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A Second Chance

(Reuploading this post since Tumblr mobile somehow ate it)

So! This is my entry for Soukoku Week 2019! ( @soukokuweek19 ) I’m not entirely sure how this word vomit turned into something vaguely coherent but I love it and these two adorable morons (mainly Dazai - he’s definitely the bigger moron).

This was originally written for Day 3: Reaching out but, as it went on, I realised it had drifted away from that so now I’m tagging it under Day 7: Free Day!

Hope you all enjoy reading!

Title: a Second Chance

Prompt: Day 7 - Free Day

Pairing: Soukoku (Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya)

Words: 7787

Summary: It’s a few days after the fight with Lovecraft and Dazai realises that maybe, just maybe, leaving his ex-partner alone in a field after he passed out from exhaustion wasn’t the best decision he could have made. And...wait, when did he start thinking the Chibi was pretty?

(Note: this work contains no triggering or explicit materials)

Four years…

It had been four years since he’d last seen Chuuya and yet, in that Port Mafia holding cell, fiery red hair blending into the red light, blue eyes flashing as they looked up at him, it had felt like no time had passed at all.

More time had passed since then and yet the memory was as clear in his mind as if it happened only yesterday.

Chuuya…

Ignoring Kunikida’s increasingly frequent (and loud) attempts to get him to do his paperwork, Dazai continued to slouch on the couch, eyes closed as he pictured the scene in his mind.

Thoughts of that encounter, naturally, lead him to thoughts of their second. This time, Chuuya had been bathed in blue from the light of the full moon. Red and blue...the same colour as Chuuya’s hair and eyes. It seemed almost ironic.

That encounter had taken place less than a week ago. The Guild was officially defeated thanks to himself, Chuuya, Atsushi and Akutagawa (although how on earth Lovecraft had survived to apparently jump into the sea, Dazai had no idea and no wish to understand) and things had returned to a semblance of what could be considered ‘normal’ for the residents of Yokohama.

...With the exception that there was still an uneasy truce between the ADA and the Port Mafia. Dazai held no illusions that the truce would last overly long. It was only a matter of time before they were, once again, at odds. The question wasn’t if, but when and how the uneasy peace would come crashing down.

“I used Corruption because I trusted you.”

Chuuya’s remembered words drifted through his mind and he shut his eyes more tightly, deliberately trying to turn his mind away from the accusing tone. Chuuya had been tired (he always was after using Corruption) and, though his tone had been exhausted, Dazai had still heard the reproach clear as day.

He hadn’t been entirely truthful in his answer to Chuuya’s question regarding why he hadn’t stopped him as soon as the fight was over. Oh sure, it had been fun to watch Chuuya throw about singularities like it was nothing but that hadn’t been his entire reason.

Chuuya had looked...beautiful.

The blue light, the red markings...the contrast and the sheer power that Chuuya had exuded...he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Even when he wasn’t fully in control, Chuuya always captured his attention: be it to tease or admire.

Not that his Chibi was aware of the admiration. He was far more used to the teasing, the little comments that got him all riled, all the remarks that had those pretty blue eyes flashing with anger or frustration. Dazai couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t resist putting a spark in those eyes just because he wanted it directed at him.

Was this healthy? Absolutely not. But, then again, when had Dazai Osamu ever done anything that was in his own best interest?

...okay, scratch that. When had he ever done anything for his own personal health? He was well aware that he was, in truth, rather selfish despite his attempts to be better.

He cracked open an eye to watch as Atsushi bickered with Tachihara and sent pleading looks to Kyoka for help. The girl, predictably, ignored the unsubtle requests for aid and continued to do her own work. The girl was still on a bit of an emotional high after becoming a full member of the ADA and was determined to keep up with everyone else despite the fact that she was still only fourteen and so, technically, shouldn't be expected to do the same amount of work as everyone else. Then again, she’d been in the Port Mafia and no one remained a child for long there, especially not someone who had already killed 35 people. Dazai should know. He’d long since lost count. Even so, as he stared at Atsushi’s face, tiger-gold eyes shining brightly as he gesticulated wildly, Dazai felt a smile turn up the corners of his lips.

He’d made himself better and that was reflected in Atsushi, in Kyoka, in the relationships he’d managed to somehow scrape together with the other people in the ADA despite how much of a pain in the ass he made himself. He still had a long way to go but, he thought, he’d reached some sort of state in which Odasaku might approve.

And yet…

“I used Corruption because I trusted you…”

And yet, when it came to Chuuya, he had so easily fallen into old habits. It had felt so natural, so right to tease him, to encourage that temper he was still so well known for (even if it was far more difficult for others to bring it to the surface nowadays). Dazai hadn’t even really thought about what he was doing while he interacted with Chuuya, his words and actions flowing like a well-rehearsed script which he had no need to alter, as familiar as breathing and as easy as closing his eyes at the end of a long day.

And yet…

And yet, should he not have done better?

“Take me...to the extraction point…”

Chuuya had trusted him to step in when he used Corruption and Dazai had (at his own pace). Chuuya had asked him to take him somewhere safe after using Corruption and Dazai...Dazai had left him lying on the ground in a field at midnight with his hat and coat folded neatly beside him. He’d left without so much as a backwards glance.

Chuuya had been fine and he’d known that he’d be fine. There wasn’t anyone else around when they’d left and the location was isolated enough that no one was likely to come across him so Chuuya hadn’t been in any real danger.

Still…

Asking himself if he’d done the right thing was rather redundant. He knew that he hadn’t and it was niggling at him, like a toothache which he couldn’t do anything about or an itch that he just couldn’t scratch. The urge to do...something, wouldn’t leave him alone.

There was, of course, the choice of just ignoring the problem until it went away. That wasn’t an option though. They were in the same city and their organisations were likely to either ally or antagonise each their on a regular basis from this point onwards. He was going to run into Chuuya again sooner rather than later so that was completely out of the question.

What then, should he do? Should he do anything? Would Chuuya be surprised that he’d left him there? Probably not.

That thought had Dazai frowning to himself. He’d gotten used to living up to people’s expectations of him, especially when it came to Atsushi. He’d been able to help him, to help Kyoka and the Agency as a whole that living down to Chuuya’s expectations rather than up…

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

He thought of the surprise that would’ve been on the Chibi’s face if he’d woken up at the extraction point and wished that he’d actually done it. He was sure the reaction would have been amusing. The anger would, of course, have also been amusing but the thought of eliciting a different reaction from the fiery redhead…

Dazai resolved that, the next time they crossed paths, he would do that. He’d make sure and take care of Chuuya if only for the surprise that would cross those expressive features, the confusion that would be hastily covered up in those pretty blue eyes…

...pretty?

Dazai blinked to himself. Since when had he thought of Chuuya’s eyes as pretty? He’d thought so earlier but he hadn’t noticed doing so at the time. Sure, he found him attractive in an “if I wasn’t attracted to women” sort of way but who didn’t? But actually considering him pretty? He’d always thought Chuuya interesting, fun to poke at and, yes, beautiful with Corruption tracing over his skin but…

...when had this happened?

Not important - alright maybe important but not the main thing he needs to focus on right now. He found Chuuya pretty but surely that didn't mean anything. He wanted to elicit more reactions from the Chibi, positive ones and not just negative ones. He wanted…

...he wanted Chuuya to look at him the way Poe was currently staring at Ranpo while the other was...looking at him.

Ranpo smirked, corners of his lips lifting up in a knowing expression, glasses reflecting the midday light coming in through the windows and Dazai felt his back stiffen.

Deciding to cut his losses, he stood, making it look as natural as possible and not like he was choosing to run away from those too-perceptive eyes, and strode purposefully from the office. Kunikida’s calls for him to return to his desk were, of course, ignored.

It was as he was closing the door taht he heard it.

“Finally.”

He paused, waiting to see what Ranpo would say next. There was nothing for a few seconds before the silence was finally broken.

“...um...what do you mean Ranpo-san?”

“Dazai finally got a clue,” was the only response Ranpo gave and Dazai felt a brief flicker of relief that the detective hadn’t said anything else. He was even more grateful that, at this point, Ranpo hadn’t actually met Chuuya.

Hmmm...now there was a thought. That could be amusing.

Mentally shaking himself, Dazai strode out of the building, debated a moment before heading back to his apartment. He wanted a quiet place to think so he could plan how best to reach out to Chuuya.

..and to process what he’d realised while lounging on the Agency’s couch this afternoon. He couldn’t exactly freak out in public now, could he? Well, he could, but he didn’t feel like drawing attention to himself for a change. Perhaps later when he was in the mood to draw interesting expressions from people other than his Chibi.

Wait...his Chibi?

Well, of course Chuuya was his. They had made that bet hadn’t they? Would Chuuya even remember it, he wondered, with everything else that had happened during those few days. Dazai did though. How could he forget the sound of Chuuya’s head hitting the console or the yell of frustration quickly cut off by surprise as he’d ducked down behind the machine, trying not to be noticed by his so-called ‘friends’ from that stupid gang. Really, Dazai had done him a favour. If they were that easy to turn against him, they didn’t deserve Chuuya anyway.

He stepped more quickly, determined to get home as soon as possible.

He had to think.

—————

Chuuya still lived at the same address.

Dazai wasn't surprised.

What did, however, surprise him, was the easy way the key turned in the lock.

Huh...Chibi hadn’t changed his locks in the four years Dazai had been gone. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Putting said thought to the back of his mind for later consideration, he opened the door on silent hinges and carefully stepped inside.

Chuuya liked his comforts; that included a thick, soft rug which made it incredibly easy to walk silently through the quiet flat. It was about half an hour from sunset and the light filtering through the windows was fiery, tinting everything in shades of gold, copper and red.

As he looked around, he noted that, alongside the locks, very little had changed. Perhaps there was a new piece of art and he was quite sure that the loveseat he remembered had been replaced by a large armchair but, other than that, it was like stepping back in time.

This seemed to happen a lot where Chuuya was concerned.

Dazai had to be careful. He couldn’t let himself slip into old habits. He was here to reach out, to prove that he had changed over the last four years.

…..by sneaking into his flat with the key he’d swiped when they were 16.

Baby steps.

Silently acknowledging that, perhaps, this hadn’t been the best plan but committed to following it through nonetheless, Dazai stepped further into the flat. It was as he was passing a small table that he noticed it; the hat.

Chuuya never went anywhere without that stupid hat so, therefore, the only conclusion Dazai could draw was taht Chuuya was somewhere in his flat.

...and he hadn’t noticed Dazai yet.

Pausing all movement, Dazai closed his eyes and focused all his attention on his surroundings, listening for the slightly rustle of cloth, the faintest screen from deeper into the fat.

Nothing.

Turning his head to better peer into the living room, Dazai confirmed that, yes, Chuuya wasn’t in there, waiting to ambush him. Nor, it appeared, was he in the kitchen.

Logically, that left only one place.

The bedroom door was shut and, aa he approached, Dazai felt a shiver of anticipation go through him. He hadn’t managed to sneak up on Chuuya in quite a while and this was definitely going to result in an interesting reaction.

He may be here to make amends with the Chibi but that didn’t mean he was above drawing out some fun reactions. Just because hw wanted Chuuya to look at him...more positively...didn’t mean he was going to give up antagonisinghim. Where would the fun be in that?

Moving slowly, Dazai reached out and opened the door. It was as quiet as the rest of the flat, swinging on silent hinges as Dazai slowly and carefully opened it enough to slip through and nothing more.

Chuuya was lying in bed, head turned away from the door and towards the massive window on the oppositee wall. Yokohama was lit by crimson light which spilled over Chuuya, blending perfectly with his hair which was fanned out behind him on his pillow.

Dazai felt his breath catch slightly but resolutely ignored it.

Still..

Dazai removed his phone from his pocket and took a picture, thankful he had the camera sound turned off. Chuuya was asleep and he doubted he’d get this chance again any time soon.

Putting his phone away as he stepped further into the room, Dazai was careful to keep his steps light. Chuuya’s bedroom had a wooden floor, a deep cherry wood which matched the furnishings. Said furnishings included the massive four-poster bed which was set against the wall between the walls containing the door and window respectively. The red curtains (and why was he not surprised?) were pulled back, tied neatly to the bed posts with thin braided chords.

The blankets, of course, matched the curtains perfectly and Dazai wondered when exactly Chuuya had time ti pick out such things and how his little ex-partner managed to reach the top of the four-poster bed. Did he have a footstool hiding somewhere or did he just use his gravity manipulation?

This rather random (and entirely amusing) train of thought was cut off when Dazai managed to get a good look at Chuuya’s face.

What he had initially taken for redness from the setting sun was, in fact, revealed to be a deep flush accross his normally pale skin. Now that he was closer, he could hear that, although Chuuya was indeed asleep, his breathing was shallower than would be expected and there was a light sheen of sweat accross his forehead.

He also noted a few dark purple bruises tracing their way accross Chuuya’s skin, disappearing below the blanket. It had been a few days since the incident with Lovecraft and his partner (honestly he couldn’t even remember his name; he was that unimportant) and yet the bruises looked like they had only appeared yesterday.

Dazai felt his stomach drop and a pang in his chest.

Chuuya, apparently, hadn’t been fine.

This...changed things.

—————

Chuuya cracked his eyes open, knowing that something was wrong but not having the energy to deal with it. He felt like his limbs were made of lead and, when he tried to sit up, his head started spinning badly enough that he immediately paused all movement.

Fuck he hated this.

It had been four years since he’d used Corruption and, somehow, in those four years, he’d managed to forget exactly how painful the aftermath was. It could, however, just be that it was worse this time. His body wasn’t used to it anymore.

And, he thought bitterly, it wasn’t as if spending the night in a fucking field out in the open had helped.

Damn Dazai…

“Don’t worry...I got you.”

Yeah fucking right. That was why, at dawn, he’d had to drag himself to Mori’s office, give a delayed report and then drag himself home only to collapse in bed without even being able to change. He’d woken up hours later with the beginnings of a fever and, despite how much it ached and how much he didn’t want to, he’d made himself change out of his filthy clothes, strip the bed and put on clean sheets since he’d slept in his bed without changing out of said filthy clothes, and preprared for about a week of hell.

He’d been conscious for perhaps four to five hours of the last few days, his body demanding that he sleep while it healed from the use of Corruption and fought the fever. Admittedly he wouldn’t have been able to do much even if he had been awake considering how difficult and painful it was to move at this point. His body felt like one giant bruise and, upon waking for the second time covered in sweat and dizzy as fuck, he vowed that he was going to hunt Dazai down when he was able and kick the shit out of the lying bastard. Killing him would be too easy (and likely what the bastard wanted) so Chuuya wouldn’t do that. No, he’d just make him wish he was dead.

A noise from just beyond the door had him turning his head. He almost immediately regretted it, his temples throbbing, but he forced himself to ignore it, fingers twitching under the blanket. What had caused that sound? Was someone in his flat? Who could it be?

As he was preparing to do...soemthing (his brain was far too foggy to come up with anything coherent) the door opened further (he was sure he’d closed it before crawling into bed) and, who should walk in, but the person he was currently planning the maiming of.

“Dazai...”

The name was hissed between clenched teeth, coming out as little more than a croak. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the bandaged bastard in his bedroom doorway.

Dazai had paused, like he was surprise Chuuya was awake, and Chuuya felt his temper flare.

How dare he. How fucking dare that asshole break into his flat after what he’d done. How fuckign dare he!

“Nice to see Chuuya’s awake,” Dazai commented, his tone far quieter than his normal boisterous delivery but Chuuya couldnt’ focus on taht right now, too overcome with the absolute rage he felt at seeing Dazai so soon after being abandoned in a fucking field at midnight after using Corruption.

“I’m gonna make you...wish...you were dead,” he got out through gritted teeth.

“I know,” Dazai replied, not seeming phased by the threat of physical violence and, right now, Chuuya wasn’t all taht surprised. He doubted he could threaten a kitten in his current state, let alone a slippery bastard like Dazai.

“The fuck do you want,?” He growled, deciding he didn’t have time to deal with Dazai’s bullshit.

“Chibi needs help,” was the immediate reply and Chuuya felt himself tense.

Help?

Dazai thought he needed help?

The bastard thought he needed help after what he did?

“Get. Out.”

“Not until Chibi’s feeling well enough to toss me out himself,” Dazai returned immediately. Chuuya snarled.

What an utter bastard. What was he getting out of this? Was he just here to make fun of the fact that, currently, Chuuya couldn’t throw a pillow, let alone Dazai’s lanky ass? Yeah, that must be it. He was here to be a bastard.

What else was new?

“Her to gloat then? Should’ve known.”

Dazai blinks, affecting a surprised expression which Chuuya wasn’t buying for a moment.

“Gloat?”

“Yes, gloat,” Chuuya repeats, feeling some part of him settle now that he’d figured out exactly why Dazai was here. The bastard would taunt him for a while, maybe make a half-hearted (and entirely unhelpful) effort to aid him and then fuck off back to his detective agency until the next time he needed Chuuya to hit something he couldn’t talk his way around.

Dazai, it seemed, wanted to draw this out though since, unlike what Chuuya was expecting, he didn’t immediately drop the act nd start taunting him. Instead, Dazai made a “wait here” gesture (which was rather ridiculous since he could barely make himself roll over, let alone get out of bed right now) and left the room.

What was he doing? Was he trying to put him on edge by making noise where Chuuya couldn't see or reach? Was he breaking his shit so Chuuya would have to clean up the mes when he could drag himself out of bed? No, that would be too simple and blunt for Dazai. He had to be up to soemthing else.

Sounds reached his ears but he couldn't figure out what they were. All he could do was lie there and wait for Dazai to return.

He must’ve dozed off again because the next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes and turning towards a weight he felt on the bed. Dazai had returned and sat himself on the edge of the bed, perching like a bird that knew it would have to take flight rather quickly at any moment.

“What do you want now?” He grumbled, too tired to put up too much of a fight. His anger had, apparently, given way to tiredness while he’d been dozing and Chuuya couldn’t find the strength to muster it again. What was even the point? Perhaps this was a good thing. If Dazai couldn't get any interesting reactions from him, he might go away faster. Dazai was, after all, like a spoilt kid with a shiny toy. That toy was, in this case, Chuuya (loathe as he was to compare himself to such a thing). If Chuuya didn’t react, didn’t give Dazai anything to work with, he’d move on to something else more shiny, more fun to poke at with a stick to watch its reaction.

Dazai didn’t reply to him, instead turning and picking something up from the bedside table he sat beside. He heard the sound of water slouching about before something cool and damp was pressed against his forehead.

Wha…?

Dazai, not noticing his confusion (or more likely pretending not to notice - that bastard noticed everything) turned away from him. Chuuya wanted to reach up and throw the cloth at Dazai’s stupid face, put enough weight behind it to cave in the bastard’s fucking skull ike he deserved but, again, he couldn’t make himself move.

When Dazai turned back to him, he was holding a bowl in one hand and...a spoon in the other.

“No,”

“Chibi needs to eat.”

“I said no!” The anger was back, blazing in his chest. So this was his plan then? Not just gloat but try and humiliate him too? Probably taunt him while he fed him like a fucking child. Fuck that. He wasn’t going to accept it. Whatever it was was likely poisoned anyway (be it deliberately or because of the shitty bastard’s inability to cook anything without somehow making it toxic).

“Chuuya needs to eat,” Dazai repeated, as if he thought using Chuuya’s actual name instead of that stupid fucking taunt would make a difference.

Chuuya closed his eyes and turned his face away. If Dazai wanted him to eat whatever it was, he’d have to force it down his throat. He heard a sigh and felt himself bristle more. What did that bastard have to sigh about? He wasn’t the one stuck in bed with a fever and covered in bruises because his fucking partner had abandoned him after a mission.

His train of thought was rudely interrupted when he felt...something, sliding through his hair.

What the…?

It was soothing, rhythmic and...very pleasant. Unbidden, he felt his body relax, muscles that had been tensed to do...soemthing...uncoiling like an unwound spring.

It was as he felt himself lean into it that he realised what it was and tensed all over again.

Dazai was petting him, running his fingers through Chuuya’s (undoubtedly sweaty) hair, fingers playing with the strands before returning to massage his scalp. He really was out of it if he hadn’t been able to recognize what Dazai was doing.

How pathetic.

“Chibi’s always been the most stubborn when he’s sick,” Dazai murmured and Chuuya held in a snort.

“Who was the one who acted like he was dying from a cold?”

“It could’ve turned into pneumonia,” Dazai defended, tone indignant.

“You are such a fucking drama queen,” Chuuya muttered, eyes slipping closed again as he let himself enjoy the physical contact. He knew this was a trick of some sort (it was Dazai - there was always a trick) but, with how little energy he had right now, he was willing to enjoy it before the bastard pulled something else.

Hadn’t he been angry not a minute ago? He tried to concentrate on the feeling but couldn’t. He was still angry, still furious with the other male but he just didn’t have the energy to express it properly. His mind was also vaguely foggy (probably from the fever) so that likely wasn’t helping.

Fuck this situation and fuck Dazai Osamu. When this was over, he was going to pay the bastard back for this, one way or another.

“Hmmm…” Dazai made a non-comical noise and Chuuya’s thoughts were forcibly dragged back to the present moment, to the feeling of Dazai’s fingers tangling themselves in his hair and rubbing gentle circles against his scalp.

“Chuuya never eats after Corruption. I suppose that hasn’t changed.”

The comment caught Chuuya off guard. Weren’t they just talking about how much of a pain Dazai was when he’s ill?

“...Your point?”

“Chuuya should eat more.”

Yes, Chuuya should drag himself, in his current state, to the kitchen and make himself something to eat. That would go absolutely wonderfully he was sure. His expression clearly must have conveyed his thoughts because Dazai once again held up the bowl.

“No.”

“What if I eat some?”

“Your a suicidal maniac. If you eat it, it’s definitely poison.”

“Chuuuya,” Dazai whined and Chuuya fought back a small smirk at the tone. It felt good to annoy Dazai, even just a little. For all he knew the bastard could just be putting it on but he’d take what he could get in this situation.

“And what if I didn’t make it?”

“Then where did you get it?” Had Dazai raided his cupboards to find something? He couldn’t remember what was in there. Did he have a few tins of soup stored somewhere? It was possible.

Dazai, for once, kept his mouth shut and, instead, tilted the bowl so that Chuuya could get a good look at the contents and, at the same time, ensuring that he had the opportunity to smell whatever it was.

As he breathed in, the familiarity of the bowl’s contents hit his senses and his eyes widened minutely.

How the…?

“This is still you favourite, right?” Dazai asked, tilting the bowl further towards him.

“...how the hell do you remember that after four years?”

“You ordered me to get it for you often enough. It’s hard to forget.”

Hesitantly, Chuuya leaned forward and took another, deeper sniff of the revealed bouillabaisse. He’d discovered a small cafe not long after moving into this flat, only a few streets away, and had fallen utterly in love with their food. It hadn’t taken him long to get into the habit of eating there once a week or, on the odd occasion where he didn’t feel like being out in public, having the staff prepare him a meal which he would then eat in the privacy of his own flat.

The bouillabaisse in the bowl had been one of the first things on the menu he’d tried. There was just something about it that Chuuya couldn’t quite put his finger on. All he knew was that it had become a routine rather early in their relationship that, after using Corruption and returning home (normally dragged there by Dazai or one of his minders), he’d have someone fetch him a bowl of bouillabaisse from that cafe, eat it and then pass out for a few days.

Apparently, Dazai had remembered…

It didn’t mean anything. Just because the bastard remembered this was his favourite thing to eat when he was ill or post-Corruption, didn’t mean Chuuya was going to eat it.

“Come on,” Dazai coaxed. “How will you feel better and throw me out if you don’t eat anything?”

“...Are you seriously trying to use logic? You, of all people?”

“Chuuya says that like I’m not logical.”

“Are you implying you are?”

“When am I ever not logical?”

“March 5th, five years ago.”

Was it his imagination or were Dazai’s cheeks turning a little red? Nah, it was probably the light coming in through his windows.

“Chuuya’s being mean when I came here to help him feel better,” Dazai pouted and Chuuya snorted slightly.

“Since when do you help anyone but yourself?”

The mirth fled Dazai’s face, leaving it blank. It was only in the absence of emotion that Chuuya realised just how much of it Dazai had been exuding. The gaze looking down at him felt...empty and, despite how warm he felt, he had to fight back a shiver.

This was the Dazai he remembered; the one that could go from playfully vicious to cold, ruthless and unnerving in less time than it took you to blink. And there Chuuya was, practically helpless lying in bed with those deadened, blank eyes staring down at him.

“Four years ago.”

Chuuya blinked, confused.

What?

“Well...that’s perhaps a bit generous. Maybe about a year and a half ago.”

“Had Dazai...answered his question?

“What the fuck?”

It was only when those dead eyes flickered that he realised that he must’ve asked the question aloud.

“You see,” Dazai continued. “I didn’t join the Agency right away. I had to lay low for a few years, keep my head down, show I could stay out of trouble before they would...deal...with my record.”

“So what changed?”

If Dazai was in the mood to answer questions (even if Chuuya was more than half convinced that his ex=partner was just spouting bullshit to mess with him), Chuuya was going to get as much out of him as possible.

“Something.”

“Feel like giving specifics?”

“You’ll be the first to know when I figure it out.”

“Yeah right.”

That gaze was still unnerving but he forced himself to ignore it. He’d worked with Dazai for three years and, even if it had been four since they’d last done so, he still remembered this. Act normal. Depending on his mood, he’ll pull himself out of soon enough. (Yet another reason Chuuya was sure that, had Dazai not been in the Port Mafia, he would have been ordered by someone to see a goddamn therapist a long time ago).

“I only really noticed after I met Atsushi.”

“The tiger brat?”

“The very same.” There was a smile creeping back into the corners of Dazai’s mouth, his eyes gaining warmth that had been absent and Chuuya felt a surge of...something...in his chest. So those Agency brats could get Dazai to show emotion (genuine from what he could tell) after about a year while Chuuya had known Dazai for three, nearly four, and hadn’t managed to elicit anything other than taunting, annoyance and the urge to set a bomb under his car?

Fan-fucking-tactic.

“Then why aren’t you bothering him?” He succeeded in keeping the bitterness from his voice, barely, and forced himself to relax again now that those dead eyes were no longer directed at him. Fuck; he hated that look.

“Atsushi’s not the one lying in a bed with a fever.”

“Funny thing, neither would I if you hadn’t left me in a fucking field.”

“I know. That’s why I’m here.”

They were going in circles, their conversation going nowhere. Or, at least, that’s how it felt to Chuuya. It felt like he’d take a few steps forward but then Dazai would say something and there’d they’d be, right back to where they started; the fact that Dazai had broken into Chuuya’s flat while he was unconscious after leaving him, exhausted and alone.

“Give me one good reason why I should trust you.”

“...and if I can’t think of one?”

“Then congratulations; that’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me in the last seven years.”

“Will Chuuya eat now?”

“You’re not going to go away until I do, are you?”

“Like I said; I’m not leaving til Chibi’s well enough to throw me out himself.”

“Fucking...fine.”

Dazai blinked down at him, surprise flashing accross his features before it was once again masked behind that pleasant, charming smile he so often liked to wear.

“If it’ll make you leave sooner, fine. I’m too sick to deal with your bullshit. If it’s poisoned, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your shitty life.”

“Whatever Chibi says.”

“Shut up and help me sit up. I’m not lying here while you spoon feed me like an infant.”

“But Chibi’s as small as-“

“Finish that sentence and I will maim you”

Dazai once again set the bowl to the side and, far more carefully than Chuuya would expect from the bandaged bastard, helped me into a semi-sitting position, back pressed against the mountain of pillows Chuuya insisted on keeping on his bed. Chuuya was sure to keep his movements slow so as not to aggravate his injuries or spark another bout of dizziness.

“Why does Chuuya have so many pillows?”

“Why are you so interested?”

“No reason, just curious.”

“I’ll believe your ‘just curious’ line when you go a week without getting slapped.”

“It’s day six, I’m sure I can manage.”

“Sure you can.”

“Want to bet on it?”

“Right now, fuck no.”

“Chuuya’s no fun when he’s ill.”

Chuuya didn’t dignify that with a response, merely gesturing for Dazai to hand him the bowl. Dazai seemed hesitant but Chuuya’s glare intensified and he gave a put upon sigh, as if he was the one being inconvenienced in this situation, before handing the bowl over.

Chuuya propped it in his lap carefully, making sure there was no chance of him accidentally tipping it over, before taking his first spoonful of the bouillabaisse. He closed his eyes as the taste hit his tongue. It had been a while since he’d managed to visit the cafe and this was, admittedly, just what he needed.

Movement drew his attention and, as he turned his head, he noticed Dazai hopping off the bed and heading towards the door. Suspicious of what he was doing but not being able to follow, Chuuya returned his attention to the bowl in his lap and continued to eat.

It was as he was finishing (he stil had about a third of the bowl left but he couldn’t make himself eat any more) that Dazai returned, two slightly steaming mugs in his hands. Chuuya couldn’t stop himself raising an eyebrow when he realised exactly what was inside them.

“Really?”

“Chibi kept it in the same place.”

“The minute you go, I’m changing the locks.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t anyway.”

“I forgot you had a key. Trust me, I will.”

Dazai made no comment, simply taking the bowl away and replacing it with the steaming mug of chamomile and spiced apple tea he’d procured from Chuuya’s kitchen.

The scent, like that of the bouillabaisse, was familiar, calming and made Chuuya relax further into the pillows. Breathing in the fragrant steam, he could almost pretend that the aches and pains were non-existent, that he wasn’t still overly-warm and uncomfortable from fever and that Dazai, bandaged bastard that he was, actually gave a damn rather than this pretence he was putting up for some unknown reason.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he murmured, tone soft as he took his first sip. The warmth traveled down his throat and settled in his stomach, pleasant rather than the uncomfortable warmth he felt everywhere else.

“...I know.”

“Then why bother?”

“Because…” Dazai paused but Chuuya didn’t look at him, didn’t want to see what emotions were passing over his face. He couldn’t trust that anything he saw was real. “Because I’ve changed and, the other night, I acted like I would have four years ago and...I didn’t like it.”

There it was. This wasn't about Chuuya at all. It was about Dazai feeling guilty that he’d not stuck to whatever precious morals he’d managed to scrape together over the past few years.

“And,” Dazai continued, capturing Chuuya’s attention before his thoughts could primal any further downwards. “I realised I should’ve been a better partner and taken you to the extraction point.”

As if he was going to believe that horseshit.

“So you think taking care of me now makes up for it?”

“No,” Dazai admitted and Chuuya was tempted to turn, to see what affected emotion was on that face but he resisted, keeping his eyes closed and breathing in the sweet scent of his tea. “But I’m hoping Chuuya wil find it in him to give me a chance to do better next time.”

“And what if, next time, you just say fuck it and don’t stop me?”

Because, as much as he’d cursed Dazai after waking up and dragging himself to Mori’s office, as much as he’d ranted and raved about how he should have known better than to trust the bastard to do what he’d asked...he’d still held out some shred of hope that Dazai would do what he’d said. When they were partners, Dazai had occasionally taken off after Chuuya had used Corruption but, in those circumstances, there were almost always other members of the Port Mafia around (typically Hirotsu) who would make sure he got back safe. This time, it had just been them so his only option afterwards had been Dazai.

And Dazai had abandoned him there.

It wasn’t a big step from ‘not taking me somewhere safe after using Corruption’ to ‘not stopping me when I use Corruption’.

“That won’t happen.”

And Chuuya had to look at him, had to see his expression because what the hell?

Dazai’s tone nad been sharp, almost commanding. As he met that amber, steely gaze, Chuuya felt something in him react (though what it was, he couldn’t be sure). Dazai’s eyes were determined, focused on Chuuya like he was the only thing that mattered in that moment. He couldn’t remember a look like that ever being directed at him before.

“And why’s that?” The words left him almost involuntarily, tone not quite biting as he locked gazes with Dazai, willing himself to see through whatever act teh bastard might put up, ready to focus on any microexpression that might slip through the cracks.

“Chibi’s not allowed to die.”

“What’s it to you if I die or not? Newsflash; you’re the one that left, not me.”

“Chibi’s not allowed to die,” Dazai repeated, as if by saying it again he could make Chuuya accept it. Not happening - he was sick, not oblivious.

“Why do you suddenly care?”

“Chibi wouldn’t believe me if I told him.”

“Try me.”

“Chibi’s pretty when he’s angry.”

That statement caused Chuuya to nearly spill hot tea over himself as he stared, incredulous at Dazai who was now deliberately not looking at him.

What. The. Fuck.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“I told you.”

How the hell was he meant to react to that?

“I have no idea how to respond to that statement and, right now, part of me is sure you’re just a hallucination brought on by fever.”

Dazai let out a small chuckle at that statement, turning to look at Chuuya again. That warmth that had been in his eyes when he’d talked about Atsushi was...directed at him. When had this happened? How was he supposed to react to this? Was this really Dazai Osamu? It didn’t seem likely but…

...but an imposter wouldn’t have known about his favourite food when he was ill, wouldn’t have reacted when he brought up that particular event in March five years ago, wouldn’t have teased him quite so much if they were trying to get into his good graces. There was too much that was so purely Dazai that the only conclusion he could come to was that he was, in fact, speaking with the real him.

And that thought was mildly terrifying because…

Dazai Osamu told him, to his face, that he was pretty.

“You know, you don’t have to say anything,’ Dazai commented, that stupid, warm expression still in his eyes and the corners of his mout turned up in a small smile that looked far more genuine than anything Chuuya could remember seeing during their three years together. “”But you asked so…” He shrugged, as if he didn’t really care whether Chuuya responded or not.

“You expect me not to say something after that?”

Dazai shruged again, as if he couldn’t care less what Chuuya had to say.

“So, what does Chibi have to say?”

...that was a good question and, unfortunately, it wasn’t one he had an answer to. This...was never something he thought he’d ever have to deal with. Dazai had never, to Chuuya’s knowledge, admitted an attraction to another male. And for said male to be Chuuya of all people…

“When, exactly, did you…?” How did he even finish the question?

“Yesterday,” Dazai admitted.

“...and how did you come to this realisation?”

Keep talking, keep asking questions. Maybe it would start to make sense if he just kept asking questions.

This time, Dazai didn’t answer and Chuuya felt a surge of annoyance. Dazai had been surprisingly forthright so far but he’d known that, at some point, he’d clam up and stop answering.

“I...think I’d prefer to tell you that some other time.”

Wait, what? Dazai wasn’t refusing to answer the question, just refusing to answer it now?

“So…” Chuuya began, eyes narrowed as he put the pieces together. “You break into my flat, bring me food, say you’re going to look after me until I feel well enough to kick your bandaged ass out and now you’re saying you think I’m pretty (which you only realised yesterday!) but you’re not giving me a reason why you suddenly think this even though I know you’ve only ever been attracted to women?”

Dazai shrugged again, the motion easy and careless. Chuuya let himself flop back against his pillow mountain, lifting an arm to cover his face so he wouldn’t have to look at the bandaged bastard, not caring at the uncomfortable sensations from the bruises as he did so.

“You’re really something, you know that?”

“Is that a good thing?”

Chuuya didn’t dignify that with a response, just kept his arm over his eyes and tried to proces the last few minutes of their conversation.

“This still doesn’t change anything,.”

“I know.”

“Then what do you want?”

“For you to give me another chance.”

“And if I don’t?”

Dazai didn’t reply for a while and Chuuya was, once again, tempted to look at him but resolutely did not. He did lower his arm but kept his eyes closed. He lifted the mug of cooling tea to his lips again and finished it off in a few small sips. Wordlessly, Dazai took it from his hand and he heard it being set down on the nightstand.

“Then you don’t.”

“Just like that?‘

“Just like that.”

“You’re not going to try some stupid shit to win me over?”

“Would it work?”

That...was a fair point. Chuuya knew Dazai’s tricks, had seen them used often enough that he could practically recite them word for word, rehearsed gesture for rehearsed gestures. If Dazai tried any of his normal shit with Chuuya, he’d know and kick the bastard’s ass for it. The fact that Dazai had acknowledged that, had admitted that his normal methods wouldn’t work on him...

“And besides,’ Dazai continued. “Why would I trick you into something like this/‘

“Because it would amuse you. You’d find this sort of shit funny: don’t even bother denying it.”

“Maybe,” Dazai admitted. “But I’ve decided that if anything happens, I don’t want it to be because I tricked you into it.”

Chuuya was once again having doubts that this was, in fact, the real Dazai Osamu.

“Just ...think it over. I’m not expecting an answer any time soon.”

‘And if you never get one?”

“Then I’ll just have to live in hope that I’ll get one one day, won’t I?”

With that, Dazai once again left the room, taking the dirty cups and bowl with him. Chuuya was left alone with his thoughts which were currently roiling, unable to concentrate on any one thing for longer than a. Few seconds before soemthing else captured his attention.

He did’t know how to feel, didn’t know how to react. This was no t something he had ever considered a possibility under any circumstance and, now that he was fed and relatively comfortable, he didn’t really want to think about it. As quickly as his mind was flitting from subject to subject, he could feel it also beginning to slow as his body decided that, having been awake for a decent amount of time, it was now time to return to unconsciousness so that his body could focus on healing itself.

Gingerly, he shuffled back under the covers so only his head was supported by the pillows and curled up on his side facing the door. He opened his eyes, watching for Dazai. His eyes were drooping however and, as he closed them, he was vaguely aware of the sensation of a hand running through his hair again as he drifted off to sleep.

———-

A few weeks later, head in Dazai’s lap and fingers once again stroking through his hair, Chuuya couldn’t help but think that, maybe, just maybe, it was worth giving Dazai that second chance.

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