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You tell me all of the ways that I can make you happy
I roll my eyes, we do our back and forth
'Cause I'm not ready to be someone else
--
Dazai hated meetings. Not because they were the death knell of productivity or any other traditional reason. He hated them because it was prime time for Chuuya to fuck with him. Dazai had an image to maintain and that image definitely didn’t include him being a flustered, bumbling idiot.
Chuuya wasn’t more threatening than Dazai (and using that angle would be boring anyway). He may be one of the most powerful gifteds in the world but Dazai was cold and bloodthirsty. At least that’s what he wanted everyone to believe. When you’re the demon prodigy of the Port Mafia, no one tends to question if your threats are empty or not, they just believe you.
Unfortunately, Chuuya did not just believe him .
Don’t be mistaken, Chuuya knows the vast majority of Dazai’s threats are far from empty but the ones directed at him always were. And when Chuuya got a little too close during their mission brief and started whispering in Dazai’s ear, he knew this plan was risky. It only worked when he caught Dazai in an amenable mood. Sometimes he would just dawn a shit-eating grin and whisper mocking flirtations back. That was a battle Chuuya rarely won. But luckily, Dazai’s image started to falter. (This was much more fun.)
And then the meeting was over. They were running down the abandoned hallway, trying desperately to get back to their quarters before logic and self-preservation left the front of their brains entirely.
Dazai may have had an image to maintain in that meeting room but not here. Not when it was just him and Chuuya. Him and his partner.
The chances they would get caught were slim but, Dazai’s image aside, making out with your partner in the hallways of the mafia headquarters was, unfortunately, frowned upon. “Keep your professional and personal life separate” and all that.
But when Dazai threw a teasing, haphazard punch in Chuuya’s direction, the redhead seized the opportunity. Instead of dodging, Chuuya grabbed Dazai’s fist and tossed him backward. The brunette’s back met the wall and Chuuya was not far behind, pinning him there. While he may have been short, Chuuya was strong and unyielding.
Dazai liked to feel in control. He had a lot to prove and by controlling himself and those around him, he could only show the parts of him that were rough and threatening and hide the rest. But with his back pressed up against the wall and Chuuya inches from his face, there was nowhere to hide (not that he really wanted to).
“Hi hat rack, ” Dazai mumbled sheepishly.
“Hey Mackerel .”
Self-preservation never was either of their strong suits.
They didn’t talk about their feelings much. Growing up in the mafia doesn’t teach you much in that department. So they showed their feelings for each other instead. Making out in dark, abandoned hallways or in their quarters well past curfew. Desperate, unpracticed hands wandering over each other’s bodies. Dazai letting his guard down. Letting someone take care of him. Letting Chuuya take off his bandages and run his hands over the scars he tried so desperately to hide. The scars that showed his weakness. Showed that he was struggling to even stay alive.
He felt safe here. Chuuya knew him better than anyone else. Knew what parts of him were an act. Knew about parts of him he never showed anyone. So when their lips met, Dazai yielded. He let his demon prodigy act fall away completely and even without his armor, he felt safe in Chuuya’s arms.
And it gets a little tired trying to dance around the fact
That I'm not ready to think of anyone but myself
--
Days like these were always the hardest. Days when things didn’t go Dazai’s way for one reason or another. The demon prodigy of the Port Mafia doesn’t fail. He can’t afford to. Unfortunately for Dazai, everyone has bad days and sometimes things go wrong.
So when Chuuya heard the news, he knew the coming hours were going to be difficult. Dazai was missing. Bolted off after a mission gone wrong. Chuuya didn’t know what happened but he knew his partner. Knew where to start looking for him. Knew he needed to find him. To bring him back home before he did something catastrophically stupid.
Usually, Chuuya would’ve checked all the spots around Yokohama that Dazai tended to find himself in when he felt like he had no other escape. Like the only way for it to all stop hurting was for him to give up. But when Mori mumbled something over the phone about “collateral damage” and Dazai just needing “time to get over it,” the redhead felt in his gut that this was something different.
So Chuuya went straight to his own apartment. He opened the door, closing it gently behind him, noticing Dazai’s shoes in their normal spot next to where Chuuya’s always sat. His suspicion had been correct. He took off his hat and coat, hanging them by the door, and with a deep breath, he made his way toward the bathroom.
The door was ajar and the cold fluorescent light of the bathroom flooded the dark hallway. He could hear the muffled sounds of Dazai’s sobs through the crack in the door. Before he even had the chance to knock, Chuuya heard rustling as Dazai dragged himself to his feet and made his way to the door.
Of course Dazai had heard him come into the apartment. No matter how quiet he was trying to be, Dazai was obviously in defense mode and nobody would be getting anywhere near him unless he wanted them to.
When Dazai opened the door, the sight that greeted him made Chuuya’s stomach drop.
Dazai’s hands were covered in blood. His shirt was discarded on the floor behind him, dark red staining stark white. The bandage over his eye was gone and Chuuya could tell he had been crying for hours. Deep brown contrasted against bloodshot white. Face puffy and red. The brunette said nothing, just reached forward and pulled Chuuya into a back-breaking hug. Dazai grasped at him like he thought Chuuya was going to take one more look at him and run.
They stayed like that for a while. Dazai’s face buried deep in Chuuya’s chest so he could pretend like his partner couldn’t hear his strangled sobs or feel him shaking as they racked his body. He didn’t like people watching him cry. It felt too vulnerable. Too close to an admission of defeat. What did a Port Mafia executive have to cry about anyway? So Dazai’s mind always drifted elsewhere in situations like this. Times when he couldn’t bear to be alone but couldn’t handle all the emotions that came with letting Chuuya see him cry.
Chuuya never minded though. He knew how to take care of Dazai. Especially when he was definitely not crying . He rubbed soft, slow circles into his partner’s back and carded his hands gently through his hair. Patiently waiting for Dazai to come back to his body.
Dazai never liked being the most vulnerable person in the room.
His time alone with Chuuya was usually the one exception. The one time he could just be human. Not a demon prodigy. Not the youngest exec in mafia history. Just Dazai.
But on days like this, Chuuya had to start all over. Had to teach Dazai how to just be human again. Show him that it was okay to be taken care of. That it was okay to need help.
Eventually, Dazai settled enough for Chuuya to get up and run him a bath. He helped Dazai out of his blood-soaked clothes and bandages and into the tub.
Chuuya reached out to brush a small piece of brunette hair out of Dazai’s face. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me” was all he said. Not “ you’re safe ” or “ I’d die before I let anyone hurt you again .” But Dazai understood from the way Chuuya’s touch lingered and from the fire behind his otherwise soft eyes and he relaxed just a little bit more.
Chuuya liked to be in control. He loved watching Dazai relax into the comfort of being taken care of. Loved taking that burden off the demon prodigy’s shoulders, even if it was only for a little while.
But tonight, Dazai needed control. He needed to reign in his thoughts and plant his feet on the ground again. Needed to feel like he could bring order to the chaos in his mind.
So when Dazai was out of the bath and they finally made their way to Chuuya’s bedroom, hands clasped together a little less desperately now, things went differently than normal.
Dazai hesitated at the door, the pair’s fingers slipping apart. The redhead looked back, blue eyes meeting deep brown and the wordless conversation that one look contained told Chuuya everything he needed to know.
He continued into the room, taking off his harness and laying it gently on his bedside table, followed by his gloves. Chuuya turned his back to Dazai and began unbuttoning his shirt, wet and stained with blood. Not a suggestion or a request. Not a way to force Dazai’s hand. Just a matter of practicality. He folded it and placed it on the chair in the corner of the room before making his way to take a seat on the corner of the bed.
He wanted to let Dazai choose. The brunette wasn’t good with words, Chuuya knew that, especially not after a day like this. So he gave Dazai space to communicate the only way he could. Through action. Through choice. Through deciding for himself whether he wanted to stay or go. Whether he wanted to be comforted or left alone.
Minutes passed. The silence was heavy. It felt suffocating and unbreakable in Chuuya’s mind. He wanted his hands on Dazai. He wanted more than anything to show him it was going to be okay. That he would always be there to take care of Dazai. To take control for him. To ground him. But Chuuya took pride in being a patient man. So despite every part of his body screaming to move, to touch, to protect, he stayed seated.
They stayed like that for a while. No words passed between them, Dazai thinking and Chuuya waiting patiently.
When Dazai finally leaves his spot at the door, his movement is slow and deliberate. He climbed into bed, moving to straddle Chuuya’s hips.
“I don’t… I can’t talk about it. Not now. Not tonight.” Dazai’s eyes were downcast. “I just want you to fuck me. And I want to forget this whole day ever happened. Even if it’s just for a couple of hours.”
“We can do that,” Chuuya’s tone was calm and level. He guided Dazai’s chin gently so he could look him in the eyes. “It’s going to be okay, no matter what happens we’ll get through it. Okay?”
Dazai paused, like something was on the tip of his tongue before the other words stumbled out, “I… I know. I know we will.”
Chuuya flipped them over and surged forward to catch Dazai’s lips with his. There was a piece of this picture that Chuuya was missing, he could tell. But that was a conversation for another day.
It's hard to watch you want to understand
Hard to see myself for what I am
--
The soft yellow light that filters through the curtains finally wakes Chuuya. He rolls over, his hands searching for their place on Dazai’s chest. Wanting to pull him in and remind him once again that everything is going to be okay.
But instead he is met with cold, empty sheets. No bony wrists and scarred skin. No complaints from his partner about how cold his hands are as they wander along his body. No Dazai.
Chuuya’s heart sinks. The calm of the yellow and orange brilliance that should warm and comfort him instead makes him feel cold and alone. He sits and listens. He knows it’s too quiet for Dazai to be anywhere else in the apartment. Too calm for him to be standing in the kitchen making them breakfast. Too cold for him to be taking a shower in the neighboring bathroom.
Chuuya knows that he’s alone. Knows that Dazai is gone. Probably forever this time.
Chuuya also knows, somehow, that Dazai isn’t dead. He thinks this reality might be worse though. The reality where Dazai could up and leave him without a word. Where Chuuya could be so hopelessly in love and Dazai didn’t seem to care at all.
“Dammit,” he whispers under his breath into the warm light and the cold bed where he lies alone.
Born to be a mess
Leave my shoes lying in the hall
Starting a fight just to be like some samurai
--
“You annihilated the enemy. Take a break, Chuuya.”
It had been a long time since he’d said those words to his partner. Grasping his wrist. Bringing him back to himself. He knew he had let it go on too long, but the beautiful destruction Chuuya wrought was a sight Dazai had missed.
And then Chuuya fell to his knees, “I told you to stop me as soon as it was over.”
“I know. But it was just so fun to watch, I couldn’t help myself.” His voice was sing-songy and mocking, just like old times. It felt like home to Dazai. Messing with Chuuya like he used to all those years ago.
“I used corruption because I trusted you.”
Trusted. He felt that word more deeply than he had felt anything in a long time. The emotions he refused to feel after leaving the Mafia crept up on him. He had missed Chuuya. It hurt like hell to leave him. So when Chuuya put his fist to Dazai’s chest, asked Dazai to take him to the extraction point, and then passed out, Dazai just left. That was what felt comfortable now. And god did he hate it.
The uneasy feeling didn’t go away like Dazai thought it would. He wanted things to be like they were back in the Mafia. Back when he could show his feelings instead of talking about them. Back when they were kids.
So later that night, he found himself at the door to Chuuya’s apartment. He didn’t really know what he wanted to come out of this. He didn’t even know if he could bring himself to knock on the door. But he couldn’t sit with this anymore so something had to be done. Dazai raised his fist and knocked quietly, half hoping Chuuya wouldn’t hear so he could leave at least feeling like he tried. But then he heard soft footsteps and the door handle began to turn. He almost turned and walked away right there. This was stupid. He still didn’t know why he was here.
“Dazai?!? What the fuck are you doing here? How did you even find my address?” He was exasperated but he didn’t have the normal force behind his voice. He was clearly still tired from the fight. Bruises and cuts covering his body. “Never mind, it doesn’t even matter. What do you want?”
This wasn’t a question Dazai was equipped to answer. So he did what he knew. The only way he had ever found to communicate his feelings to Chuuya. He grabbed his collar and pulled him into a kiss. It was not elegant. Dazai’s feelings in this moment were messy and desperate and the kiss wasn’t much better. Two years of unfelt emotions poured into one stupid kiss.
And then a hand on his chest pushed Dazai backward, “I can’t do this again, Dazai.” Chuuya sounded pained. “I loved you and you left. You left me without an explanation. You disappeared for two years and I had no idea what happened to you.”
Dazai felt bewildered. I loved you. His brain was hazy with desperation but those words cut through the fog. Chuuya had never said that before, at least not out loud. It had been an unspoken truth. One made obvious through messy make-outs, carelessly grabbing at each other, hands buried in hair, small sighs as backs were pressed against walls or one of their beds. Emotions that felt dangerous to talk about made easy.
Dazai reached out for him again. He couldn’t handle this. He needed to make Chuuya understand why he did it. Not with the expectation that he would gain forgiveness but with the hope that Chuuya would be able to take the weight of that blame off his shoulders. He wanted Chuuya to understand that he left because he had to. Because his friend died in his arms and had one final wish. That he had wanted to ask Chuuya to come with him but he was too scared. Too scared his partner would choose the Mafia over him. But he couldn’t say any of that. He didn’t know how. So he reached for Chuuya.
Chuuya stepped back again. “Please… just come inside Dazai. Let’s talk, just this once.”
And so they did. They sat on Chuuya’s couch for hours and unpacked every little feeling that had gone ignored for the past two years. All the feelings of rejection and hurt and betrayal. But not just that, they also talked about their days in the Mafia together. How keeping each other entertained and blowing off some steam had turned into love. How Dazai felt safe in Chuuya’s arms. And how Chuuya felt honored to be that sanctuary for the demon prodigy of the Port Mafia.
And then it was Chuuya reaching for Dazai, just like it always used to be. His jacket had come off a while ago while they were still talking so Chuuya grabbed at Dazai’s shirt instead, pulling him down on top of him. And then their lips met, but this time the kiss was purposeful, slow and languid like it had never been before. And then Dazai was kissing Chuuya’s neck, hearing him let out that little sigh that Dazai had missed all these years. And then he was fumbling with the buttons of his partner’s shirt. Pushing it back off his shoulders and running his hands up Chuuya’s sides, relishing feeling at home again.
Eventually, they made the move to Chuuya’s bedroom. Though they had obviously gained a significant amount of experience in this area since their time together in the mafia all those years ago, desperation made the journey sloppy and fumbling. Not that it really mattered. There was no one they were trying to impress anyway.
As soon as Dazai’s back hit the mattress, Chuuya was on top of him. Straddling his hips and mouthing at his neck, leaving bruises anywhere his ex-partner’s bandages didn’t cover. He let his hands wander Dazai’s body, watching him whine and twitch under his ministrations.
After a while, Chuuya sat back up to look at Dazai. His brown hair tousled and pupils blown wide. He looked at peace and Chuuya suspected Dazai hadn’t felt that way in a long time. He ran his hands up the brunette’s chest, feeling the bandages below the thin fabric of his shirt.
“You can take them off if you want.” Dazai mumbled, turning away from Chuuya’s gaze.
Chuuya just nodded. He never showed Dazai how much this meant to him. He never wanted Dazai to feel like anything was expected of him. So Chuuya slowly began to unbutton his partner’s shirt. Coaxing him to sit up so he could take it off completely. He paused, then leaned forward to press soft kisses to Dazai’s jawline. Reassuring him, in Dazai’s own special language, that he was safe as he started to unwrap the bandages.
Chuuya had forgotten just how many scars Dazai hid under all that cloth. There were certainly more now than there had been the last time they had done this. He traced the ones he had memorized from all those years they spent together in the Mafia and then moved on to the novel ones. Running his hands up and down his partner’s body. Acknowledging Dazai’s pain. Honoring it. Trying to make it feel like something other than a weakness.
And you are my little doll
I know - believe me I will try
And I will be there in time
--
Chuuya woke up to an empty bed. His heart sank just like it did all those years ago. The familiarity was gut-wrenching. He felt dragged back to that morning. Sobbing in the soft yellow light with not so much as a note from Dazai. From his partner. The most important person in his world.
It’s not like he expected anything different, really. But their conversation the night before had given him hope. Hope that they might be able to start over and actually be with each other like they had always wanted.
Dazai was a man who was slow to change though and Chuuya knew this. Maybe these small steps in the right direction would eventually land him safely in Dazai’s arms but it was always going to be a long road to get there. Nothing with Dazai was easy and this would be no different.
Eventually, Chuuya found the strength to drag himself out of bed. It was Sunday but weekends don’t mean much when you work for the Port Mafia so he had to make himself useful. He meandered to the kitchen, hoping against his better judgment that Dazai might be there.
Of course he wasn’t.
The kitchen was clean and still. Everything in its place.
“Dammit Dazai,” Chuuya mumbled to himself.
He slogged over to one of the cabinets on the far side of the kitchen, grabbing his favorite coffee mug off the shelf. It was a black mug with a golden rim that he had purchased during the downtime on some mission he had gone on with Dazai back in the old days.
Chuuya’s eyes glazed over as he stared down at it. He remembered the day he got it so fondly. The mission they were on or the city they were in never stuck in his mind but he could almost feel the sun on his face as he meandered through the market. His fingers intertwined with Dazai’s. The small squeeze whenever his partner wanted his attention. It was peaceful.
When his mind finally came back to the present, Chuuya noticed something. A small folded-up note was lying at the bottom of the mug. “I missed you, hat rack,” it read in Dazai’s usual messy handwriting. A sigh of relief escaped his lungs. Things were different this time. This time there was hope.
They gave me an out to take
A pill to break inside a glass
And they said it would go down best if I drank it fast
--
Warm light bathes Dazai as he sits alone in the bar that has felt like home for so many years. He downs some whiskey and then pops the pill into his mouth. He knows exactly what he’s getting himself into. The one small problem is that nobody else does. Not the ADA. Not the Port Mafia. Nobody.
But Dazai knows exactly what he’s getting himself into. He knows how this night is likely to end. And he knows exactly who will come and save him when the time is right. Just like every time before.
Still I can't stand to be alone
No, I can't seem to stand at all
And I can't always have you to lean on
--
Now’s the time. Dazai is only half-conscious as he floats hundreds of feet above the streets of Yokohama with poison coursing through his veins. He just has to hope that his faith isn’t misplaced. He has to hope that this won’t be the one time he does something stupid and reckless and his partner doesn’t offer the same in return to save his sorry ass.
Darling I am stalwart in your corner
Always have been, always will be
Everytime I look in the mirror
Something's up with me
--
And then a fist landed on his cheek.
The pill he swallowed earlier broke open and he swallowed. The antidote started to work through his bloodstream. Everything was going according to plan.
“You used corruption believing in me? How beautiful.”
“I believed in your disgusting vitality and craftiness.”
“That was a somewhat violent way of waking Snow White.”
But it was exactly what he needed. Exactly what he expected. He knew Chuuya would be mad at him for pulling such a reckless stunt. He also knew that his partner would come for him anyway. Knew that Chuuya would risk it all for him.
I'm such a mess
Leave my shoes lying in the hall
Start to fight, but you were right
You're always right
--
The warm glow of the morning sun bathed Chuuya’s bedroom in a soft light. Dazai’s head was buried in his boyfriend’s chest, legs tangled together, a hand threaded gently through his hair. Slowly, Dazai drifted out of sleep, reluctantly opening his eyes and rubbing the sleep from them. Everything was calm and peaceful and perfect. Just the two of them.
This was too good to be true. He knew it had to be. They’ve tried this whole relationship thing before. He let Chuuya get close. Let him see all the ugly parts of himself. And Chuuya took care of him. They built a partnership from heartbreak and ashes. They created something when all Dazai wanted to do was destroy. It was beautiful and safe and it was home.
And then Oda died. And Dazai’s world was torn into a million pieces in the blink of an eye. He had to leave. Oda wanted him to get out, sure, but his wish was only part of the rift that tore Dazai away from the mafia. Away from his partner. His home. If he was going to lose the only other person that made his life worth living, he would do it on his own terms. He wouldn’t let fate drag Chuuya away from him while all he could do was watch in horror.
They couldn’t have known at the time, they were so young after all. Couldn’t have known that broken people can’t build beautiful things. Not ones that will last, anyway. But Dazai wasn’t young and stupid anymore. He knew this would come crashing down around him. It could take days or months or even years but it would happen. That was the unavoidable truth.
All of a sudden the bare skin of Chuuya’s legs touching his own felt like hot iron searing his skin. The weight of the hand in his hair became crushing. He had to go. He had to get out of here. He couldn’t pretend like he didn’t know how this would end.
The panic gripping him and the overwhelming feeling of being dangerously close to burning up in the atmosphere made untangling himself from Chuuya’s arms without waking him rather difficult. He tried his best despite it all and he made it to the doorway before he heard the rustling of bedsheets.
“Dazai?”A moment of silence settles over them, a moment far too long, far too unnatural for their relationship. “Where are you going?”
“I was going to go make breakfast,” The words tumble out clunky and slow, and he practically cringes at them. He can’t lie to Chuuya. It’s never worked before and it’s certainly not working now.
There's another moment, tense and still as Chuuya’s face slowly shifts into a scowl, “Breakfast?”
“Yeah, breakfast.”
“Lying doesn’t look good on you Dazai, never has.”
“Fine! I just won’t make you anything then.” He couldn’t even muster his normal sing-songy tone, feeling his facade crumbling under the weight of such a simple sentence. This was it. An exchange they’ve had hundreds of different times over the years turned into a stupid little battle of wits.
Dazai turned to walk away. He knew Chuuya didn’t believe him but maybe if he just got out now he could…
“Oh my god, can you cut the shit for five fucking seconds for once?!” It’s the anger in Chuuya’s voice that makes Dazai pause. “You’re going to leave again, aren’t you?” But the way Chuuya’s voice falters is what makes him stay.
“Chuuya, I-”
“Are you?”
“...Yes.”
“Fine, you know what, whatever, ‘cause it doesn’t really matter anymore, does it? If anything, it's helpful! At least I get some fucking closure this time, instead of you just walking out without a word. Leaving me sitting here, wondering what I could have done to make you stay.” Chuuya was fuming. All the anger and chaos he kept tucked away for the sake of civility now threatening to boil over. “At least now I know that I was right all those years ago. Now I know for sure that I really don’t mean anything to you.”
“It-it wasn’t like that, it isn’t like that!”
“What’s it like then?”
“Goddamn it! Fine , you want me to say it? You mean too much to me!” Dazai finally moved from his place at the door. So overcome by every emotion he’s avoided feeling for the years leading up to this moment that he can’t help but surge forward. “You happy now? You mean too much to me for you to get hurt or fucking worse because I’m a selfish bastard who can’t let you go.”
“Oh? I mean too much to you? God, you are so full of shit!” Chuuya’s scowl is even deeper now. The glint in his eyes is dangerous and, for once in his life, Dazai doesn’t know what his partner is going to do.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The words come out short and sharp.
“If you cared about me you wouldn’t have fucking left me! You wouldn’t have left me, and you wouldn’t be leaving me now! I’m not some fucking pawn in your stupid little game of chess, you can’t just throw me away because you say it’s time. You expect me to just play nice again? To pretend like I didn’t love you and that it didn’t kill me every day you weren’t next to me. I can’t, no, I won’t spend another four years missing you again, never again.”
“It’s what was best for us!” Dazai was yelling now, feebly attempting to mask the pain and defeat in his voice.
“No, it’s what was best for you! You don’t get to make that decision for me! Only I get to say what's best for me. If you walk out of that door, it better be the last fucking time I ever see you or I swear to god...”
The weight of that threat pinned Dazai in place before Chuuya could even finish his sentence. “Fine! I’ll stay…. You’re right. I- I’m sorry…. I’m such a selfish bastard and I just thought-”
“Dazai, it’s okay. It’s okay to be scared and it’s okay to want to run away.” Chuuya’s tone had softened now. “But we’re partners . We’re in this together.”
So tell me all of the ways that I can make you happy again
--
Chuuya was perched on Dazai’s lap on the couch in their shared apartment with his head nestled into the crook of the brunette’s neck, leaving soft kisses on whatever skin he had access to above the bandages. One of his hands had ventured under the hem of Dazai’s shirt fifteen odd minutes ago while the other rested comfortably on his hip.
Chuuya was clearly content, mewling happily into his neck ever so often, but the feather-light touches toying at his bandaged chest were starting to drive Dazai crazy. He wanted more. Wanted Chuuya to kiss him like he meant it. To take off his bandages and take care of him.
Chuuya was lodged in his head again. Not in the way that some of his darker memories crept around the dark corners of his mind, refusing to leave no matter what he did. Even after all these years, Chuuya was in his head the way he was back when they were teenagers. When sloppy makeout sessions and fooling around in the shower until the water ran cold were the closest things to “ I love you ” they could manage. When words didn’t mean nearly as much as actions did.
But it was different now. For the first time in their entire lives, they had time.
“Kiss me?” Dazai mumbled sheepishly.
He felt Chuuya smirk and shift, moving to grab Dazai’s chin and turn his face towards him. “Always so demanding.”
“Oh, don’t act like you don’t love it,” Dazai teased back, eyes locked with his partner.
Chuuya leaned in and kissed him languidly before pulling away. “I do,” he whispered against Dazai’s lips.