Archive of Our Own

It all starts with a single question from the last person he'd expect to be asking it.

"Chuuya," Dazai sing-songs. "How did you know you wanted to be a guy?"

All he can do is blink in shock.

"Hah?"

It's a warm summer day, and the both of them have a day off, half of which they've spent in the arcade bickering and trying to beat the other's GP Rider high scores while picking at bags of jelly beans. Now they're walking down the pier, both boys bored enough to deign to spend their time around each other if only for the barest scraps of entertainment. There was an ice cream stall half a mile or so back, so they're both licking cones of the stuff - Chuuya's mint chocolate, Dazai's strawberry and vanilla.

Two minutes ago they'd been deep in an argument about exactly the topic of ice cream flavours ("Mint is for people that enjoy brushing their teeth too much," Dazai had said, which had set Chuuya off on a rant about how you'd have to be a loser to willingly eat vanilla ice cream when there were other flavours available), so he has no idea what's brought this up in Dazai's mind at all.

"I asked how you knew you wanted to be a guy," Dazai repeats simply, like he thinks Chuuya hadn't heard.

"Yeah, I got that," Chuuya shoots back, annoyed. His hair falls into his eyes with how quickly he jolts his head in the other boy's direction, and he shakes it away, already considering chopping it short again if only for convenience. "But why the hell are you asking, anyway? My gender's not your damn business, and especially not something I wanna talk about with you!"

Dazai only shrugs in that irritating manner that he does and kitten-licks his ice cream like a child.

Now Chuuya's even more annoyed, teeth grinding together in fury. "Are you gonna answer me or not?" he demands, kicking out at his ankles as they walk. Dazai, however, expertly hops over Chuuya's foot, not even skipping a beat. Oh, how he wants to strangle him. "Come on, don't just ask weird shit without tellin' me why!"

A slow smirk spreads across Dazai's face. "But I love seeing how it winds you up!"

Chuuya punches his arm and laughs harshly when Dazai yelps and nearly drops his ice cream on the dock. As it is, it splashes across his white shirt, staining it with pink.

"Meanie," Dazai pouts, jutting out his lower lip. "I was only curious. Chuuya doesn't need to be so defensive."

This only serves to confuse him. "Curious about what?" he asks hotly, wiping ice cream off the corner of his lip. "Being transgender?"

"Yeah," Dazai says, with another shrug. "I've never met anyone else who is. So I just wanted to know."

Chuuya huffs, unsure of how to feel. He can't help but think that Dazai must somehow be trying to make fun of him, and it makes his stomach stir. The thing is, he's never officially told Dazai that he's trans - it's just a fact that's obvious, something that Chuuya cannot stand. It doesn't seem likely to him that Dazai is transphobic or anything, but he's never had direct confirmation that he's not, so of course this line of conversation is making him uneasy.

"Google exists," Chuuya mutters, rolling his eyes and trying to pretend like this isn't bothering him. "I'm not the only trans person in the world. It's not my business to fucking educate you or whatever on my day off."

Dazai frowns deeply. "Well, I wanted to ask you, not some random person on the internet," he says. "But if you're gonna be like that, I'll find out another way. Hmph!"

Then he dives back into enjoying his ice cream, seemingly uncaring of how confused he's left Chuuya in the wake of this.

It really doesn't sound like he's trying to make fun of him, which is nice. But Chuuya can't figure out why else Dazai would be asking him something like this. They can barely stand to be around each other on the best of days, and haven't since the day they'd started off in the same organization about six months ago. There's no good reason for Dazai to be asking such a personal question, not at all.

"Whatever, then," is all Chuuya says, kicking at the chips in the boardwalk. "Good luck with that."

And that is the end of the first conversation.

It's brought into Chuuya's mind again three months later, when the duo are paired up to trial leading a task force into a weapons raid and end up absolutely soaked with the rain they'd been forced to stand in during the inevitable fight.

"This sucks," Dazai snaps, a rare emotional outburst coming from him. Chuuya turns to look at him only to see him grimacing and shaking his arms like a wet dog. He's utterly soaked through, as is Chuuya, and muddy from all the running he'd done. It had been a surprise to see him actually putting effort into his work when he usually would have taken a hundred lazy shortcuts to make Chuuya take over the whole operation while he got to work from the sidelines. "I'm never doing anything like this again! I don't care about any executive position! Someone call for a damn car, huh, I'm going to suffer a slow death from pneumonia if this keeps up!"

"What the hell's your problem?" Chuuya shoots while Mori's men rush about fulfilling the young prodigy's wishes. Technically, neither Dazai nor Chuuya hold any real power over them, but the strength of their combined powers has caused rumours to fly around the Port Mafia as of late, leaving everyone around mildly afraid of them. Chuuya thinks it's kind of funny. "You're usually not so snippy. Did you miss your catnap this afternoon?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," Dazai replies curtly, sticking his nose in the air snootily as if he isn't soaked with mud. "And my bandages are all wet and gross and it's Chuuya's fault for not completing Spring Night to plan! If you had just stayed inside with the men I gave you -"

"I told you Spring Night was dumb as hell!" Chuuya fires back, the little sympathy he'd had for the younger boy dissipating instantly at the irritating accusation. "I said we should do The Snow's Fall! You're the one who's the idiot here!

Strangely, Dazai doesn't seem keen on arguing. The cleanup and extraction teams are on their way, leaving them with nothing much to do, so Dazai is just standing in one spot trying to hide how badly he's shivering. It's not even that cold, but the earlier rain left a slight chill in the air amplified by their waterlogged state, so Chuuya can see why. He lets out a groan, drawing Dazai's attention towards him, and he can see the real frustration in Dazai's eyes. It's strange, because he never lets it show when he's upset, but it wouldn't take an expert to be able to tell that Dazai is reaching a limit of what he can handle.

"Fuck's sake," Chuuya mutters into his hands, teeth gritted as he realizes what he's about to do, for whatever damn reason. "Dazai, come to my place. I'm sure you would have shown up there sometime tonight anyway, so I'm saving us both the argument we'd have about it later. You can shower there as long as you don't mess with any of the shit in my bathroom. You got that?"

Dazai looks, to Chuuya's mild amusement, actually taken aback. His lips have parted, and he's currently blinking like an idiot, completely thrown. Chuuya takes the opportunity to take a step closer and punch his shoulder to snap him out of it.

"Cat got your tongue?" he asks teasingly. "Fucking idiot. I'll take your silence as a yes, but I warn you, if you mess around, we both know I can physically overpower you. Don't even try it. I'll break both your wrists and you won't be able to do anything for months, fucking ambidextrous bastard."

This seems to bring words back into Dazai's mouth, unfortunately, as he suddenly grins with narrow eyes like evil itself awakening. "If you did that, we both know who Mori would assign to help me do my work while I was incapacitated," he says cheerily, delighting in the way Chuuya flushes red at the realization. Shit. He's right. "Hehe, I think Chuuya ought to try it. Or maybe, now that the idea has been put in my head, I'll break my own wrists and say Chuuya did it. Which of us would he believe?"

"Oh, fuck off," Chuuya sighs, wanting to steer the conversation away before Dazai actually tries it then and there. "Look, they're coming up with the cars now. Behave or you don't get to come in my apartment and I mean it, Dazai. I'm sick of cleaning up your messes."

So that is how Dazai ends up at Chuuya's house twenty minutes later. Surprisingly, he actually does behave and stay silent, as if sensing that Chuuya will make good on his threat and not allow him into his warm, clean home if he's planning to cause chaos. Chuuya doesn't know where Dazai lives, exactly, but he senses it can't be anywhere he enjoys being, not if he's literally never there at night. Several times Chuuya has awoken to find Dazai making coffee in his kitchen, having slipped in during the night and slept on his couch. Unfortunately, it's become a mild routine that Chuuya can't seem to force himself out of.

Dazai's clothes are ruined, so Chuuya takes this opportunity to rifle through his clothes drawers and look for something stupid to have him wear in order to embarrass him. 

He definitely should have known better. Forty five minutes after Dazai slips into the bathroom with the outfit that Chuuya has picked out for him in hand, he reemerges in a frilly pink top left over from Chuuya's pre-transition days and a pair of darker pink sleep shorts that have little hearts on them, looking all too delighted for someone wearing such an embarrassing combination of clothes.

"Chuuya," he gasps, doing a twirl in the bathroom doorway. "You own something like this? It's utterly adorable! Why have I never seen you wear such a dainty little outfit, huh? I ought to consider that a crime!"

Of course it wouldn't be that easy to fluster Dazai. There's not even any point in taking pictures for blackmail like he'd planned, because Dazai is smiling cheekily and would probably strike a pose if a camera was pointed in his direction. Crestfallen, Chuuya turns away and walks back towards the kitchen where he'd been preparing his dinner. His dinner, none for Dazai, because he'd offered him a shower and a change of clothes while his own were washed, nothing more. "Those are my old clothes, idiot. From when I was a girl. But of course you don't care one damn bit, do you? I'm sure you'd prance around in a dress for nothing at all if someone dared you to."

Dazai catches up with Chuuya, eyebrows furrowed and lips pouted. With his hair fluffy and big after having been messily brushed and patchily blow dried, he looks weirdly soft, a thought Chuuya immediately shakes away.

"What would be wrong with prancing around in a dress?" Dazai asks, sounding genuine instead of teasing, although Chuuya's sure that such a tone is also teasing in disguise, designed to make him feel like an idiot. "Is Chuuya sexist? I never would have thought!"

The tone definitely has the correct effect on him, causing heat to rise in his cheeks. "Of course I'm not fucking sexist," Chuuya splutters, fists clenched in embarrassment. "It's just - most people would think you look like an idiot, is all. Not that you need to be wearing anything specific to manage that. Your face does it just fine by itself."

Dazai widens his eyes, looking like a puppy dog that's just been kicked. "Chuuya thinks I would look like an idiot in a dress?"

Chuuya lets out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Stop referring to me in the third person, it's getting old."

"But Chuuya's too stupid to understand me otherwise!"

He arrives in the kitchen and resumes the making of his ramen, ignoring Dazai entirely.

Of course, Dazai follows, because he's a bastard and doesn't know when to quit. "Where's mine?" he whines, and Chuuya considers turning around and throwing him out the window.

"Order something for yourself," he snaps, irritated. "I'm not your damn mother, I've got no obligation to feed you."

Strangely, Dazai relents instantly, whipping his phone out his pocket. "Fine," he says, in a childish voice. "I'm ordering kanimeshi and Chuuya doesn't get any."

They spend a few minutes in silence, in which Chuuya bowls up his ramen and Dazai waits at the kitchen table, swinging his lanky, bandaged legs hard enough that he shakes his chair. Chuuya can't help but watch him, finding that something about Dazai's appearance is bothering him, and then finally figuring out what it is and setting down his bowl.

"Where did you get the bandages?" he asks, eyebrows knit together in confusion. He hadn't even thought about those when sending Dazai into the bathroom earlier - he'd been too busy kicking himself for letting the bastard in his apartment in the first place. "I don't own any."

Dazai smirks over his phone. "I keep some in the medicine cabinet, at the very back. Chuuya never notices anything I do, it's shocking. You should pay closer attention."

Chuuya scoffs in disbelief. Surely he would have noticed Dazai leaving something like that in his house -? Well, evidently he hadn't, and isn't that just fucking annoying. "Stop acting like you live here," Chuuya snaps at him, grabbing his bowl again and attacking the noodles with new furious vigour. "I told you, I'm not your mother. You've got your own house somewhere, so go back to wherever you live and keep your stuff there instead."

Dazai actually has the audacity to blow a raspberry at him, like a seven year old who knows he's losing an argument, and Chuuya has to let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. "You're fucking unbelievable. I cannot fucking stand you."

"Chuuya loves me really," Dazai sings, not taking his eyes off his phone.

Chuuya stares at him for a moment longer. In short sleeves and shorts, the bandages are much more obvious than they usually are, and Chuuya can see that they're wrapped all the way up his arms and legs, excluding the knees and elbows for easier movement. Dazai catches him looking and grins wickedly. "Admiring my beauty?" he preens, flicking his hair like an eighties model.

"More like disgusted by how ugly you are," Chuuya retorts, having expected a comment exactly like that. "You look like an actual mummy. It's weird. Why do you wear that shit, anyway? Everyone knows what you're covering up."

He doesn't mean it to come out nearly so cruelly, but it does, and he finds himself regretting the words the moment he says them. For a brief moment, Dazai's expression flickers into something that Chuuya can't quite make out, and then his face morphs into one of pleasant neutrality. "What a mean thing for Chuuya to make fun of," he laments, although whether he's actually upset or not, it's fucking impossible to tell, because it's Dazai. He probably doesn't care at all and just wants to get Chuuya to apologize. "Especially if you supposedly know the reason behind them… how nasty you are, chibi, no wonder Mori has to pay people to be your friends!"

Now, if it hadn't been for that last part, Chuuya would have questioned Dazai saying supposedly, wondering if there was another reason behind them besides the obvious one, but the rage in him has flared up to the point where he doesn't even register that distracting him from the conversation had been exactly Dazai's goal. "What the fuck did you just say to me?" he snarls, stepping forward and slamming his fist on the table in front of Dazai's face. The boy doesn't even flinch. "No one fucking pays anyone to do anything for me, what the hell are you talking about, huh? You're just trying to stir the shit. If you're gonna be like that then I'll seriously fucking kick you out in those dumb pajamas before your clothes have finished being washed and I mean it. Shut the fuck up. I don't wanna hear another word out of you."

Surprisingly, Dazai does shut up. He pouts sarcastically at the older boy, fluttering his eyelashes stupidly, but proceeds to keep to himself until his food comes and Chuuya retreats to the living room where he doesn't have to hear Dazai chew noisily in an attempt to piss him off again. The second he hears the washing cycle finish, he removes the clothes from the machine and uses Tainted to remove as much of the moisture from the material as he could, a trick he'd learned back in his Sheep days, and presents them to Dazai.

"Here," he says, biting back his nastier words. "Put them on. Get out."

Dazai moans. "Chuu-ya, they're still wet. I'll get sick and you'll have to do all my paperwork until I'm well again."

However, this time Chuuya is unrelenting. "Don't care. You should have thought about that before bringing my friends into your pathetic attempts at insults. Now get dressed and get out before I make you."

So Dazai goes back into the bathroom and dresses himself, coming out looking rather displeased. He's staring down at himself with a curled lip, examining his crumpled white button up, black trousers and oversized blazer with disdain.

"I preferred your clothes," he says sullenly. "Now I'm all damp and I look weird."

"You always look weird," Chuuya says, electing to ignore the first part of Dazai's declaration lest he thinks too hard about what that means. "Now scat. I don't wanna see you back here, preferably for the rest of my life."

Dazai huffs, bringing his arms close around himself in a makeshift hug. "Chuuya," he whines, in that tone that he uses when whatever he's about to say is going to make Chuuya go batshit. But what he says surprises him. "Can I keep the other clothes you gave me? You even said you don't wear them anyway. Besides, I'm sure I look way better in them than you do."

Chuuya makes a face, as usual endlessly confused by the other boy's mind but too exhausted to even question the real reason why Dazai wants to keep his dumb clothes. "Whatever," he sighs, waving a hand dismissively to show how little he cares. "Just get out. I'm tired of your shit."

This is how Dazai ends up leaving Chuuya's apartment with a bag of frilly pink pajamas, beaming like Christmas has come early, without another word of insult. Chuuya doesn't think about it too hard until later when he's reorganizing his wardrobe, the thing all messy from where he'd rummaged through it looking for something embarrassing to make Dazai wear. He's sure Dazai's intentions with the clothes must be prank-aligned in some way - what the hell else did he want them for?

His thoughts are disturbed when his bank sends him an email notification letting him know he'd just spent four thousand yen at a takeaway restaurant he'd definitely never ordered from. Dazai, that piece of shit, had used Chuuya's card to order his dinner.

This is as unfortunately unsurprising as it is irritating.

A few months later, they're on a stakeout in an apartment building across from some place that Mori suspects is a rival weapons dealer working in Port Mafia territory. "Team building exercise," he'd told them cheerfully, when they'd both shouted their complaints about having to work with him, can't it be anyone else, I don't want to spend any more time around him than I have to! "You two cause so much trouble for me on a regular basis with your childish fighting. You'll stay there until you can prove you can get along and work together maturely, and that's that."

It's hell. But at least they're not there alone. With them are several lower rank grunts assigned to look after them and make sure they don't entirely blow the mission, and because Chuuya can't stand Dazai, he's been talking to them for the last couple hours or so and has discovered they're actually pretty cool. He's well aware of the fact that Dazai is sulking about being ignored in the background and is likely going to try some stunt to get his attention that might blow the mission, but it's not his business until it happens, so he's putting off having to talk to him until he absolutely has to.

Surprisingly, the moment never actually comes. Dazai just goes and flops into a chair by the window, face propped against the binoculars that were discreetly set up when they arrived, hands folded in his lap. He's not usually this quiet. It can't be anything good. So when the men Chuuya had been conversing with are switched out with a new set of grunts that he has no interest in talking to anymore, he takes the opportunity to go and sit beside Dazai, at the second pair of binoculars that he's to watch the street with.

"Seen anything?" he wonders, staring at the blank notepad and camera in front of Dazai. He's supposed to be photographing suspicious people who enter or exit the building across the street who might be affiliated with the organization they're trying to take down, but it doesn't look like he's been doing that at all.

Dazai suddenly leans back and giggles mischievously.

"I knew Chuuya would talk to me eventually," he says with a note of triumph. "Did you think I was planning something? That was my ultimate goal. I'm really good at getting people to pay attention to me when I want them to!"

Chuuya should have seen that coming. But for some reason, he's less annoyed by it than he usually would be. All he does it sigh and roll his eyes, lounging back in his chair. "All I'm asking is if you've seen anything. I had plans today and they've been ruined because I'm being forced to stare at some dumb old building with you of all people. I wanna get out of here as quickly as possible."

Dazai looks mildly surprised, evidently having expected Chuuya to snap at him for trying to manipulate him. Chuuya can't help but feel the slightest twinge of victory at having won over him for once. 

"We-ell," Dazai drawls, reaching up to tap the side of the binoculars. "All I've seen is people passing by, no one coming in or out. Or maybe I'm lying to ruin the rest of Chuuya's day. Who knows!"

This does piss him off, but he'll be damned if he lets Dazai know. So he grits his teeth and doesn't even spare him a glance, pretending to be nothing other than bored. "You're ruining your own day, too, you know," Chuuya says, kicking the wall in front of him lightly. "And you're going to have to stick here with me until Mori decides we've sufficiently bonded as a duo. It's not like you're winning here, either."

Dazai shrugs. "I'm winning as long as you're unhappy."

Chuuya balls up his fists at his sides and bites the inside of his lip so hard he draws blood.

Time passes in which Chuuya surveys the building and notes that, yes, this place really doesn't get a lot of activity. There's barely even any passersby, only two people walking by in half an hour. It's so boring he wants to claw out his own eye sockets. Chuuya is terrible both with sitting still and doing something he doesn't want to do, especially when he's being told to do it only to satisfy Mori of all people. Shirase had once told Chuuya that he definitely has ADHD or something along those lines, and after having Googled it quite a bit, he agrees that it makes a lot of sense. So this stakeout feels like it's specifically designed to make Chuuya go fucking crazy, the added presence of Dazai just the cherry on the cake. 

He actually, genuinely thinks that if he were to die now, this is what Hell would be like. It makes him shudder and think about running away to the nearest church and begging them to make him a nun or something.

Another ten minutes go by before they see another person. A pretty girl, no older than eighteen, wearing a light blue dress and dainty slip on shoes of the same colour, long, black hair spilling down her back. She catches Chuuya's attention not specifically because of her beauty, although that is a factor in it, but because of the fact that she takes a quick glance around her before turning and walking into the building with quick, scurried steps.

"Finally," Chuuya mutters, sagging with relief. "Something to do. Dazai, have you got the - camera? Dazai?"

Dazai's eyes are still glued to the binoculars, like he's forgotten what they're they're here for entirely. Chuuya lets out a sharp breath and punches him in the arm, hard. Dazai yowls like a cat and pulls away, rubbing at the place where Chuuya had hit him with betrayal in his eyes.

"I wasn't doing anything!" he cries, wincing against the pain. 

"You're on camera duty," Chuuya hisses. "You're supposed to get photos of the people that go in and out while I write down exactly what they're doing and what time they come and go. Can you stop gawking every time you see a girl do anything and do your damn job, please?"

Dazai scowls, jutting out his lower lip. "Well, I'm sorry that Chuuya's date with his girlfriend was ruined, but you can't get mad at me for something Mori assigned us to do! Go be mad at him instead! There's no need to complain at me!"

He places his eyes back on the binoculars again.

Chuuya knits his eyebrows together, suddenly uncertain. "I didn't tell you I had a girlfriend," he says, confused. "Are you fucking stalking me or something? How the hell do you know that?"

The other boy huffs, not taking his eyes off the binoculars. "I know everything. Chuuya should be aware of that. Who do you think I am, huh? You can't keep anything hidden from me."

All Chuuya can do is sag, because, yeah, he's well aware of the fact that Dazai hates secrets unless he's the one that's keeping them. And it's true that he's started going out with a girl he met at one of Albatrosses car trades a week or so ago. "It's none of your damn business if I have a girlfriend," he mutters. "Maybe if you weren't so weird, you could have one too. Or any kind of friend at all, since you don't seem to have those."

"I have friends," Dazai announces, expression unchanging. "Lots of them. They're just too cool for Chuuya to hang out with."

"Uh huh," Chuuya drawls, unconvinced. "It's more pathetic to lie about having friends than it is to not have friends at all, you know. It's ok to admit that I'm the only person you hang out with, and that's just because Mori makes me tolerate you."

Dazai pouts, again, because it's his favourite move, apparently. "So mean," he mutters. "Chuuya's so mean to me. I've been sitting here quietly, not bothering him, and still he comes after me for no reason at all… I can't win. This is an abusive relationship."

"There is no relationship to be abusive," Chuuya points out, unfazed by Dazai's self pitying wallowing. "Look, hey, the girl's coming back out. Take the pictures, Dazai, quickly."

This time, when the girl exits, she's carrying two black bags. Chuuya writes this down while the grunts behind radio in to Mori. Dazai, however, just sits there petulantly, scowling. "It's impolite to take photos of a beautiful lady when she's not aware of it," he says lightly. "I won't do it. It's not correct behaviour."

Chuuya curses him out as he grabs the camera to take a few hasty pictures, zooming in on the bags to try and make out what might be within them until she's out of sight.

"Asshole," he shoots at his partner, furious that he's having to do all the work here while Dazai sits on his ass and whines. "This is supposed to be a team building exercise. Mori's never gonna let us switch out unless we prove we can get along. Do you want to be here forever, Dazai?"

Dazai, however, doesn't even look like he's listening.

"She was so pretty," he says wistfully, still staring at the spot where she'd just been. "It's unfair that women get to wear such pretty clothes while men have to dress so dully. Don't you think that's unfair, Chuuya? Don't you ever wish you could wear pretty dresses and not be laughed at for looking weird?"

Oh, Chuuya hates it when Dazai gets in these weird moods. He's so much harder to predict when he's like this, all sappy and weirdly emotional. Chuuya lets out a long sigh. "If I wore any pretty dresses, then people would just mistake me for a girl," he says plainly. "So no, I don't wish that at all. Sit up and pay attention, will you? I'm sick of doing all your work for you."

Dazai doesn't say anything. He just continues to sit and stare quietly, looking weirdly lost, like he's unsure of what he's supposed to be doing. It makes Chuuya feel strange, seeing him like that. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like that he's been possessed with the urge to reassure Dazai, of all things, when he should be snapping at him still for not doing his damn work. 

"Listen," he says, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. He watches Dazai as he speaks. "No one important gives a fuck what you wear. Go out in a damn dress if that's what you want to do. Caring about gender norms is for fucking losers who hate themselves. You're in the mafia, Dazai, for fuck's sake, if anyone said anything about it you could honestly just kill them. I've seen you shoot a guy for less. So stop whining. It's really putting a downer on this stakeout."

Dazai huffs. "Chuuya said I'd look like an idiot in a dress…"

Chuuya furrows his brow, surprised. "You still remember that?" It was months ago. "Besides, that's not even what I said - or at least it wasn't what I meant, I don't know. What I meant is that you'll look stupid no matter what. Therefore, you should wear what you want. Who's gonna care? Mori? Mori's too busy caring about what Elise wears to pay attention to you. There's no one smart out there who's gonna try and tell the fucking Demon Prodigy that he can't wear a damn dress."

It seems Chuuya's words get through to Dazai, because he suddenly looks much more cheerful, brightening almost comically and grinning wide. "Chuuya is right," he announces, finally taking his eyes off the binoculars. His one visible eye is sparkling with excitement. "Gender norms are for losers! Chuuya, come with me. You've inspired me and I have something that I need to do now!"

He grabs one of Chuuya's hands and yanks him to his feet before he can say anything, trying to pull him across the floor.

Chuuya digs his heels in, reeling. "Uh, no, we're working," he stresses, still recovering from moving so quickly after having been sitting still for so long. His head is spinning. "Remember, Mori assigned us here? We can't just fucking leave, and even if we could, I don't want to do anything with you."

To his surprise, Dazai lets go of his hand and throws his own on his hips, nodding seriously. "Ok, that makes sense," he says. "Chuuya can stay here with these other guys and die of boredom for a few more hours of doing absolutely nothing while I go out and have fun by myself. That sounds like a good plan. Goodbye, Chuuya, I'll see you in about ten hours when Mori gets tired of torturing you! Have fun sitting here staring at the same building waiting for something to happen! Goodbye!"

Fuck. Dazai knows Chuuya far too well. He's definitely been monitoring how utterly bored and irritated Chuuya's been growing over the past couple hours even without Dazai annoying him, knowing damn well that this is killing his mind. Fuck him for using this against him. It's evil. Chuuya won't stand for it.

Chuuya curses and follows Dazai to the door, ignoring the younger's giggle of delight at having successfully manipulated Chuuya, again. He hates him. He hates him more than anything else in the entire world.

"Um," he says to the awaiting mafiosi, who don't seem to know what to do. "Sorry. Uh. Just keep an eye on that building for us, we'll be back soon."

Then he is leaving and following Dazai down the stairs.

And he can't help but admit that this was a fantastic idea. It hasn't been that long since Chuuya was outside in the fresh air, but it feels like it's been forever, and he finds himself spinning in circles and whooping with excitement at being anywhere but in there. Then he spots Dazai up ahead, smiling brightly, looking for all the world happy about the situation he's found himself in. The worst part is that Chuuya honestly feels the same. There's a weird piece of him that wants to thank Dazai for offering to get him out of there, but he doesn't, because he's lost the ability to form words at all. 

It's rare to see Dazai look this warm, this bright. It suits him in a way Chuuya never could have imagined. He looks so much younger, so much more like a person that Chuuya could enjoy the company of, that it makes him reel.

"Where are we going?" he asks breathlessly.

Dazai claps his hands together in that way that he does when something is exciting him too much for him to stay still. "Shopping," he replies gleefully, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Chuuya is going to help me pick out new clothes."

That's not what he expected at all, but it definitely beats sitting in that room by himself, so Chuuya doesn't bother complaining about it. "You definitely need them," he comments, deliberately eyeing Dazai up and down. "You dress like a homeless person, and I would know, because I was a homeless person for most of my damn life. The difference being that I was poor and a child and you're rich and know better."

"I do not dress like a homeless person," Dazai replies haughtily, bringing himself up to his full height like an angry cat. Chuuya has to bite back the laugh that bubbles up in his chest at the sight. "I just have a lot of the same outfit. But now I wanna try something new, and Chuuya's going to help me, since he's apparently Yokohama's resident fashion police."

Well, he's not gonna argue that. "Whatever you say," he says dismissively, and follows Dazai into the busy area of the city, to where all the most popular restaurants, cafes and stores lie in neat lines for people to pick through as they please.

Chuuya is the one to choose the store they go in, and Dazai agrees instantly instead of protesting. He's gotten weirdly quiet again in the time they've been walking, sticking close to Chuuya's side with a blank expression. Now that they're in the store, Chuuya's not sure where to go, unsure of what Dazai wants, and the other boy sure as hell isn't helping. He's just staring around the aisles with wide eyes, chewing on the side of his thumb.

"So what are we doing?" Chuuya asks, nudging the boy to get his attention. Dazai startles a little, blinking to bring himself back to the present.

"I don't know," Dazai says, voice muffled by his hand at his mouth. "Chuuya should pick something out for me. Since I wouldn't know a good piece of clothing if it hit me in the face."

Chuuya makes a face. Yeah, he had said that, hadn't he. And now he's paying the price for it. He sighs and starts walking, Dazai trailing behind - he thinks about making a joke about their supposed roles being reversed, with Dazai being the dog-like one now, but he doesn't want to inspire any more animal jokes, so he lets it be. 

He takes them past the women's section, then stops and spares a glance at Dazai's face. It's still mostly unreadable, but Chuuya can see him staring back at the women's clothes with an almost longing look in his eye before correcting himself and facing ahead towards the men's. Now that Chuuya pays attention, he can see Dazai was definitely correct in how drab men's clothing is in comparison to women's. It wasn't something he noticed very intently when he'd started transitioning himself, considering the fact that he had decided he wanted to be a boy at ten years old and children's clothes are all bright and colourful regardless of gender. He's noticing now. Men should dress in more interesting clothing, he thinks, before turning around again and dragging Dazai into the women's section.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dazai considerably brighten at this, and mentally congratulates himself for figuring out what it was he wanted.

"So it is dresses and skirts that you want?" he asks the boy, traipsing between the aisles and examining the clothes on the shelves and racks. "Give me something to work with, it's not gonna be easy to perform a miracle on you that'll make you look good and I'll need some kind of idea of what I'm doing."

Dazai huffs. "I don't kn-ow," he drags out, trailing his hand along a rack of coloured shirts. "I suppose maybe. Chuuya should be able to read my mind and figure it out for me, I don't wanna think too hard or I'll die."

"If only," Chuuya mutters to himself, but sets off searching for anything that he thinks fits Dazai's appearance. He can't imagine the boy wearing anything too bright or happy, so he steers clear of colours and sticks to monochrome instead, which narrows his choices down immensely and makes his job slightly easier. He spots a soft black overall dress and turns to show Dazai before realizing he's disappeared somewhere and sighs. He slings it over his arm and continues looking, clicking his tongue and mildly regretting ever having left his post in the first place.

At least this is somewhat relaxing without Dazai nitpicking his every choice. Chuuya enjoys clothes shopping, and would never admit that he's having fun with the challenge of making Dazai dress less like a preppy school boy who sleeps on a bench and more like someone who actually cares about his appearance. Mori hasn't called him yet, so the other grunts must not have told him they'd left. But it won't be long until their posts are switched and then the cat will be out of the bag. Chuuya stares at the single item he's picked out, unsatisfied but out of time, and begins searching for his asshole of a partner.

The bastard's in the home bargains section, sniffing candles, of all things.

He spots Chuuya approaching and brightens, holding out one of the wax filled glasses he's holding. "Smell," he demands, and Chuuya is too thrown not to just do as he asks.

It's disgusting. He reels, coughing into the arm that isn't holding the dress and inhaling the scent of his fabric softener to get the smell out of his nose. Dazai practically cackles with glee. "I knew you'd hate that one," he giggles, cheeks flushed pink with mirth. "I have a few more that I set aside for you, actually. Come here and smell, this one is called Ocean Storm. Plot twist - it does not smell like an ocean storm. It smells like feet."

"Fuck you," Chuuya says, loudly, and shoves the dress in Dazai's direction. "We don't have time to dick about, we need to get back to the stakeout or Mori's gonna have our heads. Try this on in the changing rooms or don't bother, whatever you wanna do, I don't care."

Dazai takes it from his hold and stares at it, crinkling the fabric wondrously. Chuuya sees the exact moment that his face falls, just slightly, lips pressed together. "It's pretty," he murmurs to himself. "I don't like the fabric, though. It feels funny. It's too fluffy, it's weird."

He throws it back at Chuuya with a sigh. "How disappointing," he laments. "I suppose I'll have to look elsewhere another time."

Chuuya frowns, feeling weirdly bad about it. It was his fault that Dazai had felt insecure about this in the first place, or at least that's what he's assuming, based on the fact that Dazai still remembers the comment he made about boys wearing dresses several weeks ago. As much as he doesn't like Dazai, he doesn't like the idea of being remembered as a sexist dick. So Chuuya grabs Dazai's hand and pulls him along, biting back a smile at his noise of surprise. "Come on," he says. "We're finding something."

He hears Dazai's smile in his voice. "Chuuya cares so much about how I look?"

Chuuya huffs. "Well, maybe if you look less like a sewer rat, people will start trying to befriend you and I won't be forced to hang out with you anymore."

They head deeper into the women's section, towards the back of the store where Chuuya hadn't really looked because most of what's back here seems to be bras and underwear. But Dazai has noticed something that Chuuya hadn't even looked at when he was over here the first time. "You wanna look at the sale shit?" Chuuya groans, watching Dazai begin to paw through the messy rack with glee. "You know this is all garbage. There's a reason it's on sale. I mean, look at this."

He reaches into the rack and pulls out a short, lumpy blue dress that honestly looks like it was constructed using a sack of potatoes as a reference.

Dazai giggles. "Ooh, I should buy that for Elise," he coos mischievously. "It suits her so well, I'm sure Mori would agree!"

And Chuuya can't help but snort at the thought, a smile crossing his face at the idea of the disgusted look Elise would give the item. "She'd claw your face off," he chuckles. "And no one that laid eyes on this thing would try and stop her."

It's strange that Dazai of all people is managing to make Chuuya laugh, but it doesn't mean anything. He's just bored and Dazai is here, providing entertainment. That doesn't mean he enjoys his presence any more than he normally does, it doesn't!

Regardless of the ugly dress that Chuuya had provided as example, Dazai continues to look through the rack, so Chuuya joins him and starts looking through the other end. He doesn't expect to find anything, but then, miraculously, his fingers find a satiny fabric that he immediately holds an interest in. He pulls it out to have a look at it, realizing that it's a long, pleated black skirt with a slim belt looped around the waist. Chuuya unhooks it from the rack to hold it up next to an oblivious Dazai's waist. It comes down to about his ankles, and looks like it'd fit.

"Have a look at that," Chuuya says, catching Dazai's attention.

The other boy's eyes light up instantly when he sees what's being presented to him. He takes hold of the fabric, a grin spreading across his face at the feeling of it against his fingers before he sorts his expression back into one of general boredom. "Hmm," he says, "it's alright, I guess. I think I'll get this one."

"You're not gonna try it on first?" Chuuya asks, and has to pinch the inside of his palm for the way he feels slightly disappointed at the fact that he won't see Dazai wearing it. What's wrong with him? "It might not fit, then you'll have to take it back."

Dazai shrugs. "It has a belt," he says nonchalantly. "Should be fine. It really is nice… the fabric is so smooth. Feel it, Chuuya. Feel."

He pushes the skirt against Chuuya's fingers. His hand brushes against Chuuya's, and a shiver runs down his spine at the contact. For a moment, they stand there like that, staring at each other's hands, linked by the smallest amount of skin to skin contact in the world. It makes Chuuya feel strange, a different kind of strange. He doesn't like it. Not one bit.

He pulls away before Dazai can notice how beet red his face has gotten and begins to walk towards the register. "Hurry up, now," he calls behind him, and doesn't wait to see if Dazai will follow.

Chuuya watches silently as Dazai pays with a credit card that he judges not to be one of his own and skips out of the line, clutching his paper bag with glee.

"Great," Chuuya says. "Now we can go back to -"

"Hold on," Dazai says lightly, stepping in front of Chuuya to stop him in his tracks. "I have to go pee. Be right back."

Then he is gone, before Chuuya can even shout after him that he's going to leave without him. He's tempted to make good on the threat even though he didn't have the chance to present it, but eventually decides to just wait, leaning against the wall next to the exit and watching people pass by.

After about seven minutes, Chuuya starts to think that maybe he should check around the side of the building to see if there are windows that Dazai could have climbed out of before he sees him emerging from the bathroom and stops short.

He's changed into the skirt. He had been correct, as well - it fits perfect, with the use of the belt. He's tucked his button up shirt into it, accentuating his waist nicely, and slung his usual jacket over his shoulders on top of it. It flows all the way to the middle of his ankles, making him look rather like a very self satisfied hourglass.

Dazai catches sight of Chuuya and grins, wider than he'd ever seen, before coming over and spinning like a top to show off how the skirt flies out.

"Look," he cries, pink in the face, and continues spinning until he gets dizzy and trips over himself, falling against Chuuya's side. Chuuya thinks he's going to explode for a moment until the boy pushes himself away and laughs, still too close to his face. "Chuuya, it's so awesome, look! It's so fun to spin in! I could just do this forever, seriously, Chuuya, watch me spin!"

And Chuuya does watch him spin, mesmerized, heart racing because shit, Dazai suits the skirt. A lot. It's like it was made for him. Not only does it look good against his body, but it looks good on his face, too - the delight written across his features making him seem years younger than he usually presents himself. It almost makes Chuuya want to say the word cute. The second that thought comes to his mind, however, he feels like throwing up because this is Dazai he's thinking these things about. Of all people! Dazai is not fucking cute or pretty or any of that shit, he's cruel and stupid and manipulative and Chuuya seriously needs to bash his head into a wall, now, to stop himself from saying any of the things he's thinking out loud, god fucking forbid.

"You're certainly spinning," he says faintly. It's all he can get out at the moment without either blurting out that he looks perfect like this or hitting Dazai in the face so that he'll stop spinning and smiling and looking like that. "Alright, come on, we need to go now."

Dazai's face falls, although once again, it's definitely an act to make Chuuya feel bad. "You don't think I'm pretty, Chuuya?" he pouts dramatically. "Come on, tell me how I look, be honest!"

Ohh, Chuuya's going to pull out the gun that he knows Dazai has tucked away in his jacket and aim it at his own head.

"You look," he starts, then hesitates, unsure as to how honest he can really be before Dazai starts making fun of him. "Fine. You look like yourself with a skirt on."

There. That should do it.

Dazai lets out a small noise of indignation, narrowing his eyes. "Not good enough!" he says loudly, placing his hands on his hips. "Compliment me! I know you have it in you!"

Dear god, Chuuya's going to die here in this fancy clothing store. "Why on earth would I compliment you?" he says roughly, making a face. "I don't like you and you don't like me. You just want something to use as ammo against me later, so next time I do anything you don't like, you'll go "but Chuuya said I was pretty that one time!""

"I don't sound like that," Dazai sulks.

"Yes you do," Chuuya retorts. "That's exactly what you sound like."

Dazai glares like a scorned child, the expression somehow not marring his good looks. It's irritating. Chuuya really wants to hit him or something. 

"Fine," he relents, and begins stalking towards the exit. "It suits you. There, are you happy?"

The grin is instantly back on Dazai's face, like it had never left. "Very much so," he says cheerily, bouncing as he follows behind. "Chuuya's sooo sweet, saying that I look gorgeous in my beautiful new outfit!"

"That's pushing it," Chuuya says, smacking the other boy in the arm. "Also, this isn't a new outfit, it's one new item of clothing. Do you even - Bastard, do you have your trousers on underneath the skirt? Are you serious?"

"It's cold," Dazai whines. "You can't even see it anyway."

Chuuya shakes his head in disbelief. "You should go to Kouyou," he tells him as he pushes on the door marked PULL for a moment too long before realizing what he's doing with a scowl. "She'd faint if she saw you right now. She's always telling me that "presentation of the self is one of the most important things to think about when waking up in the morning.""

"Huh!" Dazai exclaims. "How self centered. I don't need to put effort into my appearance to look as good as I do."

"Uh huhh," Chuuya drawls, eyebrows raised, "keep telling yourself that."

They're outside now, standing in the late afternoon sun. A cold breeze makes Chuuya shiver, and he turns to speak to Dazai before his words die on his throat. The skirt is blowing in the wind, and Dazai couldn't look any happier as he watches it flutter, up and down against his legs. His eyes are squint against the breeze, crooked teeth showing. Chuuya thinks he could stay in this moment forever and never get any more used to seeing the most miserable teenager he's ever met made so happy by such a small little thing as changing one item of clothing for another one.

Then he remembers himself and shakes his head. "Alright," he says, a little too loudly. "Back to the stakeout now, yeah?"

They look at each other for a long moment.

"We're not going back to the stakeout, are we?" Chuuya groans.

"No-pe," Dazai giggles, popping his lips as he speaks. He's hugging his jacket around himself to keep it from flying away, still grinning. "We're going to go get soba and telling Mori that you got super sick halfway through and had to go home."

"He won't believe that shit," Chuuya scoffs, but he's not making any plans to go against what Dazai's saying. "Which soba place? And I take it you won't be paying for mine, because you're a shitty person, but are you going to at least pay for your own?"

"I was thinking the Yamaguchi place on the high street," Dazai says, his words being stolen by the wind. He raises his voice so it can be heard over the sudden howl. "And of course I'll pay for my own, who does Chuuya take me for! I'm a perfect gentleman!"

"A perfect gentleman would pay for my food too, actually," Chuuya says, rolling his eyes before fixing them on Dazai again. "So, Dazai, whose card are you using to pay for your food? Just out of curiosity, whose name is on the card, huh?"

Dazai is very silent, face stony.

"As a matter of fact," he says, like he's just remembered something. "I left my card at home. Chuuya will have to pay for my dinner for me."

And Chuuya knows fine well it's a lie, that Dazai's stolen one of his credit cards to use to buy things, and he'll definitely have to cancel all his current cards and make new ones so Dazai can't get ahold of them. But he finds that for some reason, he doesn't really care right now. He will later, when he's going through the lengthy process of filling out a hundred forms while being on hold at the bank for forty minutes and cursing Dazai's name for using his money when he has plenty of his own and probably even gets paid more than Chuuya does, the bastard. Now, however, he just really wants soba. And Dazai looks… more presentable than normal. And Chuuya kind of wants to hang out a little while longer.

It isn't weird. It's practically Stockholm syndrome, honestly, the way Dazai's worming into his mind. But he'll think about it later, when he's home alone and complaining to his friends in the group chat about how unbearable Dazai is. Not now. It's not that important.

(When he decides it's time to think about it later, he spends two seconds on it before pushing it out of his mind again, and then he finds himself forgetting all about the incident entirely.)

"Jesus Christ, I know starting a conversation with you is always a terrible idea," Chuuya says, "but I have to know - what in the nine circles of hell did you do to your hair, Dazai?"

It's been three months since the day of the stakeout, and so many things have happened in that time that Chuuya never wants to think about ever again in his life. Things so painful he knows they'll live behind his eyes every time he closes them. Bad things, that cause pain in his chest whenever he thinks too hard about them, that make him wish he was another person entirely, in another life, in another world.

All that matters is that they're sixteen now and Chuuya has moved out of his old apartment and into a new one, far away from the memories of the old one. Dazai had taken only three days to discover his new address and start showing up unannounced.

He's here now, unsurprisingly. Dazai's been hanging around Chuuya far more often than he used to, these days. Chuuya wishes he could say he minded. But he's been really lonely as of late, and having Dazai around is weirdly nice, so it's been a while since he's kicked him out and has instead just been allowing him to sleep on the couch whenever he comes round.

Chuuya's been spending the evening making tamagoyaki, having recently taken up cooking as a way to pass time when he's not working. But now he's finished and plated his meal, realizing halfway through that he'd unconsciously made enough for two people, and has wandered back into the living room where Dazai is playing some first person shooter game on his PlayStation.

Now, since Dazai had been here today, he's been wearing a hat. Chuuya hadn't taken this as extremely unusual, considering it's close to autumn season and it's cold and drizzly outside - but he's just come back into the living room and found that he's taken the thing off and looks absolutely horrendous underneath.

Dazai frowns at Chuuya from the couch, his lips lowering further when Chuuya comes to flop down beside him with a plate full of food and none for him. 

"Why's it matter to Chuuya who does my hair?" he asks, sticking out his lip dramatically. His legs are pulled up to his chest, the controller resting on his knees, like he's trying to take up as little space as possible. However, Chuuya knows that Dazai isn't that considerate. He's just like that.

A few times within the past couple months, Chuuya had come across Dazai wearing a new skirt, ones that he must have bought for himself, although he never makes as big a deal out of them as he had the first one and Chuuya never mentions them. Really, there'd be no way for Chuuya to mention them at all without horribly embarrassing himself for reasons that he doesn't want to admit to himself. It's fine, though, because Dazai never wears them during work and only on their rare days off, so it never becomes a problem.

He's not wearing one today. Just a pair of black sweatpants, which is the most relaxed item of clothing Chuuya's ever seen him wear, and a dark blue hoodie that's a little too big for him. It makes Chuuya's breath catch in his throat.

Chuuya suddenly remembers he hasn't responded yet.

"It looks terrible," he says, grimacing as he looks it over. Dazai's clearly been trying to grow it out, and it's somewhat working, apart from the fact that whoever cut it last had seemingly held a grudge against Dazai for some reason. "It looks like someone blindfolded themself and went at it with a pair of gardening scissors."

Dazai is a little too quiet for a moment after that.

Chuuya shoots him a wide eyed look, realization dawning. "You didn't blindfold yourself and go at your hair with a pair of gardening scissors, did you?"

Dazai scowls, staring at the screen and deliberately avoiding Chuuya's eyes. "I didn't blindfold myself," he mumbles, fiddling with the controller buttons. "And I didn't use gardening scissors. It was normal scissors."

Chuuya raises an eyebrow, picking at his food with chopsticks. "Haircut scissors?"

"Normal scissors," Dazai repeats with a huff. "What the hell are haircut scissors? Are there really scissors made specifically for cutting hair?"

All Chuuya can do is stare at him in shock.

"Have you," he starts, disbelieving, "never been to a hairdressers? Ever?"

"Why would I need to?" Dazai questions, furrowing his brow. "I can cut my own hair. I don't need to pay someone to touch my head."

Chuuya sets down his plate on the table in front of the couch and gets to his feet.

"What's chibi doing?" Dazai asks, tilting his head curiously. 

He watches Chuuya cross the living room and vanish into the hall, where he enters the bathroom and begins hunting for his hair scissors. They have to be somewhere on one of these shelves.

Once he's found them, he sets them aside and goes back into the living room. There, he finds his plate entirely empty, and soy sauce all around Dazai's mouth.

Chuuya is unfazed. "I made some for you," he says, eyebrows raised. "It was in the kitchen. But whatever, I guess I'll just eat that. Follow me into the bathroom, now, hurry up."

Dazai looks as though he's reeling from several of the things that's just been said to him, but especially the last one. "What does Chuuya want me in the bathroom for?" he wonders, snorting. "I mean, really, how forward! Chuuya could at least take me on a date first!"

He feels his face flush crimson, and he practically snarls at the words, stepping close enough that his legs meet up with Dazai's on the couch. "Stop insinuating freak shit like that," he snaps. "I'm going to fix your hair, so get up. Come on."

"What?" Dazai says loudly, surprise crossing his face at the declaration. "You're not coming anywhere near my hair."

They're inches apart, Dazai and Chuuya, with Chuuya now being the taller one as he stands over him. From up here, Dazai's peering up through his dark eyelashes and it stirs an emotion in Chuuya that he won't name. He really is - not pretty, not that. Definitely not that. It's… something else. Dazai is simply something else.

"I just want to trim it," Chuuya says.

"Hell no," Dazai shoots back. "I can do that myself, thank you very much."

Chuuya looks him over deliberately, making a face. "Clearly, you can't."

"Yes, I can." Dazai actually sounds a little annoyed, something that always sends a thrill down Chuuya's spine. It's not often that something actually upsets the boy, and when it does, things don't go well for others around him. It's always fascinating to witness. Now, Dazai's eyes are narrowed thinly in that way they do when he's about to say something nasty to one of Mori's subordinates. "It's none of your business what my hair looks like. So stop talking about it."

There's a pause, in which Chuuya simply crosses his arms across his chest and stares, not breaking eye contact once.

"Why is this a problem to you?" he asks. At this point, it would be easier to just drop it, but now he really wants to know. "Tell me that, at least. There's no way you enjoy your hair looking like that."

Then suddenly Dazai is on his feet as well, nearly hitting the bottom of Chuuya's chin with the speed he stands up with. He's clearly tired of being the one with the height disadvantage here, as he steps away from Chuuya and smiles coldly, hands behind his back.

"Because I'm not stupid," he says sweetly. "Does Chuuya really think so little of me? If I was to let you anywhere near my head, you'd cut me up like I was a topiary bush."

Ah, Chuuya had forgotten about the fact that they're supposed to hate each other. A loud sigh escapes him. "Fuck's sake, Dazai, I don't want to ruin your hair," he tells him, watching Dazai's expression become even more guarded. "You sleep here all the time, if I wanted to ruin your haircut more than you've already done it yourself I could have done it by now."

"No, you couldn't have," Dazai says certainly, a smug smile crossing his face. "I don't sleep when Chuuya's awake. I'm smarter than that. So you're wrong. You couldn't have even tried to do something that stupid before now."

Chuuya is about to retort when he realizes that he really hasn't actually seen Dazai in the act of sleeping before. How hadn't he noticed that before? "Can't you just trust me?" he tries, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "I trust you with shit that I probably shouldn't all the damn time. I've been letting you stay in my house even though we can't stand each other."

"Correction," Dazai interrupts, practically simpering. "I break in and you don't kick me out because you're lonely and miserable without me around."

He has to take a moment to let that comment sink in, to shove down the anger that the words inspire in him, because he knows a reaction is what Dazai wants. He wants Chuuya to snap and scream and hit him because it means they don't have to have this conversation anymore. Well, Chuuya is more mature than that. If Dazai thinks he can't trust Chuuya, he'll just have to be the bigger person and open up room for trust himself.

"You're right," he says simply, and watches Dazai's eyes bulge with surprise. One point to him. "I am fucking lonely, because my closest friends were killed and I was dehumanized and tortured and went through hell and there's no one in the world that gets that. Except, obviously, the guy that went through it all with me, who gave me the option to preserve my damn humanity even if it could have meant the destruction of everything." He points at Dazai. "That's you, by the way. Asshole. You were with me through all that shit. And if I could go through all of that with you by my side and still trust you to sleep in my house even after you know all the worst shit about me, then I think you should be able to trust me to cut your damn hair."

He thinks Dazai is stunned silent, until he lets out a sudden laugh that sends Chuuya's heart plunging through his chest.

"What a speech," Dazai giggles, tenting his hand over his eyes as he shakes his head. "Did you rehearse that?"

Of course he isn't going to take him seriously. What had Chuuya expected?

He doesn't bother giving Dazai an answer. He just storms off, back in the direction of the bathroom, although for what, exactly, he's not sure of. He just needs a moment where Dazai can't read his face, because yeah, he's upset. He's upset that Dazai has seen Chuuya in the absolute worst moments of his life and still doesn't seem to trust him at all in return. He's upset that he's soft enough on the bastard that he's still allowing him in his house. In fact, he has a lot to be upset about. His life is ruined. Things really can't get any worse for him.

Then he hears Dazai in the doorway of the bathroom and he realizes that yes, they actually can.

"Ok," he hears Dazai say, "I am sorry, Chuuya, really. I'm not lying, I actually mean it. I shouldn't be so hard on you while you're grieving or I might break you."

This makes the rage flare up again. "You aren't going to -" he starts, gripping the porcelain edges of the sink. "- Break me, for fuck's sake, I'm a person, not a fucking object -"

"Bad choice of wording," Dazai quips, and Chuuya feels him come up beside him. He doesn't look. He's still too annoyed to. "Will Chuuya forgive me if I let him trim my hair? Just trim, not cut off any big chunks or anything?"

Now he looks. Stares into Dazai's annoyingly pretty eye, recognizes something like sincerity within. And then all the anger within him melts, because somehow, as much as Chuuya might genuinely want to end Dazai's life sometimes, he always ends up back in this same position - the one where he allows Dazai a reprieve from whatever punishment he's dealing out to him.

"I don't know," Chuuya spits sarcastically. "Can you trust me enough to do it?"

Dazai, however, doesn't miss a beat with his reply. "Yes," he says. "I was teasing before. Of course I trust Chuuya. He's my dog, isn't he? They're always so very loyal to their masters."

Chuuya, as thrown as he is, finds it within him to shoot Dazai an exasperated look. "Not a good time to be making dog jokes," he mutters, dragging his fingers through his hair. It's weird, now that it's shorter. "When I was just talking about how you were there while I was being dehumanized."

The other boy pouts. "Is Chuuya really going to make me apologize twice in one conversation?"

Chuuya only raises an eyebrow at that.

Dazai sighs. "Fine. I'm sorry again. There, are you happy? Is that good enough for your standards?"

It's not really, but it's Dazai, so Chuuya isn't really expecting anything more from him. Besides, it's nice to have confirmation that Dazai really does trust him in return. Even though they don't like each other. At all, whatsoever. "It's alright," he says nonchalantly. "You know, you don't actually have to let me cut your hair if you prefer it the way it is for reasons that God only knows. I can just avoid looking at your head when I talk to you until it grows in nicely."

Dazai shoots him a deadpan look. "Trust me when I say I wouldn't let you anywhere near me if I really did mind," he says. "Although it's nice that you think your opinion of me matters enough that I'd let you cut my hair because you didn't like the style. That's cute."

Well, now he's just trying to make Chuuya feel like an asshole for no reason. He hadn't even actually been upset because of the haircut thing, it had been Dazai's lack of trust in him that set him off - Chuuya is so easy to set off these days, like a stick of dynamite underneath an active volcano. It's not entirely Dazai's fault, for once. And if that isn't hard for Chuuya to admit to himself.

"Didn't mean to snap," he mutters. He turns around in the small space and plops down on the edge of the bathtub. "It's just too easy to take shit out on you. You know, because you're an asshole who deliberately winds me up knowing I'll blow up about it."

"Yeah," Dazai agrees with a sad nod. "I do do that. But I wasn't doing it on purpose today. I just don't like people touching my hair all that much."

Chuuya looks up, watching Dazai mentally debate sitting on the closed toilet lid before just flopping onto the floor and leaning back on his hands. "Why?" he asks, curious. "Scared of someone shaving a penis into the side of your head?"

"If you're the one doing it, maybe," Dazai replies with a crooked grin. "For your information, I'm trying to grow out my hair. I can't trust some random hairdresser I've never met to get it right. I've heard horror stories of people getting the most ungodly haircuts done by people who are clearly unqualified to give them."

This makes sense, Chuuya supposes. "What, so your current do isn't a horror story?" he asks, snorting and curling up his nose. "I think you'd have been better off paying some random in the street to hack it off for you."

"Perhaps so," Dazai says mournfully. His expression is rather hard to read right now, but he looks thoughtful, staring somewhere Chuuya can't see. "I just thought that since I know how long I want to keep it, I'd be able to do it myself. But it's actually really difficult, Chuuya, cutting your own hair. It's way more work than I expected it to be."

"I know," Chuuya says easily, before dropping the bomb. "I've been cutting my own hair for years."

Dazai's jaw drops. Even as he tries to hide what he's thinking, that brief moment of shock was enough to vindicate Chuuya entirely.

"What?" Dazai exclaims. "You? But your hair actually looks -!"

He cuts himself off, scowling, and Chuuya lets out a booming laugh before grinning back at the boy. "What, good?" he says, feeling rather pleased with himself. "Because I know what I'm doing and you clearly don't. That's why I suggested fixing it up for you in the first place, idiot."

Dazai glowers, glaring at the floor in front of his legs. Chuuya raises an eyebrow, waiting for a response. He's pretty sure he knows what Dazai will say, but he has to make sure.

"Ok, fine," Dazai sighs, sagging. "You can fix my hair. But if you do a bad job of it, I mean it when I say I will make your life hell, Chuuya. You'll have to sleep with your eyes open every single night and even that won't be enough to keep you from -"

"Yeah, yeah," Chuuya interrupts, and gets back to his feet. "Sit where I was sitting and I'll fix you up. But you have to stay still while I'm doing it, alright?"

"I know," Dazai says. He gets up and sits where Chuuya guided him, shoulders stiff as he perches himself on the edge of the tub. "And you have to try not to cut too short. Promise, Chuuya."

Chuuya bobs his head, grabbing the scissors from the side of the sink. "Promise," he says, and means it.

For the first few snips, Dazai is as tense as a bowstring, practically holding his breath. Chuuya's very close to him, he has to be, to be able to do what he's doing. He can feel Dazai's breath against his face.

It makes Chuuya feel unimaginably strange, and a little lightheaded.

Chuuya has dated before. He's dated both girls and boys, although he has a preference for the latter - it's just more difficult to find gay guys than it is to find girls that carry an interest in him. Regardless of this, no one he's ever been with has ever made him feel like this. And he doesn't like it. It's scary, enjoying being in Dazai's presence the way he does.

Dazai makes Chuuya feel very confused and very annoyed at the same time. He doesn't like to think about it for too long when he can help it.

Chuuya brushes against one of Dazai's ears and hears his breath catch in his throat and thinks - fuck.  

"Hey," he whispers, not too loud that he'll break whatever spell they're under. "I need to take your eye bandage off to cut the hair over here. It's all tangled up in your hair."

The younger boy pauses. "Ok."

So Chuuya begins to remove the bandage around his eye, curious because he's actually never seen what Dazai looks like under it. His fingers grace Dazai's cheeks as he does this, and he finds them warm and softer than the rest of his skin. Carefully, he peels off the tape keeping the bandages together and lets them fall around the base of Dazai's neck.

The skin under the bandage is paler, a few red spots dotted around the side of his face. In the midst of all that peers one dark brown eye, matching the other one perfectly, fixed on Chuuya brightly.

This time it's Chuuya's breath catching in his throat as he looks at the boy before him.

"Huh," he murmurs. "Your eye is normal. I thought you'd at least look a little different underneath. You just seem to have a rash."

"Mhm," Dazai hums, lowering his gaze somewhere away from him. "It's fine. I have cream for it."

Fifteen minutes of silence pass, and then Chuuya steps back and takes a good look at his work, at Dazai's wide eyes, at his lips, pink and thin and chapped.

"There," Chuuya says. He grabs a hand mirror off the top of the sink and holds it in front of Dazai's face. "All done. Now you look less like you murdered a barber and he came back as a poltergeist to haunt you in your sleep."

Instead of shooting back with some clever retort like he'd expected him too, Dazai only stares, wondrous, at his own reflection.

He looks much better than before. Some chunks of his hair had been unsalvageable, but Chuuya had done his best to neaten them up and hide them underneath everything else. Now, his hair comes down just past his chin, slightly shorter at the front the way that hair is when you're growing it out from the top, and it looks good, it really does. Especially with the bandage missing from his face, revealing more of himself than usual, making him look younger.

"It's nice," Dazai murmurs. "I didn't think you were serious about knowing how to do this."

"'Course I was," Chuuya says, and he can't hold back the smile that bites at his face. "I did everyone's hair in the Sheep for a few years until this other girl whose dad was a hairdresser joined us."

"Huh," says Dazai, raising an eyebrow. He takes the mirror from Chuuya's hands, continuing to stare into it. "How'd you teach yourself?"

Chuuya has to blink. It's rare that Dazai actually asks Chuuya questions about himself instead of just digging in his business without permission. "I don't know," he says, shrugging. "I didn't like other people being near my head with sharp objects, so I always did my hair myself. Then a younger girl saw me cutting my hair one day and asked if I could do hers, and before I knew it, everyone wanted me to fix them up too. It was cool. I got a lot of practice."

Dazai hums, lowering the mirror to meet Chuuya's eyes. "They relied on you for a lot, didn't they?"

He's got nothing to say to that.

"Just get up and go back in the living room so I can clean up the hair that didn't fall in the bath," he grunts, smacking Dazai on the shoulder and avoiding looking at his face. "And if you need another haircut in the future, for God's sake, don't try and do it yourself. Let me know first and I'll fucking help you, alright?"

The other boy giggles as he stands, becoming the taller one once again. "Aww, Chuuya does love me. If he didn't, he'd let me go around with a bad haircut making a fool of myself!"

"Yeah, yeah," Chuuya mutters. "I'm too good for that. Now scat. And don't eat the tamagoyaki in the kitchen since you ate mine. That's my dinner."

"I won't," Dazai chirrups, his fingers crossed behind his back. "Promise!"

All Chuuya can do is sigh and try to push the events of the evening out of his mind as he cleans.

They're out and about a few months later, doing nothing much at all, even though at least one of them is certainly supposed to be.

"Has Mori not given you shit to take care of," Chuuya says to him as they walk. "Mr Youngest-Executive-In-History?"

Dazai flashes a cheesy smile, cheeks hot against the September chill. "Nothing important," he says, sticking out his tongue. "Why, is Chuuya jealous that he'll never get an executive position now that Mori has me?"

Chuuya snorts, punching his arm a little too hard and revelling in the pained yelp that follows. "Don't push your damn luck."

Of course he's jealous. Mori still has Chuuya's file, the one about his history that he wants so badly. And Dazai knows it, the piece of shit. Chuuya was furious when he found out that Mori had offered him the position instead of himself - although not surprised. Dazai was always going to be the one to get it before him. 

That doesn't make it less irritating. Chuuya almost stopped talking to Dazai entirely over it. But the aftermath of the Dragon Head conflict made it essentially impossible to avoid him, so he was forced to get over his immature jealousy, and now they're back to having regular conversation again. If regular is a word that can be used in relation to Dazai and Chuuya at all.

Dazai and Chuuya, newly named "Double Black" by Port Mafia subordinates. It would seem that there's no way for the two of them to ever fully be separate from each other, especially not now.

Somehow, Chuuya minds less than he would have a year or so ago. What that means, he really doesn't know.

"Chuuya's a meanie," Dazai whines, rubbing his arm dramatically. "Can we get burgers or something? I don't want to eat stupid tofu."

"You agreed on the tofu place," Chuuya says lightly, not preparing to take any of his partner's shit. "We're going to the tofu place."

Dazai huffs childishly. "Fine. But next time, we're going to get burgers. And you're paying."

"I always pay anyway," Chuuya snaps, hugging himself against the cold. "Because your manipulative ass always pretends to forget money anytime we go out anywhere."

Another gust of freezing wind blows by, nearly snatching Chuuya's hat off his head. Dazai laughs, clutching his jacket close to him. His skirt flies, brushing against Chuuya's legs until it flutters back down again.

It's been a while since Chuuya's actually seen Dazai wear any of his skirts. There was a long period of time where he barely saw the boy at all, and when he did, he was miserable and tired, dark bruises under his eyes and fresh wounds lining his arms. He was very quiet then. But since he met Oda Sakunosuke, a mafia grunt that Dazai recruited a few weeks back, he's been a lot happier, something that Chuuya is endlessly grateful for. It unnerves him, seeing Dazai so dull and dark. He likes it better when he's bright and cheerful, even if it means he has the energy to be annoying and piss Chuuya off.

Like he's doing now. "I don't forget things on purpose!" he says loudly, clutching his chest. "Did you know that there's actually a connection between forgetfulness and bipolar, Chuuya? You can't get mad at me without being ableist!"

Chuuya groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. There's no point in arguing with Dazai when he brings up his bipolar in an argument. It's impossible. "You are literally endlessly irritating," he says, gritting his teeth. "It's like you have a second ability. Hey, stop walking, it's this place here."

They stop in front of the tofu place, one that just opened recently that Chuuya's heard nothing but good reviews about. Getting Dazai to come had been a challenge, but it seems the boy is desperate for an excuse to do anything but executive work - Mori really should have known that before he promoted him, so Chuuya can't feel much sympathy, if he wanted work done, he knows which half of Double Black is gonna do it - so he eventually decided to join him. Really, Chuuya could have invited any one of his subordinates who he's friendly with, but after losing the ones he was closest to during Dragon Head, he's elected to do his best to keep his work and personal life separate from now on.

He's not sure when Dazai became part of his personal life. Maybe he always has been. How annoying.

The boys spend their first few minutes after picking a table and sitting there just bickering about where the best dinner places in Yokohama are, with Dazai picking the exact opposite of everything Chuuya says just to annoy him further. But he can't even be that mad, not now. The restaurant is very well decorated, with brightly coloured lights strung across the ceiling, large windows and posters for various events in the city pinned on the wooden walls. Chuuya doesn't tend to go out to eat much these days, having no one to take with him places. He wouldn't be out with Dazai if there was anyone else.

"This place is boring," Dazai complains. He's shrugged off his jacket and baggy blazer, leaving him in his white button up with an old bloodstain on the sleeve. His hair has grown into a messy bob, now, dark waves falling into his face. It looks good. Really good. Chuuya hates it. "I don't want tofu, I want burgers and chips! Eating healthy is boring!"

"Stop acting like a child," Chuuya scolds, swatting his arm across the table. "Look at the menu before someone comes over. It's not even all vegan. See, there's a crab soup. So stop whining."

Dazai seems excited by that, and soon gets engrossed in reading off the menu under his breath. Chuuya, however, already studied the menu before coming here today and knows what he wants, so he takes the time to relax against the leather booth, pretending to read off the laminated paper, but examining Dazai instead.

They've been through a lot these past few months. This past year, actually. Chuuya never thought he'd ever get close to Dazai in any capacity. He hated him from the moment they met. And yet - Dazai's been with him through all the hell he's experienced since he joined the mafia, and Chuuya's come to see him as less of an enemy and more of a… Not a friend, per se. He doesn't know. 

It's like they're always walking a very fine line, neither sure what exactly is correct, what exactly they are to each other. Chuuya knows that they're both very lonely people, himself and Dazai. It's as if no matter how hard they try to escape each other's orbit, they always end up coming back to each other. And Chuuya has tried. Yet every time he turns, Dazai is there.

Kouyou had once mentioned the word soulmates to him, in context to a story she was told as a child. He doesn't remember what the story had actually been about - just the fact that the first, unfortunate thought that he'd had after that, was of Dazai.

"Egg fried rice," Dazai mumbles, startling Chuuya out of his thoughts. He's chewing on one of his knuckles, not paying attention. "I want the crab soup and the egg fried rice. Chuuya, get me the crab soup and the egg fried rice."

Chuuya snorts, shooting him a look. "I'll pay for you, but I'm not ordering for you. You're the extrovert among the two of us."

He looks up upon seeing an older waitress come over and flash the two of them a smile. Chuuya glances down at the menu again, making sure he remembers what he wanted to order, and then looks up and smiles back.

"Hey there," the woman says cheerily. "How's it going, you having a good evening?"

"Absolutely," Chuuya says politely. Dazai stays silent, allowing Chuuya to do this part himself.

"Great," she says, oozing customer service friendliness. "Alright, before I take your order, I ought to let you know that we have a ten percent discount for any couples that come in tonight, although there's probably a good chance that that's why you're here -"

Instantly, Chuuya feels his face flare up. "Uh, no, sorry," he stammers, letting out an awkward laugh. He refuses to look in Dazai's direction. "We're not dating. Just - friends."

The poor woman's face morphs into one of embarrassment. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she says, shaking her head and trying to smile again. "This couples discount makes my job so much more difficult, I mean, I - any time I see a boy and a girl walk into together, I'm supposed to ask them, so - sorry about that!"

Chuuya reels, feeling the forced smile he'd pasted on slip, until he sees she's looking at Dazai.

Dazai, who looks like he couldn't be any more delighted by this mix up. "It's completely fine, no need to worry," he says with a charming grin, and Chuuya notices he's actually pitched his voice slightly to match with her assumptions. "We get that all the time when we're out together. Anyway, I just wanted to ask - I know this is mostly a vegan restaurant, but is the crab soup also vegan?"

Chuuya doesn't listen to the response, barely paying attention as he orders his fried tofu. His heart's still racing in his chest. No matter how long he spends presenting as a boy, he thinks, he'll always still get scared about possibly being misgendered in public. It's a dumb thing to be worrying about, when his life is so much of a trainwreck on a good day, but it makes him feel awful and then he can't focus on anything. Maybe that's why, actually, he doesn't make Dazai stop doing that annoying thing where he refers to him in third person - it's kind of nice to have that confirmation, now and then. That he really is a dude. Even he forgets sometimes, and accidentally refers to himself with the incorrect pronouns in his own head.

Then the waitress is leaving again, and Dazai instantly drops the voice he'd been doing and leans in to whisper as if there aren't a million other people packed into the mini booths around them, presumably here for "couple's discount night," whatever the hell that is.

"Thank God the crab soup isn't vegan," he says, as if nothing strange had happened. "I would have cried, Chuuya, really. Imitation crab just isn't right. I can't eat it without gagging. Some people say it's just the same as regular crab, and they're insane - me and Mori had an argument about this once, actually. Chuuya, you know you could have just said we were a couple and gotten a discount, right? It's not like we would have had to prove it."

"I literally have so much money," Chuuya says, still not entirely with the conversation. "I don't need to pretend to date you to get a discount. Dazai, why the hell did you do that - that voice you were doing? Out of curiosity. I mean, you could have just said you were a guy, she wasn't gonna care about you correcting her."

Dazai blinks, then shrugs carelessly. "Seems like she was embarrassed enough about mistaking us for a couple. I just thought I'd spare her."

He seems rather put out, now, although Chuuya's not sure why.

"Huh, well," Chuuya says, slumping back in the booth again. "At least it wasn't me being misgendered this time. It usually is."

"Yeah, I saw your face when she said that," Dazai says nonchalantly. The waitress had taken the menus when she left, so he's just drawing circles on the table with the tip of his finger to amuse himself. "I was worried for you for a second. Chuuya's no fun when he's grumpy."

Chuuya huffs, trying to hide a smile. "Fuck off. I'm just glad more people - think I look like a guy these days."

He stops when he realizes this is Dazai of all people that he's trying to start a personal conversation yet, and is about to change the subject when he replies.

"I think Chuuya's always looked like a boy," Dazai says. He's brought a paper clip out of one of his pockets to play with, so he still isn't looking in Chuuya's direction. "Even before starting testosterone. I don't know why, I just never thought you could be a girl."

Chuuya opens his mouth, then finds he doesn't have anything to say. He can feel his face flood with colour, a pleased little smile twitching on his lips. "Oh-h," he says quietly, suddenly unsure of what to do with himself. "Well. Thanks. That's - thanks."

Dazai doesn't reply, but Chuuya sees him looking up at him in his peripheral vision. He's clearly trying to get his attention without actually saying anything, so after a moment Chuuya takes pity on him and glances up, meeting his uncovered eye. "What?" he says, raising his eyebrows. "What's up now? Don't ruin your one moment of niceness by immediately saying something dumb, please."

He shuts up when he notices how Dazai's shrunk into himself, how his eyes have darkened as he stares at the table like it's done him wrong. He looks… anxious, although about what, Chuuya isn't sure. It's not an expression that suits him. Dazai is a very bold, brash person who never cares what anyone else thinks. It's weird to see him look so small.

"What's up?" he asks, again, tone less harsh this time.

Dazai glances up, not at Chuuya's face, but somewhere behind him. "Hmm," he hums, casual as ever. "I was just thinking."

"Don't hurt your head," Chuuya quips, on reflex.

Dazai doesn't even react. He just continues talking. "Well, I thought perhaps Chuuya would be able to judge a situation like this best for me. I'm dating this girl right now, and I really like her, Chuuya, she's the most lovely person and she thinks my eyepatch looks really cool -"

"Bandage," Chuuya corrects, also on reflex. "That is not an eyepatch. Continue, but cut down on all the things that this girl likes about you before I gag."

It's no surprise to him that Dazai's dating someone - in fact, he is more often than not. Chuuya used to be the same, but he hasn't been out with anyone in a while for the same reason that he finds himself hanging out with Dazai more than anybody else. There isn't a lot of option for a guy like him. That is, a magnet for death and destruction. Dazai is one of the few that has never seemed to mind the chaos that Chuuya always leaves in his wake, and in fact seems to actively seek it out, to revel in it.

"We-ell," Dazai continues, scrunching up his face as he starts fiddling with the soy sauce bottle next to the menu stand. "She was talking to me the other day, and she told me that she thinks she might be transgender."

Chuuya reels. Of all the things he wasn't expecting Dazai to be talking to him about. "Oh. Well. Good for - them?"

"She doesn't know for sure yet," Dazai says with a shrug, and then finally meets Chuuya's eyes, almost deliberately. "That's why I haven't switched pronouns or anything. I just thought I would ask you about this, since you're experienced."

This makes Chuuya let out a loud laugh, drawing the attention of the table next to theirs. "Experienced in what, being a dude?" he says, chest shaking with laughter. "Am I seriously the only trans friend you have? Actually, scratch that, I'm starting to doubt you have other friends. Apart from that bar guy you hang out with."

He realizes his mistake as soon as he's said it, but prays Dazai doesn't pick up on it. He does. Of course he does. Dazai's eyes light up the second he hears the word, mock glee spreading across his face. "Chuuya thinks we're friends?" he cries, slapping a hand over his heart. "Well, isn't that sweet! Finally, he admits that he really does love me, deep down -"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Chuuya groans, dropping his head into his hands to hide how hot his face has gotten. "You know what I meant, asshole. I'm calling you a antisocial misfit!"

Dazai, however, is practically simpering. "It's so cute that Chuuya likes me this much," he coos, smirking in his direction. "I suppose dogs are man's best friend, so of course you would see me in such a way, seeing as I'm your owner and everything -"

"Oh, will you hurry up and ask me whatever you want to ask me?" Chuuya interrupts, mildly losing his patience. He's really regretting inviting Dazai out tonight. He is. "Seeing as I'm your info bank on all things transgender, and Google doesn't exist in whatever world you're living in."

Out of nowhere, Chuuya recalls a memory of… a year or so ago, actually, when Dazai had brought up Chuuya's gender and he had answered in a similar fashion. He hadn't even remembered that until now. Could it be possible that Dazai had known this person all the way back then, too? Surely not. Chuuya doesn't believe that Dazai could have kept a friend that long without having told him before now.

Dazai has gone strangely quiet. "Well," he says, voice low. "She told me that she wasn't sure how to know that what she was feeling wasn't just a - passing fantasy. Or that she wasn't making it up in her head just because she thought that boys were maybe better looking than girls, or because she was attracted to them and mistaking it for wanting to be one. Does that make any sense to you? I mean, I told her that she should follow whatever her heart tells her, but -"

Chuuya cuts him off with an exaggerated snort. "You told your girlfriend to follow her heart about questioning whether she was maybe transgender? Jesus, maybe you really do need my advice." He squints in Dazai's direction, laughing softly at his sheepish expression. "I thought you were supposed to be the one between the two of us that was really good with words."

Dazai says nothing, so Chuuya racks his brain and tries to put together something that will maybe convey his feelings on this correctly. It's really not his business what Dazai's partner does, he doesn't even know this person, but he understands being in the position they're in. And Chuuya, unfortunately, is the kind of person that always wants to help others and offer advice and do whatever he can for people. It's a little bit of a problem.

"I'd probably say to her that it's something she has to test for herself before making any huge decisions," Chuuya says, biting his lip as he speaks. "Having friends test pronouns on you, wearing something that makes you feel good about yourself, trying a new name or whatever, that's all stuff that might help someone figure out how they feel. I mean, if using he-him pronouns was good for - her - then I guess that would be a sign that maybe she's trans. Once you put all the little pieces of what makes you happy together, it all starts to fit into a picture, sort of. Like, I remember the first time I was in public and someone accidentally "misgendered" me, thinking I was a boy, and I was so elated and didn't know why. Stuff like that."

Dazai is very quiet.

Feeling a bit silly, Chuuya shrugs his shoulders, bringing his phone out his pocket to glance at the time just for something to do with his hands. It's a quarter past five. "I can't really offer good advice without knowing her," he admits, making a face. "But - yeah. That's pretty much all I got. So I hope that helps."

It takes a moment for Dazai to seemingly even register he'd said anything, his eyes briefly widening when the space between them goes silent. "Oh, yes," he says, smiling brilliantly. "I'll definitely offer up your advice. Chuuya ought to start a podcast, he really does seem to be a never ending flow of things to talk about."

"Hey!" Chuuya protests, straightening in his seat and reaching out to bang the table. "Dick, you asked me to talk about it! Don't start trying to act all nonchalant just 'cause you're embarrassed that you're coming to me for advice!"

"Ha- hah," Dazai sounds, pointing an accusing finger in Chuuya's direction with a wicked smile. "But Chuuya is the one who said we were friends. That's more embarrassing for him than anything that I could have done!"

Chuuya palms his face, groaning loudly. He should have known he'd never hear the end of that. "Oh, fuck off, you know I hate you really! Just the thought of considering you a friend makes me sick! I'll seriously throw up, it's that disgusting!"

Luckily, their food arrives at that exact moment, and Chuuya is spared of further ruthless teasing. But both of them are smiling, and neither seems to be able to stop.

It's a few months after this when Chuuya gets a call from an unknown number.

He's not doing much of anything, just playing some first person shooter game to pass the time while he waits for his pizza to cook, so he tentatively answers on the fifth ring, after having stared at the screen for a moment. Chuuya gets a lot less phone calls than one might think, giving his number to almost nobody, so an unknown call doesn't exactly stir positive feelings within him. Really, it could easily be Dazai on yet another new phone, considering he can't seem to keep one for longer than two or three months. That must be it.

His game paused, he brings his phone to his ear. "Hello?" he says into the silence.

There's a static silence for a moment, and then he hears a voice. "Hello."

It's deep and masculine and vaguely familiar. Chuuya can't place where he's heard it, and it spikes anxiety in his chest. He drops his controller and gets to his feet, wandering over to the window as if he'll see someone outside looking up at him.

"Who is this?" he asks.

"Ah," says the voice, and something in the background clinks. "It's Oda Sakunosuke. I'm a - friend of Dazai's. I didn't know who else to call."

Something about his tone makes Chuuya's heart drop, a horrified heat spreading throughout his body. Chuuya's met Oda only a couple times, but knows almost everything there is to know about the man due to Dazai's gushing. They have never spoken on the phone like this. There's never been a reason for such a thing. "What happened?" he demands, already imagining the scenarios, already picturing Dazai dead just like everyone else Chuuya grows attached to. "Is he hurt? Is he in hospital? His blood type is AB, if you need it, I know he always forgets -"

"He's just fine," Oda interrupts, and if Chuuya didn't know any better, he'd think he sounded slightly amused.

Chuuya swallows, breathless, embarrassed. "Oh."

Oda continues, slightly fainter, as if he's moved away from the phone. "Dazai's drunk," he informs him. "He usually doesn't drink enough to get like this, but he's in a weird state. He doesn't want to move, he won't tell me why, and the bar is going to close in about an hour. He hasn't told me his address. I was hoping you knew it."

Weirdly, this brings Chuuya a wave of pure relief. Considering this is an issue pertaining to Dazai, it could have been infinitely worse than the boy deciding to simply be difficult. "I'll be there," he says, already rushing to grab his boots and yank them onto his feet with his free hand, searching blindly for his jacket. He's dressed down for the night, in sweatpants and a hoodie, but who honestly gives a fuck. "It's that same bar you guys are always at, yeah? The Bar Lupin? Just to make sure."

"It is, yes," Oda says gratefully, a smile in his voice. "Thank you so much. I'm very sorry for the inconvenience."

"'Course, it's no problem," Chuuya says, and hangs up before thinking to ask how Oda knew his phone number.

Whatever. It doesn't matter. Chuuya makes a mental reminder to at least add the older man's number to his contacts later so he wouldn't scare himself if an incident like this were to happen again in the future.

He grabs a thick jacket, fit for the incoming winter and his less fashionable outfit, and locks the door behind him when he leaves.

The walk to the Lupin is too far, so he calls a car - he doesn't have one of his own at the moment, hasn't since his last one took a crash and was left half fixed in Albatrosses workshop when he died. He takes a moment to catch his breath when he gets there, paying the driver extra to stick around until he comes back. Then he's walking down the dimly lit ally and eyeing the neon sign, hesitating before pressing a palm to the door. The Bar Lupin is Dazai's place. As much as Chuuya hates him, he's never been here without a direct invitation from him.

Because of this, it's been a while since he's visited, but it doesn't matter regardless. Nothing has changed in the orange-lit interior, and he gets the feeling that it's been the same since the place opened. The Bar Lupin has a haunted aura about it, like there are dead men in the corners. It's so underground that there's almost no one there, just the bartender and two lone men drinking in opposite corners. Spookily, it reminds Chuuya of Old World. 

Thinking about that for too long will make his damn head hurt, however, so he flashes the bartender a smile before heading upstairs, where he imagines Oda and Dazai must be. 

And they are. He catches sight of the older man first, dark red hair swept back and stubble lining his lightly set jaw, pale brown eyes narrowed as he stares into his drink. Then he sees Dazai, face laying flat on his crossed arms on the table, Mori's jacket pulled up over his head to block out the surrounding light. Chuuya snorts at the sight and waltzes over, already exhausted after having just gotten here.

Oda must have sensed his presence, because he's holding up a polite hand to signal a hello before Chuuya's even come over. "Nice to officially meet you," he says politely, his voice even deeper in person. He has a strange aura about him that Chuuya can't decipher. "Dazai's told me a lot about you."

Despite himself, Chuuya finds himself flushing. "'Course he has," he mutters, but finds it within himself to smile and offer the man a hand to shake. "Nothing good, I assume. It's nice to meet you too. Officially. I know we've spoken."

"Several times," says Oda, and takes Chuuya's hand to give it a firm shake. His hands are calloused and warm. "If you recall me from the Dragon Head conflict, which you might not. I know there was a lot going on at the time."

Yeah. One could say that. Chuuya swallows and nods, feeling small and stupid all of a sudden, standing here in front of Dazai's friend who he's now realizing is definitely a lot cooler than he had assumed. He's very good looking. Chuuya had kind of thought he was going to be as much of a massive loser as Dazai, but evidently not. This man practically oozes strength, even though Chuuya both outranks him and is sure he could beat him in a fight.

Chuuya's not sure why he's debating whether or not he could beat this man he's just met in a fight. It's instinct at this point, he thinks.

"So," he says, regaining control over the situation and pointing at the obvious elephant in the room. "Dazai. What's his deal tonight, huh? Usually he'd have made at least one height joke and one dog joke by now, so I take it he's sleeping."

"He is," Oda confirms with thinly pressed lips. "I really don't know what's wrong with him. He's been acting unusual all night, and drinking way more than he usually does. He fell asleep after I called you."

Chuuya examines Dazai for a moment, scrunching up his nose before suddenly kicking out at the boy's lanky legs under the table.

"Chances are he's pretending," he explains to Oda, who he assumes must be confused even if his face doesn't show it. "He knew I'd be coming and wanted to hear me talk about him without us knowing he could hear. That right, bastard?" He kicks him again. "Don't you wanna give up the ghost and make those dog jokes already, or do you need time to think of a funny one?"

When Dazai doesn't move, Chuuya sighs and gives up. "Whatever. I don't care if he hears what I have to say, none of it is nice anyway."

He pushes the boy further towards the wall and sits, facing Oda and slumping back into the booth. The upstairs area of Bar Lupin is very small and only half of it is lit at all, the other half in perfect darkness. Nobody is up here. It's a strange atmosphere - it definitely feels like a place that Dazai would haunt, that's for sure. 

Chuuya turns back to Oda and sighs. "So, how was he behaving weirdly? What's up with him?"

Oda sits perfectly still, one hand clenched around his half drunk glass of what Chuuya presumes is whisky, if the two bottles at the end of the table are anything to go by. "Well," he starts, sounding slightly uncertain, expression giving nothing away. "Usually he's very loud, and tonight he hasn't spoken much at all. We had a friend with us earlier, and Dazai didn't say a word at all until he left about an hour ago. But he was drinking a lot. Usually he just orders a glass of whiskey and plays with the ice all night until the bar closes and I drink whatever he left behind."

The corner of his lip twitches at that, but then he turns his attention back to Chuuya and sighs. He looks exhausted. If Chuuya recalls correctly, Oda has children, so it must be a chore to come home from mafia grunt work to whiny kids and a whiny Dazai. Or maybe he enjoys it, Chuuya doesn't know. He can't understand what it would be like to enjoy that kind of life, personally.

"He started talking a few glasses in," Oda continues. His eyes keep flitting in Dazai's direction, keeping an eye on him. "He was just talking about his day, and then he started going on about wanting to… to die. Which is usual for him, but I still tried to keep conversation away from that subject. It seemed to upset him."

Chuuya cringes and says nothing.

Oda's eyes flutter shut and he pinches the bridge of his nose before straightening once more. "He kept telling me that he didn't believe he was "correct." He wouldn't clarify what he was talking about, either. But he worked himself up into a state, and when I suggested taking him home, he decided he was going to spend all night here and laid his head down. That was when I called you. I - I am sorry, about that. I don't believe he has anyone else that he'd trust to be around in a state like this."

Something inside Chuuya tightens at that, at the acknowledgment of being someone Dazai obviously trusts from an outsider who has never seen them together. It makes him feel odd. Chuuya bites his lip and tries to push it out of his mind.

"It's cool," he says, when he can speak again. "Not your fault this guy's a loner bastard. Hey, Dazai, are you listening? Huh? I'm calling you a loser."

Dazai lets out a shuddering breath, but nothing more. When Chuuya sits up and peers over, he can see his facial bandages and the tip of his nose, squashed against his arm.

Sighing, Chuuya grabs the boy's arm and moves it so he doesn't suffocate himself before getting to his feet again. 

"Do you have water?" he asks.

Oda shakes his head.

Without a word, Chuuya heads downstairs and asks the bartender to get him a glass with a charming smile. The man fills up a litre glass of it, neglecting the ice without even asking as if he somehow knows exactly what Chuuya is going to use it for. With a nod, he takes it back upstairs and back over to the lone table where Oda and Dazai are sitting.

"Watch yourself," he tells Oda, and dumps the water over Dazai's head.

Instantly, the boy is thrashing and spluttering, a howl ripping out of his throat that evidently is unconcerning to the downstairs patrons, because no one comes running upstairs wondering if someone's being murdered. Dazai sits bolt upright with his dark hair flattened and water running down his face onto his suit jacket, and Chuuya is distinctly reminded of those pictures of wet, sopping cats that Dazai always sends him whenever he's in a mood to be a pain and not answer Chuuya's messages. A small sense of satisfaction spikes in Chuuya's chest, and he's half tempted to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone to take a picture.

"Yes," Oda says, seemingly unfazed by seeing his friend soaked and yowling in the seat across from him. "I was thinking about doing that, but I thought you might enjoy it more."

"I did," Chuuya grins, extremely satisfied as Dazai comes to his senses and stills in his movements, taking in his surroundings and the fact that it is no longer himself and Oda alone up here in the booths.

He sits there for a moment, blinking water out of his eyes stupidly, before even saying a word.

"Chuuya threw water on me…"

Chuuya slams the now-empty glass onto the table before leaning in closer to Dazai's face. "And it was the best damn thing I've done all night."

In response, Dazai bares his teeth in such a manner that Chuuya recoils, thinking that Dazai might be about to try and bite him.

"You're a wild fucking animal," Chuuya snaps, before grabbing Dazai's collar and attempting to yank him to his feet. Unfortunately, Dazai isn't keen on cooperating and goes limp and heavy, dragging his feet. "Stop being fucking difficult. You're acting like a baby in front of your friend."

"Odasaku is used to me by now," Dazai mumbles into the soaked table where he's dropped his head. Across the table, Oda meets Chuuya's eye and shrugs.

"The bar's gonna close soon," Chuuya says, suddenly remembering what Oda had said on the phone. He makes another useless tug at his partner's collar, to no avail. "You're going to get kicked out and if you cause a scene you could get banned."

"Bartender won't ban me," Dazai says, and he sounds a little too smug for someone who's currently laying in sticky alcohol stains and crumbs. "Spend too much money here."

Chuuya raises an eyebrow. "Oh, so you'll pay your tab here, but when it comes to getting ice cream after a mission, suddenly you're broke as a joke -"

"Dazai," Oda interrupts, suddenly leaning forward and tapping Dazai on the shoulder. He sees the younger twist his position, trying to see his friend clearer, uncovered eye wide and glossed over. His other eye pokes through the soggy bandages that have gone limp under the waterlog, clear as day. 

"Odasaku," Dazai mumbles.

Chuuya watches as Oda reaches up to swipe a chunk of wet hair out of Dazai's eyes, huffing out a sigh. "It's not going to do you good sitting here all night. You know you'll get kicked out. The owners here are lenient enough on all our nonsense, you know this."

Dazai sits up, swaying a little as he does so and staring stubbornly at the table, lip quivering.

Chuuya takes this opportunity to jump in. "Plus, you're soaking wet now. You'll be uncomfortable and get sick if you don't go home and shower."

"I don't want to," Dazai mumbles.

"Well, tough." Chuuya is running out of patience. He yanks on Dazai's shirt again roughly, uncaring about how his partner yells like a child. "Hurry it up, Dazai, I don't have all damn night."

The boy sniffles. "I don't want to."

Oda sighs and moves the glasses on the tables to the side so nothing gets knocked over. "You've drank too much. You're not going to feel well tomorrow if you sleep on this uncomfortable wooden table. Why don't you try standing and see if you feel ok?"

Dazai shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

Chuuya grits his teeth. He hates it when Dazai acts like this, and with Oda present, it's all the more embarrassing. "Fuck's sake, will you stop acting like a bratty child and get up, you're inconveniencing both me and your friend and we all want to go home. I've got a car waiting outside, but if you don't hurry up, it's gonna leave without you and you're gonna be left here all alone -"

"I don't want to," Dazai shouts, and bursts into tears.

He immediately buries his face in his hands, digging his nails into his skin and doubling over as if there was any way to hide what was happening. His shoulders jolt with the force of his sobs, and he shakes his head, hard. Tearful cries fall from his lips in a way Chuuya's never heard from his partner, and he suddenly looks so very small as he curls up into himself, hitting his fists off the side of his head like he's trying to knock himself out.

All Chuuya and Oda can do is stare in complete and utter shock.

He has never seen Dazai cry like this before.

Sure, Dazai's acted, playing the role of a scared child who's never even heard of the mafia, tearing up to avoid the attention of other organizations looking to hurt him. But Chuuya's never seen anything like this. He's seen Dazai at some very low points in his life - seen him in bed after a month without showering, seen him cut his wrists up like butcher meat, seen him pass out cold from a week without sleep and smash his head into the corner of a table. Somehow, throughout all this, he's never once actually cried. Chuuya didn't think he was capable.

But this is real. Dazai is crying.

And from the look on Oda's face, he's not the only one that has no idea what to do.

"Shit," Chuuya says eventually. He takes a moment to squeeze his eyes shut and pray to no one in particular - why me, why always me - and then reaches over and wraps an arm around Dazai, helping to pull him back up into a sitting position. "Alright, fuck, let's just - come on, Dazai, let's go out to the car. Oda, sorry, could you -"

"Right here," Oda says, and is already scrambling to his feet to assist Chuuya in getting Dazai up into a standing position. It's made difficult by the fact that Dazai wants to keep his hands over his face and only digs his nails further into his own skin when Chuuya tries to stop him. Eventually, though, they get him up, and Dazai all but collapses against Chuuya's side. Tears instantly soak into his hoodie, leaving dark stains on the red fabric.

Chuuya holds Dazai close to him, suppressing the anxious pang in his chest that his partner's sobs instill in him. 

He wishes he knew what on Earth had caused this to happen. Dazai never has weird, emotional reactions to things. Not like this, not at all. So this coming out of absolutely nowhere feels like the climax of a silent battle that Chuuya hadn't even been witness to. And it scares him, because when Dazai is struggling with something and doesn't tell Chuuya, then it always ends up leading to bloody bandage sleeves and forced vomiting pills into the toilet and he doesn't want to go through that again.

Chuuya hates to admit that he really does care about Dazai. He hates to admit that he wants to be here for him through whatever the fuck shit he's silently putting himself through.

They take Dazai downstairs, and Chuuya is embarrassed by the way he protectively curls himself around Dazai as a makeshift shield so no one stares. Thankfully, the men in the corners don't even look up upon hearing Dazai's sniffles, and the bartender only glances up to nod in their direction as they leave.

"I'm sorry about the mess," Oda says quietly, and from his pockets he produces a small wad of cash which he slides across the bar to the bartender.

"It's absolutely alright," the man says, and briefly meets Chuuya's eyes. He has to be able to see the defensive blaze that's currently directed at him and him alone, but he shows no reaction to it. He really must be used to Dazai's antics, as the boy had said. The bartender only bobs his head again. "I hope the kid's ok."

It's drizzly outside, and Chuuya winces. Dazai's already soaked to the bone and shaking, which is technically his fault, but he feels mildly bad for it now. So when the three of them shuffle over to the car, still parked outside the alleyway, and climb inside, Chuuya shrugs off his hoodie and throws it into Dazai's lap beside him.

Dazai is crying so hard he doesn't register it for a moment.

"What?" he tries, when he can squint his eyes against the tears enough to see. In the close proximity, Chuuya can smell how his breath reeks of whisky. It would be enough to make him roll his eyes if he wasn't as anxious as he is.

"Put the hoodie on," Chuuya says simply, shifting closer to Dazai so Oda can get in beside them. With Dazai in this state, there apparently wasn't a question as to whether he was coming with. "You get motion sick, so you'll need the windows down, but you'll get cold if you don't have this on. You're still wet."

Dazai scrubs at his face, his lips trembling, but he grips the hoodie in his lap as more tears fall.

"I don't get motion sick," he mumbles unconvincingly, sniffling.

A hand crosses Chuuya's lap. It's Oda, silently passing a packet of tissues to Dazai. He takes them and blows his nose before tossing the dirty tissue to the floor with a huff.

Then he turns and buries his face in Chuuya's shoulder, a new round of tears wracking his body heavily.

He hasn't put the hoodie on, but he's holding it close to him like it's something precious instead, and Chuuya can live with that.

Or maybe he can't. It certainly makes him feel something he can't explain.

"Ah, Dazai," Chuuya sighs, clinging to Dazai tight, feeling his face reddening as he feels Oda's eyes on him. "Can you tell us what's upset you? So we can try and - I dunno, get you to calm down a little?"

Dazai shivers as the car turns a corner and the wind sends shivers through him. Something hot and powerful sparks in Chuuya's chest, and he runs his hand up and down Dazai's back, relishing in the way he sags against him.

He feels like shit, having lost his patience with Dazai too quickly and pushed him towards this breakdown. All he wants to do is fix this so neither of them ever have to speak of it again.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," Dazai sobs into Chuuya's chest. "I'm not right… I don't know how to make myself normal. I'm not good like this. I'm not right. It's stupid and bad and I want to be like a person. You're a person, Chuu-ya… I dunno how you do it…"

"Fuck, Dazai," Chuuya mutters, resisting the hysterical urge to laugh. "You are so fucking drunk."

All Dazai can do is let out a strangled whine and nod miserably.

Chuuya turns his attention to Oda over Dazai's head. "How much exactly did he drink?"

Oda grimaces. "Four and a half small glasses of Suntory Toki. His tolerance is higher than mine, that's for sure."

Dazai shakes in Chuuya's hold, freezing in the cold, so Chuuya sighs and takes the hoodie from his arms to wrap it around him.

This is far more vulnerability than Chuuya is used to experiencing around Dazai. They're never like this with each other. They spit and fight and hurl cruel words at each other because it's easier than whatever this is - whatever this thing is where Dazai is bawling in his arms and Chuuya is trying to comfort him. It's miles away from their version of normality. And Chuuya is terrified, because this thing that they're doing could be the breaking point between them. For what, he doesn't know for sure. It's too complex to understand. 

But the idea of Dazai completely dismissing this tomorrow and going back to his usual awful, sneering self is somehow the best case scenario in this situation.

When they arrive at Chuuya's apartment building, Dazai stiffens and goes dead silent in Chuuya's hold.

"We're here," Chuuya whispers to him, too gently. He thinks about how much he'll hate himself for this tomorrow before raising a hand to run through Dazai's hair. "You gotta get out the car now. We're heading up to my apartment, alright, is that ok -"

Dazai suddenly throws the car door open and vomits on the pavement outside.

"Ah, shit," Chuuya curses, and follows Oda in bolting out the other door and coming round the side to see if Dazai's alright. He's doubled over, still throwing up violently. Most of what's coming up is water. Some of it has splashed across the side of the car, and Chuuya winces, knowing he'll definitely have to tip the driver a little extra for that.

Oda brings a hand up to run down Dazai's back soothingly, face scrunched up awkwardly like he's not sure what he's doing. And if Oda doesn't know what he's doing, Chuuya most certainly doesn't. He's dealt with Dazai while he's sick and injured and being bratty about it. He doesn't know what to do with this version of him, the version that's a sobbing, teary mess.

Once Dazai's stopped throwing up, Chuuya helps him straighten and lean against the wall of his apartment building, leaving him clutching his own chest.

When he turns back around, Oda is already apologizing to the driver and tipping him extra for the vomit stains, which Chuuya feels moderately bad for because he's sure Oda doesn't get paid nearly enough to be having to pay for Dazai's antics the way that Chuuya spends so much of his salary doing. Oda catches Chuuya looking and smiles forcefully. "I got it," he says, waving his wallet in the air. Behind him, the car takes off, vanishing into the night within seconds as if the driver is afraid of the possibility of being asked to stay longer. "Is he ok?"

Dazai groans in response, scrubbing at his face fiercely.

Chuuya sighs, slinging an arm around Dazai and helping him stand properly. "He's at least not throwing up anymore. I'll give him medicine after I take him upstairs, make sure he gets changed and whatever." Then he smiles at Oda as well as he can, trying to reassure him that he's got complete control of the situation. "He'll be fine. Thank you, man, for keeping him safe and calling me."

"It's no problem," Oda says calmly. His eyes are on Dazai, something soft and sad in them. Not pity - nothing close to pity. "Please keep me updated on his condition. I doubt he'll feel well enough to do so for a while."

"Of course, for sure," Chuuya replies, nodding. "I shouldn't need you to come back here for anything, but I'll let you know if something happens."

Suddenly, Dazai whines, trying to stand up straight again and looking round at both of them with squint, wet eyes. "Oda is leaving?" he asks, more tears welling up just at the thought.

Oda softens, and reaches out to place a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I can't stay here," he says quietly. "I have to check in on the kids. But your partner is going to keep an eye on you tonight. I'll call you tomorrow when you're sober, ok?"

Dazai shakes his head, screwing up his face. "I want you to stay."

"I can't," Oda replies. "It's late. I'm sorry, Dazai."

This whole situation is so surreal. Chuuya has to blink himself back to reality to stop himself from dissociating until this is all over. "Let's go upstairs, Dazai," he says, patting the boy on the back to try and regain his attention. "It's cold out here and you need to get changed or you're seriously going to get sick. You don't want that, do you? Don't you wanna get inside and be warm?"

He's keeping his voice much more gentle, afraid of setting Dazai off like he did earlier. Or thinks he did earlier. He's blaming himself for it regardless.

Dazai's face crumples and he turns to bury himself in Chuuya's shoulder. Chuuya meets Oda's eyes once again, a silent conversation passing between them, and then Oda speaks up again, softly. "Dazai," he says. "I'll call you, all right? I'm not going to just abandon you. But I have to leave."

After a long moment, Dazai nods jerkily, breath hitching roughly. Chuuya breathes out a sigh of relief. He was expecting for this to go on much longer.

"Alright," Oda says. He steps back from Dazai, adjusting his jacket. "Alright. I'll see you soon, Dazai, and I'll call you to make sure you're alright. Thank you too, Chuuya. I appreciate the help."

"You, too," Chuuya says, working on digging his keys out his pocket. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Oda echoes, holding a hand up before he begins walking off in the opposite direction. Once he's turned away from them, he doesn't look back, and eventually turns the corner at the end of the street.

Dazai says nothing, still sniffling in Chuuya's arms, even as they go through the door into the warmth of the stairwell and then up to Chuuya's floor and into his apartment, where the timer on his heating has kicked in and it's even warmer.

His partner is still dripping, so the first thing Chuuya does is help strip his shoes, vest and jacket, leaving him in his button up and suit pants. Chuuya keeps ahold of him and guides him down the hall to the bathroom, wincing at all the water that's soaking his carpets. Dazai barely seems aware of what's going on, eyes squeezed shut, stumbling over his own feet. His eye bandage has almost entirely slipped off, now. He looks pathetic like this. For some reason, though, it makes Chuuya's chest tighten.

"You're taking a shower," he says firmly against Dazai's ear. "Sit on the shower chair, I'm gonna go grab you some clothes to get changed into."

Dazai blinks rapidly, spilling more tears down his cheeks. "Shower chair?"

"Yep," Chuuya says, opening the shower door and showing Dazai the plastic chair that he has sat in the middle. "I keep it for when I end up as drunk as you are now but still need to wash myself off at the end of a long night. Do you have the motor skills to unbutton your shirt right now?"

There's a pause before Dazai shudders and shakes his head.

Chuuya exhales loudly. "That's ok. Here, I'll go grab your clothes and hang them up here so you can change when you're done. Just wait here."

He leaves Dazai in the shower and darts into his bedroom to find something for him to wear.

The second he's alone, he has to take a few deep breaths, hiding his face to help pull himself together for a moment. His own clothes are damp and he smells faintly like whisky and vomit, but he can't shower until he's certain Dazai's not going to pass out and drown himself accidentally. He wants to get whatever this is over with. So he throws open his drawers, whipping out a plain white t-shirt, a black hoodie and his largest pair of sweatpants. He gets the feeling that they won't fit Dazai anyway, but it's all he's got, so he takes it back to the bathroom and hangs it all up.

Once he's done with that, he has to face the unavoidable task of entering the shower and facing Dazai head on, inches away from his red, stained face. His dark brown eyes are bright and wet, even more tears quivering in the corners, about to fall. He's at the very least not sobbing anymore, his shivering more out of cold than upset, and he's staring at Chuuya intently, as if trying to memorize his face.

Chuuya carefully undoes the buttons on his shirt. Underneath him, the boy startles every time one of his fingers brushes against his skin through the bandages.

"There," he mutters, trying to dull the pounding of his heart. "I trust that you can at least take your pants off. And the bandages you can just toss in the bin there. You know where the unused ones are."

Dazai slowly bobs his head, not looking away from Chuuya's eyes.

The two of them are very close together. It might be Chuuya's imagination, but he thinks Dazai is leaning even closer, for some reason that he can't comprehend.

Chuuya clears his throat and steps backwards out the shower, gnawing at his bottom lip. "Alright. Uh, shout on me if you need help. Don't drown or anything, yeah?"

His partner sniffles again, lowering his head and then nodding silently, eyes glazed over.

So Chuuya turns and leaves, clicking the bathroom door shut behind him. After a couple minutes of waiting, he hears the shower start up and practically sags in relief, slumping against the wall.

His headache has kicked in full force, so the first thing he does is root around in his bedroom drawers and bring out several containers of painkillers. He'll have to try and convince Dazai to take some, too, when he gets out the bathroom, but for now Chuuya pops two and heads into the kitchen to take them with a whole glass of water. It doesn't make him feel much better.

He drinks another glass and then goes back to his room and changes out of his clothes into new ones. He desperately needs a shower. For now, though, he goes back in his drawers and takes a pack of wipes to clean himself off as best he can before collapsing onto his bed and palming his face.

Chuuya is exhausted. He hadn't expected to spend his evening like this. All he wants to do is roll over and pass out, but now he has an emotionally wrecked Dazai to take care of and he doesn't know what to do. He is supposed to be the emotional one and Dazai is supposed to make fun of him for it. This weird switch isn't right. Chuuya can't figure it out.

The last time he'd seen Dazai, he'd been fine. He'd shown no sign of any imminent breakdowns coming up. What could possibly have made this happen?

All he can do is clean up as best he can, text Oda to let him know what's going on and wait for Dazai to get out the shower.

When he hears the water quits running, Chuuya knocks on the bathroom door. "You ok?"

He hears Dazai breathing unevenly, hears the shower door clicking. "'M fine," Dazai mumbles. "Dunno what to do with my wet clothes."

"Leave them there," Chuuya instructs him through the door. "I'll grab them and put them in the wash with my stuff when you get out, alright?"

"Ok," Dazai replies, sniffling.

So Chuuya heads downstairs and sets up a washing cycle, waiting only for the clothes to throw in.

When Dazai exits the bathroom, Chuuya isn't upstairs, so he has to run back up and check in to make sure he's alright. However, he finds himself frozen on the stairs when he sees him, eyes wide.

Dazai is wearing the sweatpants and the shirt, clinging to the hoodie in both hands like he had done with the one Chuuya offered him in the car. The thing is that he hasn't put new bandages on. Because of this, there are two large brown eyes bearing into Chuuya from above, and his neck and arms are on full display. Thick, raised scars, some old and white, some pale and pink, some thin and angry red, crisscross along almost every area of his skin like someone's gone at him blindfolded. There is seemingly no end to it. Even on his neck, there is one long, white line, as if someone has tried and failed to slit his throat.

Eventually Chuuya comes back to his senses and bounds up the last few stairs, ending up on a relatively similar level to him. Up close, Dazai's face is puffy and red, his eyes bloodshot. He looks awful. Despite this, Chuuya's stomach still flips, being this close to him.

"Feeling better?" he asks softly.

Dazai bites his bottom lip and stares somewhere behind him, blinking very slowly like a lizard.

Chuuya lets out a breath and takes Dazai's hands in his, slowly guiding him into the living room, where he's set up a bunch of pillows and blankets on the couch for Dazai to lie on. "I've got medicine and water," he explains to him, pointing at the table before him where he's set up both of those things neatly. "If you take two of these, it should dull the headache that I'm assuming you have. This one will make you less nauseous. I'm gonna go put the washing in, alright? Take the medicine. I promise you'll feel better."

Just as he's about to leave, Dazai grabs Chuuya's hand. He's cold, colder than someone who's just stepped out of a hot shower should be, and he's still shaking.

"Stay here," Dazai croaks.

Chuuya shakes his head and does his best to soften his tone. "I'll be back in a minute, ok, Dazai? Just take that medicine. It'll help."

Dazai presses his lips together and stares at the table, still not letting go.

Something hot, a rush of something that Chuuya immediately knows is affection, courses through him.

He doesn't know when he became close enough to Dazai to stop hating him as much as he did a couple years ago and start to want to spend time around him. When he started to want to keep him safe. It's a frustrating feeling, because Chuuya knows Dazai doesn't feel the same way. Chuuya knows that all he is to Dazai is his stupid partner who will always pay for his food and always drop everything to help him at any opportunity. That's why Chuuya wants more than anything not to care about Dazai's feelings. It would be so much easier just to shake him off and walk away right now. To snap about how clingy and annoying he's being and leave.

Somehow, he can't do it. And that's what makes Chuuya weak. It's too easy for people to get into his heart and make a space there that always aches and bleeds when they leave.

"Just a minute," Chuuya whispers to the younger boy. "I'll be back."

Dazai goes limp and drops his hands back down to his sides.

Chuuya practically runs to the bathroom to grab Dazai's clothes and put them in the washing machine. Once the cycle has started, he has the idea to grab a hairdryer and brush before returning to Dazai, who hasn't moved in the time Chuuya's been gone. His hair is hanging loosely in his face, still damp. Chuuya is overcome with the urge to push it out from his eyes the way Oda had and let his hands linger there.

"Let me dry your hair," he proposes.

Dazai looks up, blinking himself back to the present, his vision clearing in wonder.

"Will you be nice about it?" he mumbles.

Chuuya's heart skips. "Yeah, of course," he rushes to say. "Just let me know if I hurt you."

Chuuya's heart is racing as he plugs in the hairdryer and brings it over towards Dazai, aiming it at his head. The second it turns on, Dazai stiffens, eyes bulging as the heat hits his scalp. "Sorry," Chuuya murmurs, so softly that he isn't sure either of them can ever hear it. "Sorry."

The first drag of the brush through his hair makes them both hold their breath.

Neither of them dare to speak as Chuuya flits the hairdryer around Dazai's head, bringing the brush up and down through his dark locks, wincing when they tug just hard enough that Dazai has to bite back a whine that he doesn't quite suppress. This - this is more intimate than anything else they've done tonight. Maybe more than anything at all. The way Dazai is still sniffling and wiping his face, scars on full display, willingly allowing his partner to touch him this gently, is insane. This whole evening is insane.

Only a couple minutes pass before Chuuya realizes that Dazai has started crying again, subtly enough that he could have missed it if he hadn't taken notice of the way his shoulders tremble minutely.

Chuuya flips the switch on the hairdryer and sets it down on the floor before touching Dazai's side to signal for him to turn and face him.

Dazai's face is scrunched up in upset and shame, and this time he refuses to look anywhere close to Chuuya's face, opting to stare at their legs instead, brushing against each other in their proximity. Chuuya doesn't think before bringing a hand up to his face, fingers gracing his wet cheeks, wiping the tears away from his skin.

What am I fucking doing, Chuuya thinks desperately, but he doesn't stop himself the way he should. Instead, he slides his hand down Dazai's face to his neck down his back, and pulls him close, pulls him into a gentle hug.

Chuuya hadn't turned the light on when he came in here earlier, so it's nearly pitch dark, only the light from the hallway casting a glow onto the hardwood floor and up the couch where they're sat. This allows Dazai the privacy to hide against Chuuya, even as his hands slide up his side to clutch at his hoodie like a lifeline. This allows Chuuya the privacy to bury his own face in Dazai's shoulders and hold him, too, eyes squeezed shut. He hears Dazai sobbing softly, shivering in his arms, and it makes Chuuya's chest feel tight and wrong.

"You're ok," Chuuya whispers soothingly, cringing at the sound of his own voice. If Dazai was sober, he'd make fun of him forever for this, no doubt about it.

Dazai shakes his head, hard, his hair tickling Chuuya's jaw.

"No," he replies fiercely. "Nothing will ever be ok. It's not fair."

Chuuya feels sick, and holds Dazai impossibly closer. "Yes it will. Don't say that."

"You don't understand," Dazai whispers hoarsely, choking out a strangled laugh, "stupid Chibi, you don't understand anything, you're too dumb to even get it. It's not right. I'm not right. Everything is wrong with me."

"Not true," Chuuya argues. Dazai's hair is warm and smells like coconut. At least he used shampoo and didn't just wet his hair like he'd thought he might. "There's nothing wrong with you, Dazai."

"There is," Dazai snaps, breath catching at the end of his words. "My head isn't right and I'm always thinking things that are wrong and I thought I could understand it but I'm too stupid and wrong. I'm all wrong. Nothing about me fits how it should."

Fuck, Chuuya wishes he could peer inside Dazai's mind, past the drunkenness that doesn't allow him to phrase coherent sentences, and understand what exactly is upsetting him so he can say the right words to fix it. But he doesn't think Dazai knows how to say it, and it's frustrating, because this is how every conversation like this between them goes. Chuuya wants to help Dazai. Dazai just doesn't want to be helped. It's like he gets something out of confusing and upsetting Chuuya, making him worry about it.

It would be so much easier not to care.

"You're not stupid," Chuuya murmurs, against his better sense. "Ok? You're so fucking clever, Dazai. Whatever you think is wrong, you'll figure it out and when you do, I'll do my absolute best to help you fix it."

Dazai hiccups, shaking his head against Chuuya. He gets the feeling that he's wiping snot on his hoodie and cringes.

"I'm wrong," Dazai sobs. "I'm wrong. I'm wrong and wrong and wrong."

Chuuya lets out a breath, squeezing his arms around Dazai's chest. His lips are so close to his skin. "You're not wrong," Chuuya says with certainty, allowing no room for argument. "You're just a bipolar seventeen year old boy."

For some reason, this sparks a new round of cries that shakes Dazai against him, fresh sobs falling from his lips and tears soaking his shirt.

Chuuya feels so fucking helpless.

"I'm sorry," he says weakly. "I'm sorry, Dazai, I don't know what to say."

"Nothing's right," Dazai mumbles against him. "I'm so stupid, Chibi, I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Chuuya replies. It's not true - Dazai has a lot to be sorry for, but not this. Not whatever he's so fucking upset about. "Don't worry about anything right now. I've got you."

It takes a while for Dazai's sobs to slow, for the rising and falling of his chest to shudder to a stop, for the tears to stop flowing down his face and for him to quiet down, the occasional shiver wracking his body as he calms.

Chuuya stays stock still, staring at the sliver of light that comes through the door.

"I'm bad," Dazai whispers, voice breaking. "I'm bad and I'm wrong and nothing makes sense."

"You're not bad," Chuuya whispers back. "You're just seventeen."

A few minutes pass before Dazai goes entirely limp and Chuuya's heart stops with fear. He pushes Dazai away so he can see him properly, eyes bulging, until he sees that Dazai is, in fact, still breathing. Chuuya has to blink several times out of shock. Dazai had just fallen asleep.

Warmth lights up in Chuuya's chest. Carefully, he lies the boy down almost the blankets and pillows, heart clenching when he notices Dazai still clinging to Chuuya's hoodie in his hands. After a moment of thought, he decides to turn on a lamp so that Dazai doesn't wake up in complete blackness and freak out, and then he pulls a blanket over the boy and takes a moment to stare at how he looks curled up in Chuuya's bedding. The soft brown curls peeking out from the top of the blue blanket, his eyelashes dark against his blotchy pink cheeks.

Chuuya's suddenly overcome with the urge to bend down and kiss him on the head.

He won't, because he's not fucking insane, even if all the other events of the evening speak otherwise. Instead, he heads downstairs and waits for the remaining three minutes of the wash cycle to take the clothes out and hang up on the heated airer in the living room where Dazai is. After that, he's not sure what to do. Whether he should just go to bed or if he should stay up to make sure Dazai's ok.

Eventually he decides on leaving a mixing bowl on the table next to the medicine and glass of water in case Dazai throws up in the night, and turns off the hall light before heading into his room for the night.

Oda (02:09): Is Dazai alright still?

Me (02:10): Yeah, he's sleeping. I'm going to bed too, soon. Just in case you wonder where I've vanished to.

Oda (02:11): Alright. Goodnight.

Chuuya spends a moment just standing in the middle of his room, thinking about the utter insanity of this evening, and what this might mean for the future of his and Dazai's relationship. The possibility of them not speaking again because of this is something that fifteen year old Chuuya would have cheered about, but scares him now. Scares him far more than he wishes it would.

He just hopes Dazai sleeps for long enough that Chuuya wakes up first and they can talk in the morning when they're both sober.

That's his last thought before he lies down on top of his cool covers and passes out almost immediately.

He's gone the next morning. 

Chuuya isn't surprised, but still worried, because of course he is. Dazai's taken his clothes off the airer and left the ones Chuuya had given him to wear strewn across the floor, although weirdly the hoodie he'd been clinging to last night also seems to be missing. In the bathroom, an entire roll of bandages has been dropped in the shower, half unraveled. His shoes and jacket are also gone, as expected. Apart from this, there are no signs of Dazai's presence. He's even taken the blankets and pillows and thrown them somewhere behind the couch.

Before doing anything else, Chuuya texts Oda.

Me (08:12): Have you seen Dazai?

Me (08:12): He left sometime this morning.

Surprisingly, Oda replies within minutes, while Chuuya's brushing his teeth.

Oda (08:15): Nope. I'll let you know if I do.

He doesn't sound concerned, but then again, a lot of Oda's words in person don't seem to carry the correct emotional weight that they should, so Chuuya doesn't see why they would over text. Nevertheless, Chuuya replies saying that he'll keep an eye out, and sets about getting ready for the day as usual. As if nothing is wrong.

All he can do is think about Dazai.

Looking back with a clear mind, his behaviour last night was even more concerning. All those things he'd said to Chuuya, saying he was stupid and bad, were so insanely out of character that it makes his head spin. Dazai is not a self deprecating person, not in any obvious way - of course, it couldn't be clearer that he hates himself, but he loves to act the ass, pretending he believes he's the most perfect person in the world and that everybody loves him. Hearing him say his true feelings out loud was just wrong, like Chuuya had stepped into an alternate universe. 

In fact, after thinking this, Chuuya actually spends a few minutes traversing his apartment to see if anything is out of place in case it is an alternate universe, but he finds nothing that would confirm this, so he finishes going about his morning routine.

The main place he wants to check is Dazai's shipping container.

He found out where Dazai lives a couple months ago, when Dazai had an injury and was too out of it to keep the information from Chuuya. He had been absolutely horrified when he'd seen the environment that Dazai had been living in since he was god knows how young. Chuuya knows Dazai has money, so why was he putting himself through such shit when he didn't have to? Dazai didn't tell him. Of course, Chuuya can guess - laziness, a form of self harm - but that doesn't make it any easier to witness. 

He's only been there a couple times. There's never really been much reason for him to be there more. After Chuuya had found out, he'd started being a little less reluctant to allow Dazai to spend time at his house more often, so now he's there pretty much always, which Chuuya doesn't even mind all that much anymore. Knowing what he's keeping Dazai from going through makes him feel better about it, even when his partner is a bratty piece of shit. Dazai would have to do something really awful for Chuuya to want to kick him out anyway, and so far that hasn't happened, so it doesn't matter.

Now, Chuuya is driving his motorcycle down to the docks, already making mental notes of other places Dazai might be this early in the day. Praying to whatever might be listening that Dazai hasn't hurt himself. Chuuya doesn't know if he can handle seeing his partner in a state like that again without breaking down, and Dazai would never let him live it down if he did.

It's warm and sunny, a cool breeze coming in off the sea the closer Chuuya gets to the water. Eventually the shipping docks come into view, tens of abandoned metal containers stacked at random along the water's edge. He can never understand why the local council hasn't done anything about this place yet. Sometimes he considers submitting a complaint about it, just so that Dazai will be forced to find somewhere nicer to live. Although, knowing him, he'd make a home out of a box in a trash dump out of complete spite.

After he pulls over at the gates, he has to shake his helmet off and leave it on the seat, knowing that no one would dare to touch it if they know what's good for them. The docks are quiet and even hotter than the surrounding area, probably due to the heat of the expanding metal on all sides. It takes him a while to find Dazai's container - a red one with the number 42 in bold on the side. The door is closed. Chuuya's not sure if that's a good sign or not.

"Dazai," he calls. He knocks his knuckles against the door, wincing at the heat that he can feel even through his gloves. "Hey. Dazai. You here?"

When there's no reply, he activates Tainted to drag the door open and finds that it is entirely void of any Dazais. All there is are the usual things - a scuffed fridge hooked up to a weakly whirring generator, a lightbulb that blinks with pale light, a dirty futon thrown across the floor, a plastic chair facing a wall, and a few cardboard boxes full of what looks like clothes and other various nicknacks. Almost everything in the room is stained with blood at least a little. It's dark, and the heat is instantly overwhelming, so much so that Chuuya has to turn and walk back out, panting and wiping sweat off his head.

Picturing the little fifteen year old Dazai he'd had so many scuffles with lying on that stained futon, roasting and dizzy in the heat and freezing and sluggish in the winter, makes him feel fucking sick, so he elects to simply sit down and not think about it.

His plan is to wait for Dazai to come back, because he has no doubt that the boy's made a million plans for the day to avoid Chuuya being able to find him, but he's also sure that Dazai's self esteem is low enough that he won't think Chuuya will wait here all day to make sure he's alright. Chuuya doesn't have any other plans for the rest of the day anyway, so he might as well do this. Might as well sprawl out on the ground and flick open a pack of cigarettes to spend the morning chain smoking, watching like a hawk for any sign of Dazai coming around the corner.

It gets to be afternoon, and Chuuya considers calling Kouyou and asking if she'll bring him something to eat, but she'll definitely ask questions about why he's here and he does not have the will to deal with that. So he lies down and untangles his headphones from his pocket, plugging them into his phone and playing his music from Spotify. That wastes away an hour or so.

A couple times he considers giving up, but then he thinks about the possibility of Dazai coming back here injured or depressed, thinking about hurting himself, and resigns himself to an afternoon here. He'll wait as long as it takes.

At two pm, he turns off his music and listens to the water, the birds circling overhead and the cars on the road. This is so mind numbingly boring, and takes Chuuya back to that stakeout Mori had made him and Dazai participate in, over a year ago. They'd gotten into so much trouble for abandoning it to go shopping - Mori had angrily told them off for hours. Thinking about it now makes him snort with laughter. 

Chuuya has to keep reminding himself of the fact that he is doing this of his own free will, and isn't being forced by his boss this time.

It's all worth it when he finally sees him.

As suspected, Dazai's clearly not expecting there to be someone there. He rounds the corner with his eyes cast to the floor, lips pressed in a fine line, and then he glances up and freezes on the spot, eyes bulging almost comically. Chuuya sees the moment when his fight or flight kicks in, and the moment when he picks flight, and immediately holds up both his hands to let Dazai know he's not here to do anything to him.

"Hey," he says, sitting up on the spot. "You left this morning. I didn't know if you were ok."

Dazai's eyes narrow from where he's still standing a couple feet away, and he huffs. "I'm fine," he clips. "You can go now."

"No can do," Chuuya says. As he's saying this, he's pushing himself up onto his feet, swaying unsteadily. "I sat here all day waiting for you. I'm not just gonna leave now."

They stare at each other in silence.

"Why?" Dazai says, monotone.

Chuuya crosses his arms across his chest, annoyance sparking in him. "Because you got so drunk last night that you cried and left snot all over my damn shirt," he says, feeling slightly satisfied at the way Dazai recoils and flushes furiously. "I was worried, asshole. I am worried still. There's clearly been something up with you lately and I don't understand what. But your friend took the time to involve me just to make sure you were safe last night, and I'm gonna do my best to make sure you are."

Dazai somehow stiffens further. The slightest flicker of his eye back to the entrance of the dock tells Chuuya he's planning to bolt. He won't get far, for sure. Chuuya's ability allows him to make himself lighter and faster, and Dazai is definitely hungover. There is no way he could get away from him, and they both know it.

"I'm fine," Dazai says. There is nothing on his face that would tell Chuuya otherwise.

He knows it's a lie anyway, because it's so fucking obvious. "Dazai," Chuuya says, taking a solid step forward. "I'm here to help you, as your partner. I'm not gonna make fun of you or anything. You've seen me cry a million times before."

A smirk briefly spreads across Dazai's face. "Yeah, Chuuya's a big crybaby."

"Don't try and distract me from this," Chuuya says hotly, pointing right at his face. "A lot happened last night. You weren't ok. Oda didn't know why, and I think you scared him a little."

Dazai flinches. "I don't care. It's none of your business. Move away from my house, please."

He moves towards him purposely, trying to push by Chuuya into his container. Chuuya holds out his arms to stop him from getting away.

"No," he says, "we're talking about this. It's important, Dazai."

"No it's not," Dazai deadpans. His expression has turned darker in a way that Chuuya has seen before, but never directed at him. This is the look that earns him the title of Demon Prodigy. "I'm telling you to leave, Chuuya, this is none of your concern. You don't find me up in your business all the time. I know you'd hate it if I was at your house after your youth group friends died, pestering you to tell me what was wrong. We don't do that. We're not like that."

Chuuya feels hot anger flare up within his chest, then remembers that this is what Dazai wants. He wants him to be upset and snap at him and leave out of frustration. So he takes a deep breath, relaxes, and stares Dazai right in the eyes, letting him know he's not going to take this.

"Listen," he says, as calm as ever. "If you actually aren't going to cooperate with me on this, then that's fine. We can go back to acting the same way we were around each other as immature fifteen year olds, and you can sit in your moldy oven of a house and pretend you aren't desperately miserable, but if you do, Dazai, I don't want to hear your shit anymore. I'm not answering calls past ten pm asking me to pick you up from a bar or stitch a bullet wound, and I'm not paying for you to eat expensive meals when you pretend you're a sad, broke teenager. If you're not going to - to present me with the same trust I offer you, then stop acting like we're friends. I'm not going to be used like that anymore. It's so draining."

He stops talking to breathe, and for a moment he's too embarrassed by his outburst to even look at Dazai, staring at his feet as he waits for his partner to reply.

"I don't care if Chuuya doesn't want to be my friend," he hears Dazai mumble. "I don't even like you."

Chuuya shrugs, biting the inside of his lip without looking up. "Whatever, then. That's that."

"That's that," Dazai echoes. His voice is slightly fainter than Chuuya's, more uncertain.

Chuuya's put so much effort into all of this, and he doesn't want to just leave, but if Dazai really doesn't want him here, then he supposes he won't be. He kicks his cigarette butts away, grabbing his phone off the hot gravel and shoving it in his pocket. He adjusts his hat on his head before beginning to make his way to the end of the docks, walking slow in case Dazai wants to say something.

Dazai doesn't look up as Chuuya passes, still staring downwards at his feet.

Halfway to the end, Chuuya pauses and glances back. Dazai hasn't yet moved, still as a statue, fists clenched at his sides.

Heart heavy, Chuuya sets off again, this time with the genuine intent to leave and find something else to do with his evening while trying desperately not to think about everything that has transpired in the last day.

"I think I might be a girl," Dazai says loudly.

Chuuya stops dead in his tracks.

Slowly, he turns around on his heels and stares in his partner's direction, blinking.

Dazai is facing him, now. Not looking at him - his face is screwed up, hugging himself and bearing holes into the floor somewhere away from them, hot humiliation evident in his expression. There is no sign of him not being serious about this.

"Oh," Chuuya says. "Oh."

Dazai scrunches his face further and says nothing, shrinking even further into himself.

Chuuya - needs to say something. He just doesn't know what. Fuck, he's trans himself, he should know what to do in a situation like this. He just hadn't expected it, not in a million years, not from Dazai.

He has always been under the impression that Dazai is above feelings like this. Then he remembers how the Sheep used to look at him, as if he were somehow different from them as a person. As if he didn't feel things the same way he did. What a stupid fucking thing to think, he curses himself, feeling like an idiot. Chuuya has been there. He should never have even thought something like that of another person.

He inhales, then exhales, then smiles softly. "Alright then," he says, relaxing slightly on the spot. "Do you want me to change how I refer to you, like your pronouns and whatnot?"

Dazai looks at him like he's an idiot.

"But I'm not -" he starts, and then hisses furiously through his teeth. "I can't actually be a girl. That's not how that works. I'm not - that. There's no way for me to be like that."

Chuuya furrows his eyebrows, confused. "Dazai, what the hell are you talking about? Not "like that," you mean transgender?"

"No," Dazai says, clearly upset, rapping his fists off his arms as he speaks. "I mean, I know it's not wrong for anyone else to be transgender, obviously, I know you, Chuuya, I - But it's not right for me. I don't think. I've been trying to figure out why I'm like this for years and years and it doesn't make sense. I don't think I'm a boy, but I might just be imagining things and I don't know how to figure it out."

There's clearly some internalized transphobia going on here that Chuuya doesn't know how to even begin to unpack. All that's on his mind is the desperate urge to reassure him and make sure Dazai knows this isn't weird. "You know you could have asked me, right?" he says, taking a couple steps forward to get closer to Dazai. "I could maybe have helped you before now."

"I tried to ask you," Dazai snaps, suddenly looking actually upset, lips quivering. "I've been trying for a while, but you're so stupid, Chuuya. I tried dropping hints and you didn't understand, I even tried asking outright and you thought I wanted to mock you. You're so stupid. You're stupid, Chuuya."

His voice wavers at the end of his speech, and he huffs, avoiding Chuuya's flabbergasted gaze.

Fuck, he had been trying to drop hints. Chuuya is stupid. How hadn't he realized before? How had he not even suspected?

"Shit, your trans partner," Chuuya realizes out loud, clapping his hands to his cheeks. "You made that up, didn't you?"

"Wow, point to Chuuya for realizing something obvious," Dazai practically spits, digging his nails into his arms and lowering his head further, trying to hide his face. "Good for you. Are you going to leave me alone, now? I told you what you wanted to know. Now I can go sit in my moldy oven and you can go away and forget we ever talked about this."

Chuuya drops his jaw in disbelief.

"Are you serious?" he says, the hurt evident in his voice. "Dazai, I asked you to tell me so that I could help you with whatever it was that was making you miserable. I didn't just ask so I could embarrass you. Do you seriously think that?"

"I don't know," Dazai replies, sounding nearly hysterical. "What am I supposed to think? You don't like me, Chuuya, and I don't like you, am I supposed to think you're going to sit and support me through my personal crises just because you're transgender and feel the need to try and help me?"

Chuuya lets out a huff of a laugh, shaking his head. "Fuck, Dazai, I don't hate you. You're the one who can't seem to trust me no matter what I do. I want to help you. I mean it."

Dazai shakes his head dully. "You're stupid. I know you hate me."

"I'm your fucking friend, Dazai," Chuuya says, before he can think about it. "Don't even try and deny it. If you wanted to spend time somewhere nice and clean, you'd book hotels or sweet talk a girl into letting you bunk with her. You wouldn't spend all your time with me if you genuinely hated me."

Dazai is silent, eyes glazed over.

Chuuya continues, his anger dying just a little. "I'm not here to humiliate you. There would be way easier and way more public methods of doing that if that was my actual goal. Dazai, I came here because you were genuinely upset last night and I don't know if you were too drunk to remember, but I was hugging you and letting you cry into my hoodie and bundling you up in blankets and shit. I wouldn't have been doing that if I didn't like you, ok? Is that so difficult to understand?"

There's a long pause, the heat beating down on them, sweat trickling down his back.

"Chuuya's stupid," Dazai mumbles, evidently too lost to find anything else to say.

"If you insist," Chuuya replies easily, shrugging off the attempt at an insult. "So, do you want me to use she-her on you, and refer to you with feminine terms and whatever else? Because I will. I won't tell anyone else if you want more time to think about it."

Dazai hides his face behind his hands, such an uncharacteristic gesture that it makes Chuuya snort. His face is burning underneath his palms.

"You'd do that?" he whispers, so quietly that for a moment Chuuya doesn't know if he actually said it or not.

"Of course, Dazai," Chuuya says, cracking a small grin with relief. "I'd be more than happy. Do you want me to keep it just between us? Or change anything else apart from the pronouns?"

Dazai blinks, them removes her hands from her face and smiles uncertainly, a small spark of life appearing in her eyes.

"I don't really know," she murmurs, clenching her hands into fists even through her smile. "I don't think I want to change my name. And I don't know what else there would be apart from that. It's a lot to think about."

Chuuya lets out a laugh, taking the last few steps to meet Dazai in the middle and placing an awkward hand on her shoulder. "You don't need to stress about everything immediately. Trust me when I say it'll be way too overwhelming to try and get everything out there all at once. But I'll do whatever I can to help, ok? If you - uh - if you need it."

Dazai nods, almost shyly, again so uncharacteristic that it's strange. "Well, if Chuuya insists," she says sweetly, finally looking up to meet Chuuya's eyes. "I mean, clearly you're obsessed with me, thinking we're best friends and everything. Oh-h, I need to tell everyone that Chuuya thinks he's my best friend, how cute is that! I wish I had recorded it!"

"Oh, fuck off," Chuuya says with a harsh eye roll, but he's still smiling. Casually, he reaches down and grabs Dazai's hand, delighting in the way her breath hitches. "Let's go somewhere away from this shithole. Permanently, actually. The few minutes I spent in there looking for you was traumatic, it's awful in this heat and it smells. If you're not gonna buy your own place, then move in with me."

Dazai meets his eyes, blinking wildly. "Huh?" she says, bursting out with laughter. "Chuuya thinks he's my friend and he wants me to move in with him - he ought to just ask me on a date, at this rate, it'd be quicker!"

And for a moment, Chuuya thinks about actually proposing it, just because he's feeling a bit insane right now and his heart is pounding with the exhilaration of it all. But he doesn't, because he's a coward. All he does is snort and swat at her hand. "Whatever," he says hotly. "In your dreams, maybe."

Dazai does end up moving in with Chuuya. She never admits that the change makes her happier, that her mental health improves significantly after it, but it's ok. She doesn't need to say it out loud.

"Chuu-ya," Dazai calls, kicking the door shut. Specifically kicks it, because Chuuya can hear her shoes clunk against the wood. "It's me-e. What's for dinner?"

From the kitchen, Chuuya rolls his eyes.

"Bold of you to assume I'm making dinner," he says, even though Dazai can definitely tell what direction his voice is coming from and will know what he's doing in here. "Maybe I'm waiting for you to cook. Did you ever think about that?"

He hears her slink into the kitchen, but doesn't even get the time to turn around and face her before she's throwing her arms around his stomach and hugging him from behind. She's still wearing her trench coat, the sleeves rolled up to show off her bandages. Anxiously bitten nails dig into his t-shirt all clingy-like.

"Ramen again," Dazai groans, peeking over Chuuya's shoulder to examine what's in the pot. "Does Chuuya not have any other recipes in his tiny little mind, or is it all taken up by doggy barking?"

Chuuya turns to face Dazai and brushes their noses together sweetly, a smile breaking across his face. Now, he can more easily see Dazai's dimples and  warm, squint eyes, and she's so pretty that Chuuya can't resist the urge to press a kiss to her nose.

"I could put poison in yours if you want a more interesting taste," he says lightly.

Dazai pouts, drooping against Chuuya's shoulder. "That's so mean! When can we next have crab?"

"I'm sick of crab," Chuuya complains, leaning his head against Dazai's as he speaks. Her hair is curlier today, short and bouncy around her chin. It draws Chuuya's attention away from whatever he's trying to say to her features, which he's sure is her goal, based on the way his pause makes her painted lips curl. In retaliation, he gently knocks his head to hers to move her off his back. "Go get changed, you ridiculous woman, if you want crab so badly you can just cook something for yourself."

She rolls her eyes, fluttering her lashes like she knows how distracting she is. "But Chuuya's my loyal doggie, he'd cook for me if I asked him sooo sweetly…"

"Dogs don't know how to use stoves, actually," Chuuya retorts, turning his attention back to the noodles in the pot. They have this same conversation almost every night. Somehow, he never gets tired of it. "Maybe one day I'll stop acting like a person entirely, just lay on my back in a patch of sunlight and never move and then you'll have to make the dinner."

"That's cats," Dazai says, leaning in to kiss the bottom of Chuuya's ear. "You're thinking of cats. Cats do that."

Chuuya huffs, letting his eyes flutter closed as Dazai continues kissing down his neck, feeling his smile grow. "Well, I'd know this if you'd let me get a dog like I want to."

"I don't like dogs," Dazai whines, squeezing her hands around Chuuya's hips. "They scare me. They're too loud and jump up on you with all their teeth. Yosano brought her puppy in to work one day when she needed to pick something up and it kept clawing at me and slobbering and I hated it. I wouldn't want that, Chuuya."

"I'd get a small dog," Chuuya sighs, placing a hand over one of Dazai's at his side. "Like a terrier or a pomeranian. And I'd train them not to jump up, I've told you this."

Dazai knocks her head into Chuuya's spine. "Still scary…"

She does eventually leave to get changed, leaving Chuuya to finish dinner and dish it up before taking it out to the living room and setting them down on placemats in front of the TV. They do have a dining table set up in the kitchen, but Dazai hates it, saying it's "cold and miserable," so they usually watch TV whenever they eat together. Sometimes they have movie nights where they watch whatever new has just come out on Netflix or binge some old series they never got around to watching. Tonight, it's just some drama they've both seen before, neither of them finding themselves wanting to put in the effort to get invested in a new movie. They sit together, and spend a while eating without talking, comfortable in the silence.

Or at least Chuuya thinks they are. After finishing up his bowl, he turns and sees that Dazai has barely touched hers, stirring the noodles around in the broth absently with eyes fixed on the TV. She's definitely not paying attention to the plot of whatever they're watching, that's for sure. If she was, she absolutely would have made the same jokes she did the last time they watched this about the redhead character looking a lot like Chuuya. Instead she says nothing at all, lost in her own head.

It's usually not good to let Dazai sit like this, because if she starts dissociating then she'll feel completely out of it for the rest of the evening and Chuuya will have to stay by her side all night, making sure she knows where she is. It always upsets him to see her like that, so he avoids it when he can. "You ok?" he asks softly, unsurprised when she jumps, taken aback by the sound. "You're spacing."

"Sorry," Dazai murmurs, instead of shooting a joke back at him like she usually would. But she at least meets Chuuya's eyes and smiles, not looking like she means it.

"What's up?" Chuuya asks, frowning deeply. He sets down his bowl and lowers the volume of the movie, not pausing it so Dazai can keep some of the attention off herself if she needs.

Dazai takes a breath, and then laughs, shaking her head. "I just realized something quite funny. It's the seven year anniversary of me coming out to you as trans."

Chuuya jolts. "What - seven?"

She laughs, tossing back her head. "Yeah. Isn't that so funny? I didn't even notice before now, but I remember making note of the date after we talked that day. Even then, I was a sap." She reaches out and grabs Chuuya's hand, intertwining their fingers and staring at them warmly. "I would have rather died than let you know that then."

"I'm sure," Chuuya says, amused. He can't believe how quickly time passes. Everything that's happened since that day so long ago at the docks has been an utter blur of insanity. "I mean, wow. It's difficult to even remember having ever thought of you as a guy. It feels wrong in my mind."

Dazai laughs again, softer, and suddenly dives across the couch to hide her face in Chuuya's chest.

"I can tell you this now," she whispers, playing with a button on his shirt. "But I was so, so nervous about you finding out. I don't know why, looking back on it now. I had the idea in my mind that you'd reject me for some reason despite being trans yourself. I just really hated myself back then."

Chuuya sinks further into the couch, reaching up to push Dazai's hair off her forehead with the tips of his fingers and kissing the crown of her head. She shudders under his touch, and he smiles. "I would never have rejected you for anything. I mean, I've told you before that I was completely in love with you the entire time without even realizing it, right?"

"Yes," Dazai says mischievously, glancing up to look at Chuuya's face. Her hair brushes against his chin. "I suppose I can admit that I might have liked you too, if you haven't caught on by now."

Chuuya raises an eyebrow. "What, really? No fucking way. I refuse to believe that the girl who followed me around all the time, pestering me and doing all but pulling my pigtails, had a thing for me."

Dazai smirks. "My courting methods have a one hundred percent success rate so far."

She pulls her left hand out from under Chuuya to show off the glimmering gold ring on her finger.

"Wouldn't you say?" she continues. Her chocolate eyes sparkle with mirth.

Chuuya has to lean over and kiss her. She's presented him with no other option.

"If you say so," he says, when he eventually finds it in himself to pull away, cradling her cheeks against his palms. "If we don't count every girl you so desperately tried to get with in the years I knew you as a kid, then yeah, one hundred percent success rate for sure."

"Those were outliers," Dazai complains, relaxing into his hold. With one hand, she reaches up to drag a finger down his wrist, so gently, where a small graphite scar lies underneath his skin. "The only one that mattered was you, idiot Chibi dog. I only wanted to get your attention."

Chuuya feels his brain short circuit at that.

Dazai seems to understand this before even he does, because she squeaks with embarrassment and pulls him into another kiss, this one more passionate and definitely intended as a distraction than anything, even though Chuuya can feel his insides heat up with the force of it. Nevertheless, he pulls away and bumps their noses together, absolutely delighted at this turn of events.

"Aww, all you wanted was my attention?" he coos, reveling in the blush crossing her faintly freckled face. "How adorable is that. If only your terribly effective courting methods had taught you to just ask people out like a normal person instead of whatever tactical manipulation you were trying out."

"Well," Dazai whispers against his skin, her breath heating up his lips. "It worked, didn't it?"

That it did. And Chuuya couldn't be happier with how everything had gone in the past few years, even if the both of them had gone through so much pain and suffering, because it had brought them here. He wouldn't change it for the world, not if it meant that there was a possibility of losing the love of his life - he's a sappy fucker, just like Dazai, except he's more obvious about it. Sure, he cried at the end of Hachi. Sue him.

Chuuya leans in close, brushing their lips together faintly and feeling Dazai's breath hitch in anticipation, her eyelids fluttering as she waits for him to make his move.

He lingers there for a moment longer before suddenly pushing her off to the other side of the couch, laughing at her indignant shriek. "Eat your dinner," he says, in response to the daggers she's glaring. "I'll kiss you when your breath smells sufficiently like eggs and bacon and nothing more."

"Mean old bastard," Dazai shoots, rearranging herself neatly on the couch and huffing. "I can still divorce you, you know."

"Alright, dear," Chuuya says in a silly, mocking tone, making a face at her playful fury. "You can divorce me after dinner."

In response, she kicks him in the shin.

"Revenge," she says gleefully, when he yelps. "Put the volume back up, I don't want to talk to a nasty slug anymore."

He rolls his eyes and makes a show of taking his sweet time, but does as she asks, and then bops her over the head with the remote.

It's crazy to think about. Seven years. Seven years since the day Chuuya had been so scared of the possibility of losing Dazai forever, and yet here they are now. If only he could go back to his seventeen year old self and tell him - don't worry so much. Everything will work out just fine. 

He can't see that sad little boy he once knew when he looks at Dazai anymore. Sure, sometimes he catches glimpses, but she spends most of her days happy, or at least content, which is probably the best Chuuya can ask for. There are fewer and fewer bad days, now. Fewer and fewer large scale incidents in Yokohama that result in Dazai having to spend ten hours a day at work. Fewer and fewer accidents for Chuuya to fill out paperwork about, fewer and fewer reasons to spend all night at his desk wanting nothing more than to be anywhere else.

It's nothing that he pictured his life might one day be like when he was twelve, imagining his future with the Sheep while they stargazed. But fuck if it isn't a million times better. He wouldn't give this up for the world.

Double Black choose their own destinies now. And damn, he thinks this must be the greatest feeling in all the fucking world.