Chapter Text
Dazai seemed to be trying to adjust himself to Chuuya seeing him as a fox. He still startled easily, always looking tense and ready to flee. Chuuya did his best to make his partner feel more comfortable, using the only way Soukoku knew how to interact: passive insults with deeper meanings.
“You’d think an arctic fox wouldn’t be so damn shivery.”
What's wrong?
“Chibi is so stupid; I'm just albino. Not an arctic fox.”
Nothing.
“So that’s why you're shivering?”
What's wrong?
“Chibi worries too much.”
Stop asking.
“Piss off.”
Fine. But I'm here.
Chuuya tried to let it be. He knew it was hard for Dazai to even talk about his fox form, let alone be one around him.
But then there were situations where he couldn’t just ignore it. In fox form, Dazai seemed to have more triggers, certain words that he wouldn’t explain to Chuuya, leaving Chuuya to stumble upon them by accident, causing Dazai to hide away for the rest of the day or, worse, to completely dissociate.
Chuuya hated seeing his eyes grow dull, his constant tenseness dropping only for him to go completely limp, as though he were just waiting for Chuuya to do what he wanted to him. Dazai never responded to Chuuya's questions once he returned from wherever his mind went. And then it would repeat.
Finally, Chuuya decided they couldn’t continue like this. So, while Dazai was in human form – though his ears and tails were out, which Chuuya loved to see. It felt like such an accomplishment that Dazai no longer seemed to worry about Chuuya seeing them – Chuuya started the conversation.
“Dazai,” he said, sitting on one end of the sofa from where Dazai was, “I wanted to ask about your fox form.”
He saw Dazai stiffen, his tails puffing out slightly. “What about it?”
“You just, you seem so tense whenever you are a fox, and I feel like I keep triggering you. So I thought we should talk about it.”
“Well, you were wrong.”
Chuuya scoffed. “You're not getting out of this, mackerel. I’ll still tie you to the sofa.”
“I do not consent,” Dazai retorted.
Chuuya reached behind the sofa to grab some rope, standing up.
“You just had that ready – wait, wait, wait—!” Dazai blurted, scrambling up and backing away from him as Chuuya started forward. “Fine! I’ll talk, I’ll talk!”
Chuuya smiled. “Great.”
Dazai inched closer to the sofa, still watching Chuuya warily. “You could put the rope down,” he muttered, hovering by the arm rest.
Chuuya sighed, tossing the rope across the room and crossing his arms over his chest. “There. Now tell me how to help.”
Dazai slowly sat on the sofa, his ears slightly back. “You can’t,” he admitted.
Chuuya sat down, too. “I can try.”
Dazai chuckled; it sounded hollow. “You can’t just erase my past, Chuuya.”
“But I can help,” Chuuya returned. “Right now, you have me flying blind. If you told me what makes you uncomfortable, then I could stop doing those things.”
“What are you, rehearsing a script?” Dazai deflected.
Chuuya had, in fact, thought about this conversation beforehand. It was why he had prepared some rope nearby for when Dazai inevitably tried to slip away. “Don’t dodge the question, you piece of shit.”
Dazai sighed, bringing his legs up against his chest and turning more towards Chuuya. “I don’t know.”
“What?” Chuuya didn’t expect that. Dazai always seemed to know everything going on. But he could tell that Dazai wasn’t lying. The way the tips of his tails twitched, the slight turn back of his ears, how he refused to make eye contact with Chuuya. He really didn’t know.
“I said, I don’t know,” Dazai snapped, his ears turning back. “When I'm in my fox form, my brain, it becomes more… fox-like…?” he said hesitantly. “I can’t just think my way through stuff that stresses me out like I usually can. But there’s nothing to do about it.”
Chuuya considered this. “Does that mean there are things that would comfort you better, too?”
Dazai glared at him; he glared back. Finally, Dazai looked away.
“So, what are some things that make you feel safer when you're a fox?”
Dazai growled lightly, then seemed to realize what he was doing and stopped. “It—” He stopped, looking consternated. “…It’s fine, chibi shouldn’t worry too much, or he won’t grow any taller.”
Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “So we’re just going to ignore when you freak out?”
“Yep,” Dazai said, as though it wasn’t the worst idea in the world.
“Nope,” Chuuya said flatly. “Look, at least tell me what stresses you out, so I can avoid doing that. We can work on more later.”
Dazai stuck out his tongue at him. “Chibi is being mean.”
“Shut it. I have rope and I'm not afraid to use it.”
Dazai pouted. “Fine.”
“Good.”
There was a minute of silence.
“Well?” Chuuya prompted.
“Well what?” Dazai asked innocently.
“Dazai.”
Dazai scowled. When it was clear Chuuya wasn’t going to back down, he seemed to give in. “I…” he hesitated. “I have, uh, stronger… instincts -” He spat the word as though it was venom on his tongue. “- when I'm a fox. So if something stresses me out, I want to react like, like a fox.”
Chuuya frowned. “But you don’t?”
Dazai rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because I focus on not acting like a fox. So then I have to stop myself from reacting like a fox, and that leaves me more stressed than if I could actually focus on the problem.” He sounded supremely frustrated at his inability to do both. Chuuya thought his concern was stupid – just act like a fox, then, he wanted to say – but maybe it wasn’t the best idea to say that to his partner.
Of course, Chuuya was Chuuya, so he said it anyways. “That’s stupid as fuck.”
Dazai snarled at him, then pursed his lips to stop the noise. Chuuya was starting to understand the problem.
“Look, I don’t care if you act like a fox. You know that, right?” Chuuya questioned.
Dazai looked away, ashamed.
“I don’t,” Chuuya said forcefully. He scooched closer, taking Dazai's hand. “I don’t give a shit if you act like the douchebag you are or the fox that is part of you. I love you either way.”
Dazai stared at him, dumbfounded.
Chuuya felt heat rise to his cheeks. Oh shit, I just said that.
“Chuuya… loves me?” Dazai asked.
Chuuya had to bite back his automatic response, to tell Dazai to fuck off so he could run away and ignore what just happened, but he owed Dazai more than that. And Dazai looked so fragile, but so hopeful, that he couldn’t do it.
He looked away, still flushed. “Yeah, I fucking… yeah.”
Dazai was silent for a minute. “I love Chuuya, too.”
Chuuya looked back at him. Dazai looked uncertain, but still oh so hopeful, his eyes brighter than Chuuya had ever seen. He was beautiful.
Then Dazai chuckled. The chuckle grew into a laugh, he laughed and laughed and laughed, and Chuuya felt himself turning even redder. “Oi, you piece of shit! Why the fuck are you laughing?”
Dazai didn’t stop, curling into himself, hiccoughing, still shaking with laughter.
“Dazai?”
Dazai looked up at him; there were tears in his eyes and a twisted look on his face, a strange combination of grief and overwhelming relief. “Chuuya… Chuuya loves me,” he managed between wet chuckles.
Chuuya was extremely confused. “Yeah?”
“A fucking god loves me, and he tells me while trying to make me feel comfortable with being a fox,” Dazai said somewhat hysterically, his eyes wide, chuckles that were starting to sound more like sobs interrupting his words.
“Oh, Dazai…” Chuuya murmured as Dazai leaned forward. He wrapped his arms around him, pulling him against his chest as Dazai started to shudder, heaving breaths as he cried.
“What the fuck was all of it for, then?!” he demanded, clutching the back of Chuuya's shirt. “What the fuck was the point of all the pain if it wasn’t- wasn’t true?! If it wasn’t based on being a god, or being a kitsune, or being a human, or any of it?! What was the point?!”
Chuuya tucked Dazai under his chin, rocking back and forth. “Like I’d fucking know, mackerel,” he said gently, bringing a hand up and carding his fingers through Dazai's hair, scratching gently at the base of his ears.
Dazai gave another manic laugh. “This is rich, just peachy. My entire life is a lie.”
Chuuya frowned. “Noone ever told you that you were important?”
Dazai quieted as he considered, still wrapped up in Chuuya's arms. “I had a friend; he… he helped me to be free,” he admitted quietly. “He wanted me to find something good for myself. I thought he was just foolish and sentimental.”
“Sounds like a good friend.”
“Chibi is stupid.”
Chuuya choked. “What the fuck?”
Dazai pulled back; Chuuya lamented the tear tracks and signs of grief staining Dazai's face. “Chibi is too stupid.”
“Too stupid for what, bandage waster?” he asked testily. Touching moment it may be, but he had just been insulted twice, out of nowhere.
Dazai sniffed, rubbing at the salt tracks running down his face. “You couldn’t make a plan to save your life.”
Oh. Chuuya sighed. The mackerel was trying to say he believed him. “Always such a roundabout bastard.”
Dazai chuckled, leaning back into Chuuya's arms, his face an inch from Chuuya's. “The roundabout bastard that Chuuya loves. It’s his own fault.”
Chuuya leaned forward as Dazai did.
It was a small kiss, a chaste little thing, but it held so much weight. So many words unsaid, so many feelings compressed between their lips.
They pulled apart, resting their foreheads against each other’s.
“I've loved you since I saw you,” Dazai murmured, his breath hot against Chuuya's mouth. “Since I first met you, you fascinated me. You were so bright and human, it felt like you lit up the dark that surrounded me.”
“I didn’t know I loved you until I found out you were protecting me,” Chuuya admitted. “But I think I loved you long before I realized it. Something about your stupid face and fluffy-ass hair.”
Dazai chuckled, then pushed forward, tasting Chuuya's lips again. How long had he wanted to do this? He had never expected it to be reciprocated. “Maybe I am stupid, too,” he whispered against Chuuya's lips.
“We can be stupid together,” Chuuya answered, pulling him closer.
Dazai wondered vaguely if Odasaku would be proud of him; he had said he wanted Dazai to find some light in the world, some kind of good.
Does this count, Odasaku? Have I found what you hoped I would?