
Not a polite smile.
Not the expression he had worn all day at the Agency.
It was a real laugh—eyes closed, head tilted slightly back.
Dazai didn’t remember the photo.
But he remembered the moment.
He stood there for a few seconds before taking another step down the hallway.
And then he noticed it wasn’t the only one.
There was another on the next wall.
And another.
And another.
Some were old.
From the mafia days.
Blurry photos taken during missions.
One showed Chuuya on the ground, clearly in pain after some impact, while Dazai in the background looked completely satisfied with himself.
Another showed the two of them sitting on the floor of a messy apartment, game controllers in their hands.
Chuuya looked outraged.
Dazai had both arms raised in victory.
Another photo from when they were younger—Dazai wearing his black coat, one eye covered, hanging off Chuuya’s shoulders while laughing loudly.
Further down the hall was a more recent one.
Dazai asleep on the couch.
One arm hanging off the side, hair messy across his face.
Peaceful.
Calm.
The camera must have been in Chuuya’s hands.
Another photo of the two of them together.
A recent one.
Dazai had collapsed against Chuuya on the couch after a long day. He’d noticed Chuuya taking the picture and flashed a wide grin—showing all his teeth.
Genuine.
Real.
Dazai realized he had stopped walking.
His eyes moved slowly from one photograph to the next.
Each step down the hallway revealed more.
More moments.
More pieces of time he hadn’t known someone had kept.
Warm light spilled from the living room.
Dazai continued walking.
When he reached the entrance, he finally understood where it came from.
Candles.
Many of them.
Spread across the room, lighting the apartment with a soft golden glow.
The table had been pulled to the center.
Two plates.
An open bottle of wine.
And a large plate in the middle.
Crab.
Dazai stood in the doorway for a moment.
His eyes slowly scanning everything.
The candles.
The table.
The photographs covering the walls.
And finally—
Chuuya.
He was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a glass of wine in his hand.
The candlelight reflected in the glass and in the copper strands of his hair, creating small golden flickers as the flames moved.
Chuuya didn’t seem particularly impressed by Dazai’s silent reaction.
If anything, he looked like he had expected it.
He lifted the glass, taking a small sip before speaking.
“You’re late.”
His voice was casual.
Almost uninterested.
As if all of this were completely normal.
Dazai hadn’t moved.
His gaze slowly moved from the candles to the table.
From the crab to the bottle of wine.
Then to the photographs.
Finally, back to Chuuya.
“Chuuya…”
The word came out quieter than he intended.
Chuuya shrugged.
“Did the Agency kidnap you or something?”
Dazai let out a small humorless laugh.
“Something like that.”
He finally stepped into the room.
The candles flickered slightly with the movement of air.
“They found out.”
Chuuya scoffed.
“Of course they did.”
He set the glass down and ran a hand through his hair, visibly annoyed.
“Ranpo.”
Dazai sighed.
“Ranpo.”
For a moment, they stood in silence.
The kind of silence that wasn’t uncomfortable.
Dazai looked around the room again.
At the photographs.
There were so many.
And in every single one, he looked… happy.
Happier than he remembered ever being.
His years in the mafia had never been beautiful.
But seeing the photos now… maybe they hadn’t been entirely ugly either.
Seeing pieces of his life spread across the walls, proof of moments he thought he had never really lived, shook him more than he wanted to admit.
Chuuya was in almost every photo with him.
“You did all this… today?” he finally asked.
Chuuya hesitated for a second.
“No.”
He picked up his wine glass again.
“It took me a few days.”
Dazai blinked.
His gaze slowly drifted back to the photos.
“A few days…”
Chuuya noticed where he was looking and immediately looked a little defensive.
“Don’t look at it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like it’s some big thing.”
Dazai turned his head toward him, a small smile forming.
“Isn’t it?”
Chuuya frowned.
“It’s just… dinner.”
Dazai let out a quiet laugh.
“Of course.”
His gaze returned to one of the closest photos.
It was one of the oldest ones.
The two of them in the middle of a mission.
Chuuya clearly yelling about something.
Dazai smiling like it was the most entertaining thing in the world.
“You kept all of this.”
Chuuya turned his face slightly, clearly avoiding direct eye contact.
“Some things.”
“Some things.”
Dazai repeated the words slowly.
His fingers lightly touched the corner of one of the photographs taped to the wall.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he spoke again.
“You know today is my birthday.”
Chuuya let out a short laugh.
“Of course I know it’s your birthday. What kind of question is that?”
Dazai tilted his head slightly.
“And you still did all this.”
Chuuya was silent for a second.
Then he grabbed the wine bottle and poured another glass.
He slid it across the table toward Dazai.
“I didn’t throw a party. I didn’t do anything big.”
Dazai looked at the glass.
Then at him.
Chuuya kept talking, his tone quieter now.
“I just did… this.”
He gestured vaguely around the room.
The photos.
The table.
The candles.
“If you want to pretend it’s just a normal dinner, that’s fine. Because that’s what we’re doing. Just dinner.”
Dazai watched him for a few seconds.
Then he picked up the glass.
“Chuuya.”
“Hm.”
“This is extremely suspicious.”
Chuuya immediately rolled his eyes.
“Shut up and sit down before the food gets cold.”
Dazai slowly sat down on the soft, comfortable cushion.
The wine glass was still in his hand.
He swirled the liquid for a moment, watching the candlelight flicker across the dark surface.
“I should be worried,” he commented.
Chuuya was already sitting across from him, cracking one of the crab legs with the ease of someone who had clearly prepared the meal with care.
“About what?”
“About you going through the trouble of cooking.”
Chuuya shot him an irritated look.
“Don’t start.”
“I’m just observing.”
Dazai rested his chin on his hand, tilting his head slightly.
“You hate cooking.”
“I hate cooking for you.”
“How cruel.”
Chuuya snorted and placed a piece of crab on Dazai’s plate.
“Shut up and eat.”
Dazai looked at the plate for a moment.
The smell was familiar.
Warm.
Salty.
Comforting.
He picked up his chopsticks slowly.
“You made this by yourself?”
“The food? Yeah.”
“And the photos…?”
Dazai raised an eyebrow.
Chuuya took a sip of wine before answering.
“I had to call in a few favors here and there.”
“Ah.”
That explained a lot.
Dazai tried the first bite.
He stayed quiet for a second.
Chuuya was watching him with a suspiciously attentive expression.
“Well?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
Dazai set the chopsticks down on the table.
“It’s terrible.”
Chuuya narrowed his eyes.
“Liar.”
Dazai smiled.
“It’s very good. Really delicious, Chuuyaa.”
Chuuya immediately looked away.
“Hm.”
For a few minutes they ate in silence.
Not a heavy silence.
Just the sound of chopsticks, the faint crack of crab shells, the soft flicker of the candles.
Dazai picked up his wine glass again.
“You really spent a few days on this?”
Chuuya didn’t answer right away.
He was looking down at his plate.
“Yes.”
Dazai watched his face for a moment.
“Why?”
Chuuya looked up.
“Because I wanted to.”
Just like that.
Dazai let out a small laugh.
“You’re terrible at lying.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Then explain.”
Chuuya stayed quiet for a few seconds.
Then he gestured with his chin toward the photographs on the walls.
“That.”
Dazai turned his head, following the gesture.
“What about it?”
“You.”
Dazai blinked.
Chuuya continued, his voice quieter now.
“In every single one of them.”
Dazai looked back at the photos.
“I noticed.”
“Not like that.”
Dazai looked back at him.
Chuuya held his glass with his fingers resting against the rim, staring at the wine as if choosing his words carefully.
“In all of them you’re… —” he hesitated for a second — “okay.”
The silence between them stretched for a moment.
Dazai said nothing.
Chuuya took another sip of wine.
“So I thought maybe it would be good for you to see that.”
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy.
Just quiet.
Dazai looked away from the photos and back to the table.
“So this is a conspiracy.”
Chuuya frowned.
“What?”
Dazai tilted his head thoughtfully.
“It makes sense.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You and your favors conspired to create fake evidence that I’m happy.”
Chuuya let out a short laugh.
“Fake evidence?”
Dazai pointed at the wall with his chopsticks.
“That was clearly manipulated.”
“Manipulated how?”
“I don’t remember giving permission for those photos.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
Dazai grabbed another piece of crab.
“I demand to know who the photographer was.”
Chuuya shrugged.
“Sometimes it was me.”
“Sometimes?”
“Other times Mori took them when he thought something we were doing was funny. He actually has a lot of pictures of us fighting. Koyou took a few when she thought something looked cute — the one with the video game was hers. Some were taken by subordinates when they saw something interesting, especially the ones of us walking through the Mafia corridors. And a few came from security cameras. I just asked someone to improve the quality a little. Nothing major. Nothing fake.”
Dazai chewed slowly, thinking.
“That’s a lot.”
“I already told you it wasn’t a big deal.”
“Chuuya worked very hard.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes.
“Don’t start.”
Dazai smiled softly.
“Chuuya must really love me.”
“I don’t love anything.”
“I think you do. Otherwise you wouldn’t have done all this.”
“I hope you choke on that crab.”
“Chuuyaaa, always so romantic.”
Dazai fluttered his eyelashes cutely, making Chuuya snort as he finished eating.
They finished dinner without much hurry.
Chuuya stood up first, gathering some of the plates and taking them to the sink before returning and dropping onto the couch, with Dazai falling down beside him.
“So, how was your day?” Chuuya asked. “You said they found out. How did it go?”
“They were happy.”
Chuuya turned his head slightly to look at him.
“Is that a problem?”
Dazai took a moment to answer.
“No.”
He ran a hand over his face.
“Just… exhausting. Lots of presents and good words and positive things and… yeah. Exhausting.”
Chuuya stayed silent for a moment.
Then he asked, more quietly:
“A lot of people wishing you a long life?”
Dazai let out a small laugh.
“Too many.”
Silence returned.
But this time it wasn’t heavy.
It was quiet.
Almost comfortable.
After a few seconds, Dazai spoke again.
“Thank you.”
Chuuya frowned.
“For what?”
Dazai made a vague gesture with his hand.
“For this.”
The candles.
The dinner.
The photographs.
Chuuya shrugged.
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
Dazai turned his head to look at him.
“Yes, it was.”
Chuuya looked away, and Dazai smiled faintly, settling more comfortably against the couch while watching an episode of one of Chuuya’s favorite cooking shows.
The silence stretched for a few minutes.
The candles were smaller now, their flames flickering softly as the wax dripped down their sides.
Dazai was still leaning against the couch, absentmindedly looking at one of the photographs on the wall.
Chuuya finished the wine in his glass and stood up.
“Wait.”
Dazai turned his head.
Chuuya disappeared into the kitchen for a moment.
Dazai heard the sound of a drawer opening.
Then closing.
When Chuuya returned, he had something in his hands.
A simple envelope.
Chuuya stopped in front of the couch and held it out toward him.
“Here.”
Dazai looked at the envelope.
Then at him.
“This is suspicious.”
Chuuya was already getting irritated.
“Just take it.”
Dazai carefully took the envelope.
“Is this a present?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
“Just… read it.”
Dazai turned the envelope between his fingers.
The paper was slightly wrinkled around the edges, as if it had been held many times.
He opened it slowly.
Inside there was a single sheet of paper.
Folded in three.
The handwriting was clearly Chuuya’s—neat and careful, but firm, pressed a little too hard into the paper.
Dazai began to read.
Dazai,
I know you hate your birthday.
So I’m not going to wish you a long life,
or good health, or any of that stupid optimistic stuff people like to say.
If I did, you’d probably try to prove the opposite just out of spite.
But I still wanted to tell you a few things.
You made it this far.
I know that doesn’t mean much to you.
But it means something to me.
I’ve seen a lot of versions of you over the years.
That insufferable idiot from the Mafia.
That insufferable idiot who decided to leave.
And this insufferable idiot who works at the Agency now.
You’re still annoying in all of them.
But you’re also someone who survived things most people wouldn’t have been able to endure.
So I’m not going to say that you have to live a long time.
I’ll just say that I’m proud of you for making it this far.
Even when you thought you couldn’t.
Even when you didn’t want to.
And… for some strange reason, you keep staying.
Even when it hurts.
Even when there are more bad days than good ones.
Even when a lot of people would have already given up.
And I couldn’t be more proud.
Proud of the skinny, pale kid who became a man who’s actually… pretty decent now.
Yeah, Dazai—you’re a good person.
You had every reason to stay where you were, but you forced yourself to leave and look for something better.
I was angry about it at the time.
But I couldn’t be more satisfied now.
I think it was the first time you chose something that might actually be good for you.
And I’m grateful for that.
I’ll only say this once, and I hope you won’t get mad at me.
Happy birthday, partner.
I love you today, tomorrow, and unfortunately… I think I’ll love you forever.
— Chuuya
When Dazai finished reading, the room was completely silent.
The candles still illuminated the table.
The photographs.
The open envelope in his hands.
Chuuya was standing near the table, looking off to the side as if he were extremely interested in anything that wasn’t Dazai’s reaction.
After a few seconds of complete silence, Chuuya finally looked at him.
And—
He was crying.
Silently, pressing his lips together as if trying not to make any noise, but the tears kept falling like small waterfalls.
Dazai raised a hand to his face almost immediately.
“How awful,” he murmured hoarsely.
Chuuya smiled slightly, wiping away one of the tears without much ceremony.
“Why are you crying…?”
Still smiling, Chuuya pulled Dazai down so he was sitting on his lap. Dazai immediately covered his face with his hands, wiping his nose on the sleeves of his shirt.
“I am emotionally compromised. Damn it,” Dazai muttered, still sniffling a little as he buried his face against Chuuya’s neck, clearly avoiding eye contact.
Chuuya narrowed his eyes.
“You’re actually crying, aren’t you.”
“No.”
“Don’t try to lie. I saw it. I even wiped the tears.”
“This is clearly an allergic reaction.”
Chuuya crossed his arms.
“To what?”
Dazai lifted the letter.
“To feelings.”
Chuuya scoffed.
“Idiot.”
Dazai tried to smile, but the expression came out a little crooked.
For a moment he just stayed there, clinging to Chuuya while Chuuya placed small kisses on his face and gently wiped away the tears with his fingers.
Dazai simply allowed it, looking strangely small.
“This is embarrassing,” he murmured.
“Shut up.”
Chuuya absentmindedly ran a hand through his hair.
“You’re the one who wrote weird things.”
“I wrote normal things.”
“Why does Chuuya have to be so Chuuya?”
“Dramatic.”
Dazai took a deep breath.
The familiar smell of wine, candles, and Chuuya’s light perfume seemed to fill his head.
After a few minutes, Chuuya sighed.
“Let’s go to sleep.”
Dazai lifted his head slowly.
“Already?”
“You look like you’re about to pass out from exhaustion.”
“I think I might.”
Chuuya stood up from the couch.
“Come on.”
Dazai stood up too, carefully holding the letter in one hand while his other hand intertwined with Chuuya’s.
They blew out the candles together, one by one.
The room slowly grew darker.
In the bedroom, the soft light of the bedside lamp illuminated only part of the room.
Dazai was already sitting on the bed when Chuuya suddenly stopped.
“Ah.”
He turned toward the nightstand and picked up a small folded piece of paper.
“I forgot.”
Dazai raised an eyebrow.
“There’s more?”
Chuuya held the paper out to him.
“Last one.”
Dazai opened it slowly.
In the center of the page, written in surprisingly neat handwriting, were the words:
“Chuuya Voucher”
And underneath, in smaller letters:
"You are entitled to make one request.
Chuuya cannot refuse to fulfill it.
So choose carefully, you bastard."
Dazai started laughing.
“This is extremely dangerous.”
“Not really.”
“You just gave me unlimited power.”
“Don’t exaggerate.”
Dazai thought for a few seconds.
His smile softened.
Then he looked up at Chuuya.
“I already know what I’m going to ask for.”
Chuuya crossed his arms.
“Already?”
“Yes.”
“Then say it.”
Dazai held the paper between his fingers.
“Stay with me forever.”
The silence that followed was brief.
Chuuya blinked.
Then he sighed.
A small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
He leaned forward and placed a light kiss on Dazai’s forehead.
“Idiot.”
Dazai looked up at him.
“That’s not a refusal, is it?”
Chuuya pulled the blanket over them as he lay down beside him.
“You didn’t even need to ask for something like that.”
Dazai watched him for a moment.
Then he turned off the lamp.
The room sank into the quiet darkness of the night.
Dazai carefully placed the small paper on the nightstand.
And for the first time, he could say, without a trace of regret, that he liked his birthday.