#things you said...

When his phone buzzed in his pocket, and “Mackarel” in all caps greeted him, Chuuya knew his night was ruined.

Dazai didn’t call, never.

“What the hell, Shitty Dazai?”

The silence stretched on the other end. It wasn’t heavy—it didn’t feel like a weight on his shoulders—and that, more than anything, set him on edge.

It wasn’t Dazai.

He parted his lips, fury igniting his veins, and—

“It’s Atsushi, from the Agency.”

And the flame was extinguished so quickly that Chuuya felt his knees give way. He was too old for this kind of shock, especially after what had happened in Meursault. He leaned against the wall and looked up at the starless sky. Not far off, his subordinates worked efficiently.

He rubbed his chest.

"Weretiger, where is your mentor?"

He hoped he didn’t sound as anxious as he felt. Dazai never left his phone unguarded.

“Can you... I’m sorry, I didn’t know who else to call. Kunikida and Yosano are out of the city on a mission. Ranpo... Well, Ranpo told me to use this phone, and... I didn’t know... You’re his emergency contact.”

His heart stumbled.

And a million catastrophic scenarios flashed through his mind.

“What happened?”

Atsushi fell silent. That kid had saved the city. Hell, he’d saved the world. Chuuya had to give him some credit, but it was hard to trust anyone else, especially if it involved that damn waste of bandages.

“He’s drunk too much—”

His brain short-circuited because “Dazai” and “drunk too much” made absolutely no sense together.

His first thought was that it was a joke, some kind of distraction tactic. It wouldn’t be the first time. Dazai loved causing chaos, especially when he was bored. Dragging his subordinate into some twisted plan just to mess with Chuuya seemed plausible.

Dazai had only gotten drunk twice. The first time, shortly after Chuuya joined the mafia. Dazai had shown up with an expensive bottle and that grin of his—the one that promised trouble and made Chuuya longed to punch out.

"Is Chibi a baby?" he’d mocked, the smugness in his voice making Chuuya sick.

It had been a provocation.

He wasn’t a baby, goddammit.

Sure, he still needed to sleep with a little light on, and yeah, sometimes he’d wake up drenched in sweat, calling out for a mother or father whose existence he wasn’t sure of.

Chuuya had snatched the bottle from him. It was heavy, and smelled strong. He couldn’t hide the grimace or the cough that came when the sour liquid burned down his throat.

Dazai had seemed fascinated when Chuuya slammed the bottle into his chest.

“An indirect kiss!”

“Ha?!”

That night ended in the infirmary.

The second time…

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Send me the address.”

The bar wasn’t on mafia turf, but it was close enough that it wasn’t a coincidence. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on the weretiger, but the knot in his stomach—the discomfort lodged in his chest—didn’t ease until his gaze fell on the slumped figure curled up on the bar.

Dazai hadn’t changed much in those months, except for the cane.

As if a thread pulled them both, Dazai lifted his head, and a goofy grin tugged at his lips. Chuuya had spent the entire trip thinking about what he’d do—whether he’d play along until one of them ended up with a bleeding wound, or if he’d just kick his ass for wasting his time.

There was a reason he avoided meeting with Dazai unless it was a joint mission.

He felt exposed. Vulnerable. And damn it, Dazai was supposed to be the one at a disadvantage.

“Chibi!”

“I’m not in the mood for your nonsense.”

“My puppy came for me!” Dazai wrapped his long arms around him. “Chibi’s here!”

It was hard to maneuver with a particularly clingy Dazai, but once, Chuuya had been an expert. The bastard buried his nose into the curve of his neck, pulling him closer. Chuuya tried to push him away, a curse on the tip of his tongue. Atsushi seemed ready to leave.

Chuuya didn’t drag out the torture longer than necessary.

“I’ll handle this.”

Atsushi didn’t need to be told twice. He practically flew toward the exit in gratitude.

“Let’s go, Mackarel, time to sleep.”

“No,” Dazai whined. “Chibi, Chuuya, do you hate me?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“When do you ever do something right, damn it?”

Dazai pouted.

His eyes were glassy, his cheeks flushed, and his lips were bitten. Jesus.

“Will Chibi carry me like a princess?”

Chuuya took a deep breath. “If I refuse, it’ll be worse, right?”

His smirk promised trouble.

Dazai threw his arms around his neck.

“Chibi.”

Chuuya hummed noncommittally. He’d parked just at the end of the street.

“Do you hate me?”

“Of course.”

“I’m serious.”

“And so am I, idiot.”

Dazai didn’t respond.

“I miss you.”

It was worse than a stab. Chuuya stopped.

And Dazai twisted the knife.

“Can you give me a second chance?”

“Second?” Chuuya scoffed, barely holding back.

“Or third, or fourth, please.”

“Dazai, shut up. You’ll regret this tomorrow.”

Meursault had been hell.

Pretending to be a vampire and dancing a waltz whose steps he thought he knew hadn’t been the worst part.

It was the motel where they took refuge, the bloodstained bandages, the whiskey that burned his throat and dulled his senses.

It was Dazai.

Dazai telling him he loved him, that he’d loved him since the mafia, but still hadn’t been able to stay.

Dazai talking about Odasaku.

“I love you,” he repeated, squirming in his arms. Chuuya cursed aloud, and Dazai’s face contorted in pain as he put weight on his bad foot. “I love you. Why isn’t it enough?”

“It wasn’t enough five years ago! Why would it be now?!”

He hadn’t wanted to snap, not with Dazai in that state.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh,’ damn it.”

“Chuuya, but that had nothing to do with you.”

“We’re not having this conversation here.”

Dazai rejected the cane but agreed to sit on the step of a closed store with his injured leg stretched out. It hadn’t healed properly, and Chuuya didn’t know all the details, but he knew enough to realize it was partly his fault.

“I couldn’t stay, Chibi.”

“I know, damn it. You made that pretty clear in Meursault.”

“And it had nothing to do with you. It was never about you.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Dazai looked more lucid now, but his movements were slow and awkward, and speaking seemed to be a struggle, as if connecting two thoughts together was hard.

It wasn’t the right time.

But when would it be?

“Chuuya, Chibi, I couldn’t stay for you, and I couldn’t ask you to come with me.”

Chuuya exhaled sharply, turned his glance toward the road. He couldn’t look at him, tears gathering under his eyelashes, choking his throat. He wouldn’t cry. It wasn’t worth it.

“Please, come here,” Dazai pleaded.

“For what?”

“Because it hurts.”

“And why the hell should I care?”

Still, despite knowing he shouldn’t, he moved closer.

Dazai wrapped his arms around Chuuya’s waist, resting his cheek against his stomach. Chuuya’s hands ended up in his hair. In that shitty motel, crammed into a too-small bathtub, sharing a bottle of whiskey, Dazai had talked to him about Odasaku. But tonight, with barely any space between them, he opened himself up.

“Every day away from you was agony.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“I knew Mori wouldn’t hurt you. You were too valuable for him to take it out on you. But still, I woke up with fear in my bones.”

“Mori isn’t—”

“Don’t defend him,” Dazai interrupted, tightening his hold. “Mori and I have a complicated relationship, and you know it. I can’t hate him, but—”

“Alright.”

Dazai lifted his head, and Chuuya brushed the hair from his forehead.

“Chibi, when I was finally free, the first thing I did was look for you. I needed to know you were okay, safe. But I couldn’t get too close without risking you finding out.”

“I would’ve killed you,” Chuuya laughed.

Dazai shook his head.

“The first time I saw you, my resolve shattered.”

“What?”

“Isn’t it pathetic?”

“Dazai.”

“I needed this, my path to the light, to work. I couldn’t see you. I couldn’t risk it. It got easier when I joined the ADA, but there were nights I found myself in mafia territory, too close to you for it to be a coincidence.”

Chuuya wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, or if he even wanted to hear it through.

“Chuuya, you gave me a reason to live when we met, but Odasaku gave me a purpose. I couldn’t fail him. And look at me, I like saving lives.”

“The light looks good on you, bastard.”

Dazai didn’t shut up, continuing to dissect his thoughts as if it were easy. As if exposing his heart didn’t take Herculean effort. It hadn’t been like this in the mafia.

Being with the ADA had saved him in more ways than one.

“Will you give me a chance? Not now, not tomorrow. When I’ve earned it.”

“Tomorrow, you won’t remember any of this.”

Or you’ll pretend not to, more like.

“Tomorrow, I’ll still feel the same,” he assured, and Chuuya made a face. His heart—his stupid heart—wavered. “Chibi, we’ve already wasted too much time. If it weren’t for Fyodor, I... I was going to apologize sooner, but everything got complicated, and I was scared that—”

“I can protect myself, goddammit.”

“I know, I know, my mind knows, but—” Dazai pulled away, though he kept his hands on his hips. “I don’t want to wait anymore. There will always be a bigger threat… a reason to wait, but I refuse. Five years of longing are enough.”

“Stop saying nonsense.”

“I’m serious,” Dazai insisted, his eyes burning with determination. Chuuya faltered. “I’m tired of waiting. And I’ll prove it to you every day until you believe it.”

Chuuya made a strangled sound.

“We’ll see.”

“I’ll make Chibi eat his words. You’ll fall for my charms!”

“I won’t let you break my heart again, Shitty Dazai.”

“I won’t do it again. I won’t stay away. I won’t let anyone separate us.”

“You’re too intense.”

“But you don’t hate me, do you?”

“I can’t stand you!”

Could it work? Would Dazai keep his word? Chuuya had his doubts, but a part of him—the same part that had let him go when they met again in the dungeons and followed that bastard to a French prison—had already made up its mind.

🔞-slightly

“No one can know.” Dazai’s mouth trailed down the line of his neck and his hands—codicious, clumsy, hungry—mapped his body. Chuuya threw his head back and bit his lip until the metallic taste of blood flooded his palate.

And Dazai, who was a fucking menace, parted his legs with his knee and pressed against Chuuya’s crotch, drawing a groan from him.

“Why would I want anyone to know?” Dazai teased before nibbling and sucking on the tender freckled skin of Chuuya’s neck, just below the choker.

“Slug, I wouldn’t dare, what if someone thought I liked your drool? How awful.”

“Shut up and use your mouth for something useful.”

He couldn’t see Dazai for the lack of light, the bulb illuminating the dusty file hardly helping, but Chuuya knew the bandaged bastard well enough to know he was smiling.

“Whatever my dog wants.”

Chuuya clung to Dazai, draping an arm over his bony shoulders to pull him closer. They had learned, thanks to a bottle of imported liquor they had stolen from Ace, that kissing and groping over their clothes was more effective than chasing and beating eo through the hallways.

It was a pity, Chuuya thought, as Dazai reached under his shirt and splashed wet, needy kisses down his neck, collarbone…, that they hadn’t discovered this much sooner.

Chuuya rubbed against Dazai’s knee, moaning louder when he felt the brunet's erecti0n.

“If you're a good boy, I'll suck you dry.”

Dazai held his breath. It was satisfying to leave Dazai speechless in the middle of a mission or playing in the arcade, but it couldn’t compare to turning the brunet into incoherent mush simply with his hands.

Or his mouth.

“I’ll be the best,” Dazai promised, quickly unbuttoning his shirt as he traced a path of kisses and bites across the redhead’s chest. “You have my word.”

“Your word is worth shit.”

No one could know.

It was a secret, their dirty secret. Dazai brought their mouths together in a soft kiss, too soft. Chuuya bit Dazai’s lip hard to set his own rhythm, one that would mute the pleasant heat in his chest, the moisture in his eyes, and the pressure in his throat.

No one could know, or he would be taken away.

“C-Chibi,” he gasped, his lips swollen and wet. Chuuya sucked greedily at Dazai’s upper lip. Don’t think. Don’t think. “Slow down, if you keep this up…”

Before he could finish what he wanted to say, the door opened and something fell to the floor—a bundle of files. Chuuya’s heart raced, fear paralyzed him, and a million scenarios, all catastrophic, ran through his mind at full speed.

Dazai slowly pulled himself to his feet, ran a hand through his fluffy, messy hair and took a long glare at the intruder.

“I-I’m sorry… I didn’t see anything! I mean… What’s there to see?”

By now, everyone knew Double Black, and of course, the rumors about the Black Wraith of the Port Mafia had spread so far that everyone conveniently forgot that Nakahara Chuuya was a singularity in a trap made of flesh and bones. They didn’t talk about it, how could they? But Chuuya secretly hoped that Dazai had done it on purpose, that he had created such a bloodthirsty reputation for himself so that when people looked at them, they wouldn’t see the

real monster, but the fake one, the one wrapped in shadows and bandages.

God, he was ruined if that filled his chest.

Dazai gave the intruder a beatific smile as he began to beg.

No one could know.

Everyone dies.

No one could know or—

Everyone he loves dies in the end.

“Get out,” Chuuya ordered, and he didn’t have to repeat himself. “What the hell did you say to him?”

Dazai tilted his face, a lazy smile tugging at his lips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

It was a secret. They decided this the first time they kissed on the rooftop of Port Mafia’s tallest tower, hidden and practically glued together because the cold was unbearable and the false sense of warmth—liquid courage—that the alcohol gave them was not enough.

Chuuya cupped Dazai’s face tightly, and Dazai sat on his lap, his thighs trapping Chuuya’s hips as if trying to get under his skin.

It was a secret they would take to their graves.

Chuuya pushed him harder against the wall.

“Shitty Dazai, this idiot know now that we are—”

“…Fucking?” he purred. Chuuya jumped and Dazai let out a laugh that echoed through the corridor. “Breathe, Chibi, or you’ll shrink and disappear~”

“I’m fucking serious!”

Something crossed Dazai’s face—something ugly and terribly human—but it was so fleeting that Chuuya couldn’t catch it before it disappeared under the brunet’s usual mask of coldness and indifference. Chuuya pressed his lips together, drawing a thin line to keep the forbidden words from escaping.

He wanted to wipe that hollow expression from his partner’s face, wanted to paint his stupid bandaged face with hundreds, if not thousands, of stupid emotions. He released Dazai from his grip and stepped back to compose himself. They weren’t on that line, they would never be on that line.

“Don’t worry, no one knows.” Chuuya hesitated and Dazai smiled, but it was a flat, hollow, empty smile. “Never. I promise”

That was good.

It was what he wanted, but a part of him didn’t feel good about it.

No, no one could know.

No one could know, bc then it would be real and Chuuya feared that he wouldn’t be able to control his stupid feelings.

Especially not Dazai. What would the bastard do if Chuuya gave him his heart? Would he reject it? Or worse, maybe he’d accept it, tear it to pieces until it was unrecognizable, and then mock his audacity.

Or maybe, just maybe…

The infusion was growing cold.

With one elbow resting on the counter and his chin propped in the palm of his hand, Dazai doodled absently in his notebook while the rain tapped incessantly against the windows. He scribbled a line out until the text became unreadable, and even then—pressing the pen hard between his fingers—he felt nothing.

The emptiness in his chest was a ravenous beast.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the bell that announced a new customer—did it even ring when it was the mysterious redhead who only seemed to exist when they were alone?—nor when said redhead, tired of watching him from between the gaps in the shelves, finally crossed the distance between them.

His heart didn’t flutter when the redhead braced his forearms on the counter and offered him a crooked little grin. Dazai blinked, startled, and his eyes wandered from the ink hugging the man’s biceps to his freckle-dotted face.

He was beautiful.

And he reeked of danger.

Dazai appreciated beauty, and the redhead’s features were imperfectly unique. As if the artist had devoted flesh and soul to polishing every tiny detail so it would stand out, from the crooked nose to the tempting curve of his mouth.

His throat went dry, and he shifted uncomfortably when the redhead arched a brow at him.

It was a trap.

“Let’s make a deal, pretty boy.”

The shift in the air was subtle. Dazai squinted suspiciously, tilting his head.

The redhead tucked a rebellious lock of hair behind his ear. Despite the nerves surrounding him, his eyes sparkled with renewed determination—a spark capable of starting a wildfire—and the blush igniting on his cheeks tickled Dazai’s stomach.

It wasn’t enough.

Nothing seemed to be enough lately.

And just as the sky split in two and the storm swept in, majestic and severe, Dazai thought he saw something move behind the mysterious customer. It lasted only a second, he blinked and it was gone, but whatever it was took root inside him.

I know you.

“If you guess my favorite book, you can take me out to breakfast.”

Dazai frowned, slightly confused, almost forgetting what had just happened, and then he burst out laughing. A clumsy laugh that scraped his throat on the way up and was born deep in his stomach.

When was the last time he laughed like that?

It hurt pleasantly.

“Take you to breakfast?” he teased, wiping tears from his eyes.

The redhead winked.

“You want to take me to breakfast,” he pointed out with a light hum, trailing a finger along Dazai’s sweater neckline. Nothing more than a casual touch—yet when he looked up at him through his lashes and Dazai caught the hint of a fang peeking past his lips, it became overwhelming. His pulse quickened. “I’m just giving you a little push.”

His first instinct was to run.

He was in the forest bordering the village, the one no one should enter once night fell. The trees leaned in, blocking his path, roots burst from the earth trapping him, branches dragging blood across his skin while the starving beast howled in delight.

He shook his head.

His mouth tasted of petrichor and something earthier, slightly sweet on his tongue. A warning, one he was more than willing to ignore.

Dazai wet his lips and leaned closer to the redhead.

“Mmm, your favorite book is…”

The possibilities were endless—like sand slipping through his fingers—yet the title that crossed his lips felt right. They’d had this conversation before, maybe in another life, or maybe they would have it later. For a fraction of a second, the redhead faltered; his eyes widened softly, and his smile shattered.

Just for a heartbeat.

Then his laughter—rough and raspy—filled the small bookstore.

“Wow, you win,” he feigned a dramatic sigh, hand over his chest. Or maybe he wasn’t pretending, maybe he was playing the same game Dazai was. “I’ve got a sweet tooth.”

He was lying.

Dazai knew it, and the redhead knew he knew. Their connection, even back then, was already strong.

“There’s a little café at the end of the street. Best pancakes around.”

“And milkshakes?”

Dazai snorted.

“And the best chocolate milkshakes, obviously.”

“You better hope so,” he teased mischievously but before Dazai could reply, walk around the counter, and join him, the redhead stopped him. Doubt darkened his irises, turning them a deeper blue, and a shiver ran down Dazai’s spine. Another bolt split the sky. “It’s okay to cry, you know? To let it all out.”

Dazai staggered. What was he talking about? He couldn’t know…

“Cry? I’m not—”

The redhead softened, brushing his gloved fingers against Dazai’s cheek—and even through the leather, the touch was devastating. Suddenly they were no longer in that tiny bookstore that didn’t belong to Dazai, with death creeping in from the corners and whispering in his ear, but standing in the middle of the night.

On the bridge of his hometown.

He was drowning. Death wrapped its claws around his throat, stealing the air from his lungs, filling his eyes with burning tears and pushing him into the abyss.

Falling, falling, falling.

“It’s Chuuya.”

“Huh?”

And the redhead—who nobody in that tiny village seemed to know, who only existed when Dazai was alone, in that bookstore that wasn’t his yet with every day spent there felt more and more like it was—pulled him back.

His hand closed around Dazai’s wrist, claws scraping his bandages, drawing a hiss from him as he tugged him upward, trapping him in his arms.

“I’ve got you.”

His shoulders shook violently, and he folded in on himself. The sob tearing its way up his throat, shredding his vocal cords, echoed in the little bookstore.

Chuuya held him tight.

“Everything will be alright,” Chuuya whispered, fingers weaving into his hair and stroking his back. Dazai clung to his clothes, burying himself in the warm space between Chuuya’s shoulder and neck. He smelled sweet. “I’m here. I’m with you.”

He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to stop—and he needed to be strong for Odasaku—but it was too much and he was so, so tired, and the emptiness in his chest was devouring everything in its path.

I’ll do anything.

He held onto the redhead like an anchor in the middle of the ocean. Chuuya had climbed onto the counter to reach him—but instead of making Dazai laugh, because it was absurd and ridiculous (everything about Chuuya seemed to be), it struck him right in the chest.

It was too much.

Everything was.

Chuuya soothed him, whispering warm words and a soft, unfamiliar melody. It felt… good.

“Everything will be alright, I promise.”

Let’s make a pact.

He shouldn’t believe him.

Take me instead! Odasaku is good, he has a beautiful life ahead of him. I have nothing. Take me!

It wasn’t the forest that claimed him when night fell.

It wasn’t death lurking at the edge of his vision.

It was Chuuya.

He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, letting his dog’s scent—rich, earthy, and slightly sweet—slowly lull his senses. He stifled a yawn, or something softer, something far more meaningful. Not far away, Chuuya was humming some stupid tune as he wrapped up his nightly routine. Dazai gripped the sheets until his knuckles went white.

Soon, he would have to leave.

Soon, before the alpha infected his heart with sappy words, with kisses that would root themselves deep in his chest and with promises they both knew he’d eventually ruin, Dazai would hide behind a hooded smile—one loaded with intention—and let the words he knew by heart, the ones rotting on his tongue and clogging his throat, choking him, spill from his lips.

He rubbed his nose against the pillow, catching a trace of Chuuya’s musky scent. He shivered. Soon, Dazai would press all the right buttons until the redhead’s gaze darkened, anger dancing in his mismatched eyes, devouring any hint of affection. And maybe, if he was lucky—if his words cut deep enough—Chuuya would lunge at him, grab him by the hair until he tore a moan from him, and crush their mouths together.

Dazai smothered a gasp into the pillow and squeezed his thighs tight.

Teeth and tongues—a fight he’d gladly drown in until he ran out of air. Maybe, if he was lucky, Chuuya would sink his fangs into his lower lip and blood would flood his mouth. He rubbed his thighs together for a bit of friction and writhed beneath the sheets.

Or maybe, just maybe, Chuuya would get tired.

But that thought—once a shield he flaunted with bravado to justify his need, to justify crawling back to Chuuya’s door time after time—caught in his chest now, turning sour on his tongue. Dazai curled in on himself, feeling pathetic.

The faucet shut off.

Dazai froze.

The door opened without a sound, and his presence—stifling, warm, steady—flooded the room, which already reeked of him. Or of them, if Dazai would just stop using patches that burned his skin raw and blockers that drowned his senses.

Chuuya crossed the room and Dazai counted down. He’d stay just a little longer, ten more seconds. The alpha set a knee on the mattress, and Dazai tensed ever so slightly, clutching the sheet. He’d stay just a little longer—be selfish for ten more seconds.

The mattress dipped behind him. Ever the gentleman, Chuuya didn’t touch him without asking, didn’t force his presence or his scent or his stupid pheromones on him, even though he must have sensed Dazai’s rejection. Blockers or not, the idiot slug had always seen right through him.

Dazai matched his breathing to Chuuya’s when the redhead brushed his arm with the tip of a finger. It wasn’t a caress; it wasn’t anything. It shouldn’t have affected him after everything they’d done in the last hours, but his heart faltered and he had to restrain himself from leaning into the touch.

The room stank of sex, but the only thing Dazai could smell—his nostrils flaring, a shiver running down his spine and warming his stomach—was the calm, the domesticity, and the quiet longing radiating from the redhead.

Dazai wanted to ruin him.

And yet—

Chuuya’s lips curved into a small half-smile. Dazai didn’t need to turn around to know. It was carved into his memory. It was too soft for Dazai’s comfort, a tiny curve that hid nothing yet told far too much.

Dazai wanted to lash out.

But Chuuya struck first.

“Stay tonight,” Chuuya murmured, tearing down all his defenses. When Dazai didn’t respond—or maybe because he didn’t—Chuuya grew bolder. His fingers drifted up and down his arm, barely a ghost of a touch. “Just tonight. Tomorrow I’ll make you that stupid sugar bomb you call coffee and maybe we could…”

He leaned closer, the sheets rustling, and Dazai’s heart hammered so hard it felt ready to burst from his chest. Panic twisted into something warmer, maybe desire, maybe longing.

This time his voice tickled, and his fingers trailed up toward Dazai’s face. Chuuya brushed a strand of hair aside and tucked it behind his ear. Would he trace his face with his eyes for fear of forgetting it? Would he lean in and kiss his lashes, bury his nose in his hair?

Dazai would.

Dazai would kiss the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks.

Dazai would trace the shape of his mouth with his fingers.

Dazai would redraw every line of his face so he wouldn’t forget.

“We could spend the morning doing nothing,” Chuuya continued, brighter now, more confident. Gently, he traced the curve of Dazai’s jaw, pausing at the small scar on his chin. Dazai didn’t move. “Play some dumb game, ruin my kitchen, or just… be together. Like before.”

His words cracked at the end, breaking apart, sadness thickening his voice until it was suffocating. His scent soured, like spilled wine and burnt gunpowder. It didn’t last. Dazai shifted, rolling over until his nose pressed into the alpha’s throat.

A clumsy purr, almost strangled, vibrated in Dazai’s chest, somehow soothing Chuuya’s restless heartbeat. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, but the alpha answered with a low croon of his own.

Chuuya combed lazy fingers through his hair—a touch that warmed Dazai’s chest—and that croon should have sent him running, but instead it made him soft, pliant. He couldn’t stop purring.

“I like what we have,” Chuuya said, releasing more of his scent with each stroke. His fingers wandered, grazing the bandages around Dazai’s neck, and Dazai leaned closer, wanting more.

Wanting what he shouldn’t.

It wouldn’t end well.

It never had.

They weren’t meant to belong.

“The s3x is good,” Chuuya admitted, voice sheepish. Dazai hated not seeing the blush he knew was there. “And I wouldn’t trust anyone else with my ruts, but… everything else? Damn it, I want to try.”

Dazai was selfish.

Chuuya was his to use, his to break, his to devour but everything else?

Chuuya deserved better.

Someone who would soothe the wounds afterward and hold him under the blankets.

Someone who’d walk beside him with their fingers intertwined.

No shadows.

No masks.

No past choking them.

Someone to stay up gaming with until dawn, to share lazy breakfasts in bed with, to kiss in the morning despite awful breath.

Dazai couldn’t give him that or worse, he could, but it wouldn’t last.

Nothing ever lasted.

But he wanted to. That was the problem.

Chuuya’s hand stilled abruptly, and as if he could read Dazai’s thoughts—through that bond, torn and frayed yet still impossibly alive—he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Dazai’s forehead.

And there, against his skin, like a knife sliding into his chest, “I want you. Only you, Mackerel.”

Dazai bit his tongue to keep in the gasp threatening to break him. Tears gathered behind his lashes, his throat tightening, and chest burning.

And softer still, afraid the words might linger and turn against him:

“I love you.”

Chuuya sealed his doom by wrapping his arms around him. The alpha inhaled deeply against Dazai’s hair, maybe grounding himself, maybe calming the fear curled in his gut or maybe, and Dazai refused to dwell on it, because he longed for his scent.

The ghost of his scent.

“I’m here,” he whispered, closer still, until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Dazai tightened his hold around his waist and Chuuya crooned louder. “And I’m staying.”

He wouldn’t sleep.

He wouldn’t stay but he did.

To @loulits, for posting the first chapter of your omegazai, I’m very proud of you, and for letting me be there for you. Your words always inspire me :blob_love:

Little by little, I’m compiling my ficlets/threads on ao3. You can bookmark the collection here, if you want!

The city was asleep when Dazai Osamu bared his soul for the first time.

It was after midnight, Chuuya had pulled his hair into a braid and put on his most comfortable pajamas. He was about to go to bed when someone—an extremely unwelcome mackerel—forced the lock.

He closed his eyes, pinched his nose and inhaled deeply, arming himself with patience. It had been a long day, and the last thing he wanted to do was deal with his partner's bandaged ass.

He went to his room and climbed into bed, ready to ignore him.

He hadn't finished hiding under the covers when he felt a familiar weight on the other side of the mattress. Dazai crawled to the middle of the bed, but unlike the few—not so few—times he'd sneaked in at dawn, this time he didn't curl up back to back under the covers, but stayed there.

His heart skipped a beat and his instinct—rooted to the lanky, as if he were an extension of himself—drew a million catastrophic scenarios in his head. He sat up, turned on the night lamp, and studied his partner with an alarming desperation creeping across his face.

The brunet looked like a frightened fawn under the headlights of a car: his hair was a mess and a pout hung from his chapped lips. Normally, that would make him roll his eyes, but now it fed the pressure in his chest; even in the lack of light, it was clear that Dazai was not okay.

He raised his hand to grab Dazai, it was a reflexive action that burned under his skin, but he stopped himself when he felt the shudder that embraced the brunet. Chuuya closed his fist and pulled it back to his body, forcing himself to relax so as not to frighten him.

Dazai was with him.

Dazai had come to him.

"Chibi is boring," he said, his voice flat and hollow.

"Why?"

His brow furrowed, but his eyes were still empty and expressionless.

"Chibi should yell at me. I picked his lock and crawled into his bed in my street clothes."

"You want me to yell at you?"

Dazai drew back his lips to answer, hesitated, and a glimmer of life, a nameless emotion, clouded his gaze and cracked the mask with which he faced the world. His upper lip twitched, he shrank into himself and began to tremble, as if frozen to death.

Chuuya did not react; his heart thundered against his ribs, deafening everything in its path. He wanted to leave the cocoon of blankets and wrap the bandaged bastard in his arms, but he couldn't move. He was paralyzed.

"Chibi," he whimpered, then shook his head and hugged himself. "Make him stop. Tell him to stop."

"Dazai—"

"Why won't shut up?" And he put his hands to his head, digging his fingers in and pulling at his hair, almost tearing it out.

Chuuya sat up on his knees and grabbed his wrist above the bandages. Dazai gasped.

"Don't let go," he begged.

Dazai's ability slipped under his skin, entered his bloodstream and reached his chest, the corner that belonged to him, that he had made his own and that Chuuya could not take away from him. Arahabaki fell silent and the weight of gravity fell upon him. Dazai leaned against him, resting his forehead on his shoulder, and Chuuya put an arm around him.

They were not friends, not like the Flags were to Chuuya, or Odasaku and Ango were to Dazai.

They were not just partners, not when they embraced in the middle of the night, two hearts in unison, equally broken and rotten to the core.

Chuuya ran his hand up Dazai's back, felt the vertebrae of his spine, and reached for the back of his neck, pressing lightly to loosen the knots he found there. Dazai melted under his touch and let out a small sigh.

"My head won't shut up," he whispered.

"I'll speak louder," he promised.

Dazai suddenly clung to him, pressing Chuuya against his body, absorbing his warmth, his humanity. There wasn't an inch between them.

"It's harder at night," he confessed in a low voice. "At night, I can't stop thinking, remembering, and I want to, but everything becomes unbearable… I can't stand it anymore, Chibi. Make it stop."

Chuuya buried his nose in the curve of of Dazai's neck, his eyes misty with tears. Dazai smelled of alcohol and something that made his nose wrinkle. He tried to pull away. Dazai growled, but let him, and when he met his gaze, Chuuya's breath caught.

He cupped his face and Dazai flinched violently.

"I hear him."

"Who?"

"My father," he said with a wet face, his only visible eye red from the tears he refused to shed.

Dazai never talked about his past, no one in the mafia did. Chuuya had come to believe, in the few times he allowed himself to think about it, that his partner had grown up on the streets; but in that moment, as the clock ticked on, and the night enveloped them in a fierce embrace, he knew how wrong he had been.

Chuuya wiped away tears.

"He sold me to powerful men." Chuuya stifled an exclamation and Dazai smirked. "Not that way, I was more useful to him in another way. It was the perfect weapon. With a single touch, I brought everyone to their knees. Everyone would look at me disgusted, afraid.. They despised me and wanted me.

Dazai sat back on his heels, threw off the black trench coat roughly and unbuttoned his shirt.

"Dazai, you don't have to…"

"I want to," he interrupted, grimacing and biting his lip anxiously. "I don't want to, but I have to."

He slowly unraveled the bandages, first the ones on his arms and then the ones wrapped around his torso and neck. With each gauze that fell, he revealed a little bit of his soul. His body was a canvas of whitish scars, rough skin, and wounds that told a story. Some were older, a glimpse into his past, and others, the ones that turned Chuuya's stomach and made him want to do terrible things, were recent.

Dazai unbuttoned his pants, pulled them down with difficulty, and Chuuya covered his mouth. His thighs were full of reddish, uneven marks and raised skin. They were scratches.

"I hated him, but I hated myself more."

Unconsciously, Dazai lowered his hands to his thighs, as if to reopen the wounds, dig his nails in, and quiet his mind with pain. "I wanted to kill him that day, but his doc beat me to it."

Chuuya put clean bandages on his arm and looked at him before moving closer to his neck.

Dazai nodded.

"His doc" hesitated, swallowing hard and not looking away from Chuuya, anxious for his reaction. "He slit his throat."

Silence.

To trust in a world like theirs, where every weakness was a sharp weapon to be wielded at the right moment, was to throw oneself into the void. To trust someone with such a secret, even if it was not spoken aloud, was madness. Dazai jumped into the void when the clock struck one in the morning, and Chuuya could only intertwine their fingers and join him.

"You're safe," he said awkwardly, heat rising to his cheeks and he stammered. "Here, with me. Always."

"Chibi is very corny and… Chibi is Chibi."

Chuuya patted him weakly on the shoulder. Dazai frowned and rubbed it.

"Chibi is a brute!"

"Put on your pajamas and let's go to sleep, you bastard."

Chuuya was Chuuya and Dazai was Dazai; it didn't matter who they had been, who they might have been, but who they were.

They got under the blankets, Chuuya wrapped his arms around Dazai's belly and tangled their legs, pulling him close to his chest.

He buried his nose in his hair, closed his eyes and relaxed.

He was about to fall asleep when Dazai spoke again.

"Aren't you disgusted with me, or afraid?"

Chuuya snorted.

"Dazai, I can tear Yokohama apart in less than ten minutes, why should I be afraid of you?"

Dazai shrank into himself.

"I steal a part of your soul."

Chuuya held him closer.

Chuuya wanted to punch the mischievous grin off Dazai's face. The chair creaked as he stood up, fists clenched on the table and head bowed.

Immediately, there was silence.

Ane-san, at his side, covered his hand with hers, a silent question.

"Dazai," he snarled through his teeth.

The alluded one hummed in response across the table. Chuuya didn't meet his gaze, didn't even lift it from the file in front of him.

He didn't need to anyway. Dazai was burned into his retinas and deep into his soul. To his misfortune.

Elbows on the table, fingers interlocked, and a grin that betrayed danger all around. His dark eyes —crimson in the right light— narrowed in his direction, his mocha hair slightly wavy and unkempt.

The most handsome man in the world. His downfall. And sometimes the love of his life.

His fingers clenched and his jaw muscle throbbed. He couldn't fucking do it.

He should have drowned the Mackerel when he got out of the shower that morning. Or seven years ago.

"Yeah, Slug?"

Chuuya gritted his teeth.

But Chuuya was a man of his word. Unlike a certain bandaged bastard. He had lost the bet, he'd accept the punishment with dignity and—

"Nakahara?" The voice of the tiger boy pulled him out of his thoughts and a grim smile, which he barely managed to hide, crossed Chuuya's face.

Revenge would be sweet.

Dazai's smile faltered when their eyes met.

"Dazai," Chuuya repeated this time with more certainty.

Heat rose in his neck until it colored his cheeks a deep pink. Dazai leaned towards him like a sailor to the song of a siren.

You're going to shit, you bastard.

"Dazai is…" He fell silent, moistened his lips and thought, 'Fuck it,' if he was going to embarrass himself in the middle of a joint meeting, he'd take Dazai with him. "He's a good guy, the best. He's caring, attentive…"

"Oh, my God," Ane-san murmured.

Kunikida choked somewhere in the room and someone snorted, probably the doctor or the detective. Dazai peeled back his lips in indignation. Chuuya was emboldened, he leaned forward, the table creaking in warning and the words piled up on his lips, coming out awkwardly in rhythm with his raging heartbeat.

Dazai didn't look away; his cheeks turned a lovely pink and his eyes sparkled, desire writhing in his irises, fighting hard against the shame that probably suffocated his partner right now.

Chuuya couldn't care less. Dazai had brought this upon himself.

"He's a princess, he loves to be carried in my arms like a bride."

"Have I ever told you that you are my whole life?"

"Samu, you're the love of—"

"When we're in bed, he likes—"

Kunikida interrupted his speech with a sharp slap on the table, startling everyone in the room except Dazai and Chuuya, who couldn't look away from eo. The redhead licked his lips, hesitating between running away, nothing had happened, or…

He smiled innocently and shrugged his shoulders before collapsing into his seat and crossing his legs. Ane-san sighed beside him.

The bet was simple: the loser would be embarrassed in public and the winner would set the terms. It was Dazai's fault for not foreseeing what would happen. And it was also Chuuya's, because as soon as they left the meeting, Dazai dragged him to the cleaning room and pushed him against the door.

Dazai's ability felt like jumping off a cliff without a parachute.

His heart fluttered in his chest as it pierced his skin, silencing the deity within.

"I hate you," Dazai spat, shaking.

"My good boy," Chuuya praised him, gently stroking his hair and scratching his scalp, just the way he liked it.

Dazai melted under his fingers.

"Shut up," he said in his ear as his chest rose and fell.

"You were so good in the meeting, do you want me to tell you that you were good, princess?"

Dazai shivered and pressed even tighter against his body.

Chuuya smiled delightedly, paused for a second, savoring the moment, and pulled hard on Dazai's hair, making him gasp.

"No way, Mackerel."

Dazai pouted, pupils dilated and lips half-open, an invitation.

"Chuuya is bad."

Chuuya clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"Chuuya will have to move to a desert island after this, you asshole."

Dazai hugged her pillow like a freaking koala bear.

“Samu? Are you okay, babe?”

Dazai sank her face into the pillow and let out an unintelligible wail. Chuuya rolled her eyes, a silly grin tugging at her lips.

She set the backpack down at the foot of the bed and dug her knee into the mattress to climb onto it.

“I bought groceries.”

“…chocolate?” Dazai asked in a breathy whisper. Chuuya replied with a soft ‘uh-huh’ as she lay on her side next to the brunette, reaching out to tangle her fingers in her girlfriend’s fluffy hair, who melted at the contact.

“And your favorite sweeties.”

“My favorites?”

“Yeah, and also those stupid crab-shaped candies.”

Dazai poked her head out of her hiding place and gave her a bright smile.

Chuuya giggled and continued to play with her brown strands that were wavy at the ends. Dazai had missed class because of her period; cramps had prevented her from getting out of bed except to go to the bathroom to change her tampon.

Chuuya would never admit it out loud, but she had missed the annoying mackerel. Fuck homework! If her girlfriend wanted to spend the afternoon under the covers eating chocolate with a sitcom playing in the background, Chuuya would be happy to oblige.

Dazai sat back on her heels and let go of the pillow, which fell to the floor and pounced on Chuuya, crushing her against the mattress.

“Samu?” She gasped in surprise, her cheeks burning and her heart fluttering in her chest. Dazai raised her head, her brown eyes like burnt sugar studying her with interest. Chuuya swallowed. “What are you…?"

“It doesn't hurt like that,” Dazai explained, digging her pointed chin into Chuuya's chest and resting her elbows on the mattress.

“You're worse than that stupid stray cat.”

“Chuuya loves me.”

“You're crushing me,” she complained, but did nothing to shake her off.

Dazai blinked like a stupid owl and brought her face close to Chuuya's, their noses touching.

“You're ugly,” Dazai confessed amusedly. Chuuya cocked an eyebrow. “Very ugly. You have a face full of freckles, it's a freckle constellation!”

Dazai poked her cheek with her finger, tracing a path across her face that made Chuuya jump.

“Your eyes… Why do you have to have an eye of every color? It's unfair,” Dazai pouted, the damned menace. “I don't know which color I hate more: blue, which reminds me of my childhood, or brown, which makes me hungry. Chuuya, honey, I wanna chocolate.”

Chuuya snorted with her cheeks flaming.

“Yo! I hate your stupid hair too, it's so long and curly and smells so good.” Dazai picked up an auburn curl and tucked it behind Chuuya's ear. “It reminds me of a sunset, the fall.”

“Don't fuck me.”

“And don't get me started on your tits, they're the perfect size and remind me of peaches. Can I eat them?”

Her eyes fell to Chuuya's cleavage and her tongue poked out between her lips. Knky btch.

“Shut up, shut the fuck up!”

Chuuya covered her face with both hands and shook her head in embarrassment. But Dazai couldn't get enough, she snuggled into Chuuya's chest and continued to tell everything she hated abt the redhead.

Her radiant personality, Dazai's miniature sun.

Her hoarse laugh that, when uncontrolled, sounded like a piglet.

Her bad-girl clothes, which contrasted with her anime pajamas and her unhealthy love for romantic comedies and Studio Ghibli movies.

Her kind heart.

Her brute strength.

“I hate everything about you,” Dazai concluded, her lips curving down and a telltale glint in her eyes.

Chuuya leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a soft kiss. Dazai let out a hmm.

“I love you too,” Chuuya whispered, her voice expressing an affection that she reserved for her. “Chocolate and Wandavision?”

Dazai nodded enthusiastically, her cheeks blushed and her eyes sparkled. If Chuuya had to skip training and do her homework at night to make her girlfriend happy, so be it.