Empire of Dirt

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/25469527.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Relationship: Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs)
Character: Yosano Akiko (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakajima Atsushi (Bungou Stray
Dogs), Yuan (Bungou Stray Dogs)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Unhappy Ending,
Hurt/Comfort, artist!dazai, Mechanic!Chuuya, stretches over several
decades, Child Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drug Abuse, Touch
Aversion, Friends With Benefits, Terminal Illnesses, Coming Out, Minor
Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide,
Animal Death
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2020-08-05 Completed: 2021-05-16 Chapters: 13/13 Words:
59781

Empire of Dirt
by arkastadt

Summary

"Oi, the fuck are you doing in there?"

The voice that interrupts his afternoon break comes from a boy standing outside the
fountain. Dazai's only able to make out the obnoxiously bright ginger hair on the other side
of the water that separates them, but it's annoying enough as it is. Turning his head, Dazai
decides to ignore him until he leaves.

"You know I can see you, right? You were just looking at me!"

--
Or: Dazai's bored and lives in a mansion, Chuuya's the mysterious garden boy working for
his family, and fate brings them together over and over again only to rip them apart.

A tragedy in three acts.

Now with stunning art by mafachee, lluvproof and circusfable <3

Translation into Russian available on Ficbook

Notes
 Hello I am here again and offering you this fic that has been plaguing my mind for two
weeks now

Please read the tags! I will put warnings in the A/Ns as well but I want all of you to be safe
when reading this.

This fic was inspired by The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Jenkins Reid. You don't
need to have read it though, since it's mainly the story structure, the narrative, and a few
plot points that are the same!

Have this playlist that's painfully accurate :')

Content warning for 1st chapter: discussion of child abuse and description of injuries.

See the end of the work for more notes

 1974

And when the seasons change

Will you stand by me?

Cause I'm a young man built to fall

[...]

Mind over matter, Young the Giant

xxx

The paintings hanging on the wall take Atsushi's breath away.

There's so much life in them, so much heart, it feels like he's looking at a story unfolding in front of
his eyes instead of merely colors and shapes. Given that they were supposedly made over nearly a
decade in time, it makes sense. The fact that Dazai Osamu — businessman, rumored genius, and
self-taught artist — is the painter adds to the feeling, too.

Atsushi was surprised if not startled when his senior editor told him that Dazai-san personally
requested him to be present at the unveiling of his final gifts to the art world. After all, he's the
Dazai , and Atsushi's just a journalist trying to come by. However, after several meltdowns and a
fight with Ryuu, his co-worker, rival, and sometimes-friend, Atsushi recognized that this could be
the chance of a lifetime; it could kick off his career. Especially if Dazai actually delivers the full
story behind the paintings and, more importantly, his infamous personal life that his assistant
promised over the phone.

Atsushi probably spends way too much time staring at the paintings before finally getting out his
notebook and noting down a few things he'll include in the article and going over the questions he
prepared for the interview.

At precisely twelve o'clock, a young blonde man with a straw hat taps Atsushi's shoulder and
guides him to what he assumes will be, Dazai's office. He almost stumbles over his own feet in the
rush to follow him.

"Nervous?" The man asks and points at the tag on his chest. "I'm Kenji. Dazai's assistant."

Atsushi cringes at his clumsiness, scratching the back of his neck. "A little."

"Don't worry. Dazai-san is a good boss! I'm sure it will be all good."

"Yeah, uh. Thank you, Kenji-san!" He says and bows his head after they stop in front of a door.

Kenji gives him an encouraging nod and knocks at the door. "Dazai-san, it's Mister Atushi."

The man who opens the door is an elderly gentleman with piercing brown eyes that look like they
have seen too much, though his smile is gentle when he beckons Atushi in. Despite his age, Dazai-
san looks good. His hair is graying at the edges, there are deep-worn wrinkles on his forehead, but
it's not hard to see the young man from the pictures in magazines in him, the one japan called a
man of the generation.

"Atsushi-kun," Dazai says, leading him inside the room and towards a comfortable-looking couch
across from an armchair. "I'm happy to meet you. Sit."

"Likewise, Dazai-san! T-thank you so much for this opportunity!"

"It's my pleasure. Shall we start?"

Atushi stumbles his way over the first few question before he finally relaxes, seeing that, just as
promised, Dazai's a pretty laid-back man no matter his reputation. They talk about the techniques
he used for painting and rendering, how much time it took, what he intends to do with them, and
finally, the inspiration behind it.

"There's the same person in every painting," Atsushi says, remembering the red curls and vividly
azure blue eyes. "Are they fictional or someone that actually exists? And did they inspire you to
start this project then?"

Dazai settles back in his chair at that question. "The story I'm about to tell you might take a while. I
suggest you cancel any plans you have for today."

"Oh," Atsushi blinks and shrugs. "No, it's fine. I'm free for today."

"Good. Please, take notes. I want you to remember this and include it in the article."

"Of course, Dazai-san. I'm ready when you are."

His right hand scratching the bandages that are wrapped around his wrist, Dazai says, "It all started
when I was fifteen. It was 1974, I believe. Yes..."

1974

"Oi, the fuck are you doing in there?"

The voice that interrupts his afternoon break comes from a boy standing outside the fountain.
Dazai's only able to make out the obnoxiously bright ginger hair on the other side of the water that
separates them, but it's annoying enough as it is. Turning his head, Dazai decides to ignore him
until he leaves.

"You know I can see you, right? You were just looking at me!"

"And now I'm not," Dazai replies. "Go on. Be on your way."

"Yeah, I don't think so. I can't allow some brat to hide in the fucking water fountain. How'd you
even get in there? Shouldn't you be drenched?"

"Your tiny brain wouldn't understand."

"Get out!"

"Who are you to tell me that?"

"I work here," the boy snaps. "So if you don't get out and my employers catch you, Imma get in
trouble!"
Now that is interesting. Maybe even worth getting out for. After a moment of hesitation, Dazai gets
up from the ceramic bench and crawls out, only getting minimally wet, unlike the brat assumed.
He's wading through the water when he sees the boy for the first time. Surprisingly, the hair is not
the most striking feature about him. It's the eyes. Azure-blue. Just like the water he's standing in.
He's also short and lanky, wearing faded, worn-out clothes that look several sizes too big for his
tiny frame.

"Why the heck are you wearing bandages?" His eyes widen then. "Oi, did you escape the hospital
or something?"

Dazai climbs out of the basin and stalks over to the boy until they're standing face to face. "I'm
your employer."

"Ha?"

"This —" Dazai waves his hand around their surroundings; the alley, the yard, the tennis court, and
the mansion in the far back. "— is where I live. So it's my garden and my water fountain, and I'm
allowed to do whatever I please. You —" He pokes his fingers into the boy's chest, noticing how it
elicits a flinch. "— are about to get fired. What's your name?"

Silence.

Dazai raises his brow. "Well?"

"Chuuya, okay! The hell did you expect hiding in there? No one told me there would be some
weirdo hanging around inside a water fountain!"

"That's not my problem," Dazai says as he starts walking down the lane leading back to his house.

"You — ah, fuck. What d'you want? Money?"

Dazai snorts. Chuuya must not be the brightest. Money is something that his family, and therefore
Dazai, have more than enough. As far as the eye can see.

"Hmmm. Tell me about yourself, and maybe I will consider keeping this between the two of us."

Catching up, Chuuya throws him a furious glare like the question alone is an insult. "About
myself?"

"You heard me."

"Well — what do you want to know?"

"When did you start working here?"

"Two days ago."

Dazai looks at him. "Aren't you a bit young to work?"

"I'm old enough!"

"Yes? How old are you then?"

"... fifteen."

"Me too, so you are too young. I don't work."

"Well," Chuuya snaps, "not everyone lives in a mansion the size of Tokyo. I need the money."

Dazai savors that information and brushes a tree branch out of the way as he crosses the treeline. "I
have never seen you around before. Did you just move here?"

"Sorta."

"That's not an answer, Chuuya. Unless you want to find another job—"

"Jesus, fine. I got taken in by a foster family a few days ago." He nods over his shoulder. "A few
blocks away."

"Foster family," Dazai repeats with a hum. Interesting. "What happened to your parents?"

"You don't have any sense of tact, do you?" Chuuya huffs, but his voice lacks any heat that would
be there if he was upset. When the only answer he gets is silence, Chuuya casts his gaze away from
Dazai, shrugging. "No clue. Never met 'em. Or, at least, I was too young to remember anything."

"So, how are they?"

"Huh?"

"Your foster family. Are they nice?"

Chuuya kicks the air. "They're fine." One might think he wasn't talking about a group of people he
will have to spend the next three years with.

"They must be very nice if they're already making you work three days after they took you in,"
Dazai observes.

"Yeah," Chuuya's tone suggests this is self-evident. "I gotta earn my keep."

How very stone-aged of him. They've crossed the backyard and reached the house, and Chuuya
grinds to a halt a few feet behind him, acting like there's an invisible wall forbidding him to
overstep it. "What are you doing?" Dazai asks.

Chuuya returns the stare. "I've got work to do unless you forgot." Then he raises his chin, making
Dazai narrow his eyes at the subtle act of defiance. "And you're not gonna talk to your parents."

"Why would I not?"

"Because you would have already done so if you actually planned to rat me out. Instead, you
chatted me up. You're a kid living in that gigantic mansion. You hide in water fountains. You must
be really bored."

So maybe Chuuya's not that stupid, but that doesn't change anything. Dazai still has the upper hand
here. "I can change my mind anytime, so you will have to play by my conditions either way."

"What conditions? I work for your parents, not for you, idiot!"

"But, I'm still your employer!"

"That's not how it works!" Chuuya looks around then and curses. "Shit, what time is it? I should be
done with mowing the grass already!"

Dazai gives him a gleeful smile. "Wouldn't you like to know... I do have a watch, but why would I
tell that to an ungrateful brat who calls his employer an idiot?"

"Fine," Chuuya growls. "I'll do whatever sick games you want to play. Now tell me!"

Dazai hums and takes his time lifting his hand. "It's... twenty past four..."

Chuuya nods and then takes off across the lawn towards the shed on the other side. Usually, Dazai
doesn't spend a lot of time out here. It gets hot with the bandages, and there's no TV or radio to
drown out the white noise in his head, but today he makes an exception.

After grabbing lemonade, Dazai finds a chair to sit on and makes himself comfortable, watching
Chuuya effortlessly manhandle the grass mower despite his bony body.

He's not sure why. Maybe Chuuya's right, and it's the boredom. All the people in his class are
snobby and shallow, only caring about getting their hair and nails done. He supposes there's
nothing wrong with that, but it is terribly dull. Chuuya, on the other hand... is like a firecracker.
Crackling with energy. And in a world that's painted in grey hues, something this bright and
infectious is bound to stand out.

It takes a good hour, but eventually, Chuuya finishes and stomps over to Dazai to demand a glass
of lemonade. Dazai figures he might as well grand him that wish if he's already here.

"So my conditions," Dazai says. "If I'm bored, you entertain me. If I'm hungry, you make
something to eat—"

"Ha?! Do I look like a maid to you?"

Dazai reaches up and tugs a strand of his hair. "I'm sure you would fit into the costume."

It's not as pronounced this time, but the flinch is there. Chuuya quickly steps back and stuffs his
fists into the pocket of his jacket, glaring at him. "I'll kick your scrawny ass before ever feeding
you. You know, you could ask me to be your friend like a normal person."

"Do I look normal to you?"

Chuuya huffs and rolls his eyes. "Well — fair point."

"I don't think I've ever had friends either," Dazai continues, watching the way Chuuya takes that
without even blinking. "So, why would I want you to be?"

"Ugh, nevermind. You're annoying. Anyone ever tell you that?" A lot of times, really. He turns
around before Dazai can answer, though, and starts walking away. "Gotta go, uh — whatever the
hell your name is."

"Dazai."

"See you never, Dazai."

Dazai only smiles, though. A hunch in his stomach tells him this won't be the last time they'll see
each other.

Atsushi's brows furrow when Dazai pauses to take a sip of the whiskey standing on the coffee
table. Pretty early for a drink that strong, but he supposes that stopped mattering to someone like
Dazai a long time ago.

"So," he says, glancing down at the notes he's taken so far. "The inspiration behind your paintings
was that garden boy? Chuuya, you said?"

Dazai offers him a slow smile. "You're smart, Atsushi-kun. You'll figure it out yourself."

Throughout the next week, Dazai sees Chuuya come and go to trim his parents' bushes, water the
poor flowers, and sweep the leaves. He obviously notices Chuuya avoiding him every chance he
gets as well.

Stupid, smart slug.

It's Chuuya, though, who approaches Dazai when he's leaning against the fountain's edge, running
his fingers through the water.

"You're not gonna go in there again, are you?"

"Yes, I am."

Chuuya blinks at him, frowning furiously. "Why would you do that?"

"It's easier to show you." He jumps over then and wades through the water before turning around
expectantly. Chuuya hesitates for a moment, looking very skeptical of this whole process, but
eventually, he kicks off his shoes and socks and follows Dazai inside the fountain.

The water surrounding Dazai and Chuuya cuts them off from the rest of the world, creating a
bubble of quiet, alien noises. It drowns out every sound aside from the soft lapping of the jet and
the breathing of whoever's inside.

"Oh," Chuuya murmurs. "It's... peaceful."

Dazai leans back against the cold stone, watching him stretch out his hand and break the silence.
The sound changes. His long-sleeved shirt rides up around his arm, revealing a set of deeply-
colored bruises on his wrist.

"You can come here," Dazai finds himself saying. "If you want to."

Chuuya's nose crinkles as he looks at him. "Yeah, no. I can't work when I'm drenched."

"After work is fine, too. I can give you a towel."

The act of inviting Chuuya here whenever he pleases defies this place's entire purpose, yet Dazai
doesn't regret doing it. That kind of peaceful silence can be found with someone else as well.

One day in August when the heat hangs so oppressively thick in the air that Dazai can barely stand
moving around, let alone go outside, he spots a hard-working chibi crouching in the yard below his
window and fixing one of the broken lawn chairs. It appears that Chuuya not only has a knack for
gardening.

Dazai's mother comes up behind him. "That poor boy must be dying in these temperatures."

"He's working for you."

"We told him he doesn't need to come in today," she says with a leveled stare at Dazai, "but he
insisted he's fine. A shame, really. His family probably keeps the money to themselves anyway."

Dazai blinks, watching the way Chuuya's hands skillfully handle the screw and bolts. "Do you
know the people he's living with?"
"I don't need to." She shakes her head then and gently pushes Dazai away from the window. "But
hush, no need to think about people like that. How about you offer him to cool down inside?
Perhaps offer him a glass of water?"

Chuuya doesn't go out of his way anymore to ignore Dazai, mostly just huffing and rolling his eyes
whenever he says something, sometimes even gracing him with an answer. A few times, he came
by the fountain, and they didn't talk at all, simply sat there in the purling silence. They're not
friends. Dazai's still not sure what it entails and has no desire to go and find out. Except there's this
itch... whenever the small redhead is around. A primal urge under his bandages, under his skin, to
poke around and discover the meaning of words he never bothered to learn.

Dazai decides to listen to his mother and trots down the stairs, down the hallway, through the
living room, and finally reaches the backyard. Chuuya's eyes briefly flicker up at his arrival, and
then he huffs out an unintelligible sound, carrying on his work.

"You should come inside," Dazai says, hiding in the shadow of the porch, "before you get a
heatstroke."

"'m fine."

"Your face is all red, and you're sweating. It's gross."

" You're gross," Chuuya mutters. "Leave me alone, mackerel."

Dazai pauses at this new development. Mackerel. Huh. Then he purses his lips. "I'm not going
away until you come inside and drink something."

Letting out a dramatic sigh, Chuuya throws up his hands and gets up. "Fine, you asshole. Is there
anything you can do without turning it into blackmail?"

As they go inside, Dazai's brows furrow. "No. It's the easiest and fastest way to get what I want."

"You're such a brat."

Dazai pretends not to notice Chuuya's eyes curiously taking everything in, even the boring crystal
lamps in the hallway. In the kitchen, Dazai says, tells him to sit down while getting a bottle of
water out of the fridge.

"Eh, don't tell me what to do."

"And yet here you sit," Dazai comments before handing over the glass which Chuuya, despite his
initial refusal, eagerly downs in one go. "Do you want another one?"

"Sure. Whatever."

They stare at each other when Chuuya raises the glass to his lips, a silent unplanned competition of
who will break first. At that moment, Dazai's mother barges in, though, and ruins the contest.
"Chuuya-kun, good. You're here. It's better inside, yes?"

"Yes, Dazai-san." Chuuya bows his head, and Dazai marvels at the graceful switch in his behavior,
going from the fifteen-year-old kid with a bad mouth to the obedient little worker. "Thank you so
much for the water."

"Don't you worry about it! Do you perhaps want a change of clothes as well? You must be dying in
these long clothes!"
"Oh, that's alright, miss."

"No, if you insist on working, you should do it without boiling yourself. Dazai." She turns to him.
"Give him a shirt and a pair of shorts, will you?"

"Eh, but Chuuya's surely too small for my clothes."

"Don't be silly. You still have some left from a few years ago. Besides, you're not that big yourself.
Now go on."

Dazai is reluctant to move, especially with the flash of visible panic in Chuuya's bright eyes,
dimming that light, but when he remains standing where he is, his mother sends him one of her
withering glares.

"Go on. And throw Chuuya's clothes in the trash. There are holes all over them anyway."

Pressing his lips together, Dazai nods at Chuuya before leading him upstairs to his room. "I can
turn around," Dazai says as soon as the door falls shut, and he starts rummaging through his closet.
"I don't have to look."

"Wha — Why are you saying this?"

With a sigh, Dazai throws the shirt and sweatpants he found at Chuuya, cocking his head. "You
looked like a deer in the headlights when my mother mentioned shorter clothes. Your eyes
immediately looked for the nearest exit. You have bruises around your wrists. It's not hard to piece
together."

"Fuck you."

This isn't personal. This is his usual defense mechanism. Dazai just shrugs.

"Don't treat me like I'm a fucking doll," Chuuya spits and pointedly doesn't turn around when he
shrugs off his shirt. "I've got nothing to hide, bastard."

Dazai expected it. Still, the map of purple-colored flesh scattered all around his torso and arms take
his breath away. He has to force the air back into his lungs before speaking. "You're an awful liar."

"So what," Chuuya huffs, voice ever so slightly wavering. "I fight a lot. I've got a bit of an attitude
problem."

There's no use arguing with him, so Dazai doesn't bother. He stays utterly still as Chuuya changes
into sweaters next, covering up a big bruise below his hip.

Chuuya bares his teeth when Dazai attempts to take his clothes, so he leaves it at that, silently
walking down the stairs. His mother is in the living room, redecorating the paintings on the wall
for the hundredth time that month when she spots them, and, of course, her eyes immediately fall to
Chuuya's arms, mouth opening. "Oh, dear. That looks bad."

Chuuya waves a hand, producing a perfectly false smile. "I'm just clumsy, miss. Nothing to worry
about." He's even faster to slip away, nearly running down the hallway and into the garden.

Dazai's not sure why he follows him, but he finds himself going back into the awful heat anyway.
Chuuya notices and snaps.

"Stop following me around! I lied to your mother because I don't want my employer to think bad of
me, okay?!"

"I didn't even say anything."

"Well — fine. Good." Chuuya turns then and goes back to work on the lawn chairs with vicious
energy. Dazai watches him for a while before starting to feel dizzy and escaping into the safety of
his acclimated house. The window allows him to watch the chibi anyway, who's faster on his feet
than ever, getting all of the work done in half the time it usually takes and ultimately taking off
with a run after his mother hands over the pathetic amount of bills.

After some time, Dazai tears himself away from the window and rummages through his drawer
until he finds a spotty set of watercolors, a faint buzzing under his skin, not allowing him to sit still
for the rest of the day.

The next day, Chuuya doesn't come to work. Nor the day after that.

His parents are annoyed that they weren't notified, sure, but it's not the end of the world. Finding a
garden boy isn't hard. And Dazai's pretty sure Chuuya was working way more than they actually
needed him to anyway.

But it's not that easy.

There's an itch under Dazai's skin that keeps him tossing and turning at night and looking at the
world through a haze during the day. He still sits down at the window and waits and waits for
Chuuya to come back, but he never does.

So Dazai takes it into his own hands.

At the start of Chuuya's employment, his parents took Chuuya's living address and phone number
of his guardians in case of emergencies. It takes Dazai three minutes in his father's office before
he's memorizing the address and then walking down the main street, a tabby cat following him.

He's never actually been in this part of the city, only having passed it by car, but he's heard a few
of his classmates giggling and whispering about it whenever it came up in geography lessons. Cone
street is packed with overcrowded rubble houses and people who've been abandoned by the upper
class. In the back of his mind, Dazai knew Chuuya isn't well off, but it only now occurs to him that
he comes from a completely different world. The realization leaves him occupied as he winds his
way through the narrow streets past shabby corner shops, children playing soccer with empty
plastic bottles, and groups of men sitting on steps and sneering at him. Dazai pays them no mind.
The only thing he searches for is ginger hair and a pair of bright blue eyes.

The house he arrives at looks like it's barely holding itself together. Dazai hesitates to knock,
worrying it might bring it down altogether, but in the end, risks it.

He hears a kid starting to wail. After several long moments, a woman with a cigarette in her mouth
opens the door and gives Dazai a clear once-over before saying, "Yes?"

"I'm looking for Chuuya. He lives here?"

"Who?"

"Chuuya," Dazai repeats patiently. "Short. Ginger hair?"

"Oh, that brat. He's not here. What d'you want with him?"
"He's my —" Stopping himself from saying friend , Dazai pauses, earning an irritated look. "He
works for my parents." He leaves out the part where Chuuya ditched work, not wanting to get him
into more trouble than he might already be in.

Considering the way the woman's eyes twitch momentarily, though, Dazai has a feeling that choice
wasn't left up to Chuuya, to begin with. "He ain't working there anymore," the woman eventually
gruffs out and tosses the butt of her cigarette at Dazai's feet. "Don't come here anymore." She
moves to close the door, but Dazai's faster, putting himself in between and pushing inside, eliciting
several cusses and insults.

"Chuuya?" Dazai calls, glancing around the miniature hallway, a few dozen shoes lying around, the
tiles half-cracked and dirty. "Chuuya!"

"Be quiet," the woman snaps. "You'll wake up the whole damn neighborhood with your yelling.
Your boy's not here. Out."

"I — my parents adore Chuuya. They would appreciate it if he came back to work." When the
woman continues glaring at him, Dazai offers, "They will even give him a raise?"

That makes her pause. Her eyes narrow skeptically. "A raise, huh? How much are we talkin'
about?"

"Make it double," Dazai says, barely suppressing using a snappish tone. "Just let him come again."

"Don't try any funny business, boy. I can call your parents and tell them what their kid is up to."

"I'm not. I'm serious. He'll get double the money than he got before. Please ."

The woman pretends to consider it, but everything from her stance to the glimmer in her eyes
betrays her answer. She's going to say yes, whether she acts like the opposite or not. And Chuuya
will come back. Chuuya will come home.

"Alright."

Dazai nods. "Thank you, miss."

"I'm not going to be so nice the next time you barge into my house," she tells him with a warning
finger. "I'll make sure the boy shows up from next week on."

"I'm not going to be so nice the next time you barge in and shout through my house," she tells him
with a warning finger. "I'll make sure the boy shows up from next week on."

He's so satisfied with himself, that Dazai nearly misses the familiar sight of a hunched back,
oversized hoodie, and ginger locks falling across his shoulders. Chuuya's there, a cigarette between
his fingers. There are two other kids around him, a white-haired boy and a girl with pink hair, and
Chuuya's laughing, loud and clear, before his gaze travels and finds Dazai and falls.

Chuuya's world is different. That much is clear. But if there's one thing that Dazai remotely wants,
it's to climb over the wall that separates them.

The surprise on Chuuya's face quickly turns into an infuriated scowl, especially when Dazai makes
his way over there.

"The hell are you doing here?!"

The other two turn around. "Chuuya? Who's this?"

"Hello, chibi," Dazai greets, shrugging. "Funny. I was looking for you."

"Why —?" Chuuya's eyes flick to the questioning gazes of his... friends, and he relaxes a bit, losing
his temper. Huh. "He's just... someone I know."

If he doesn't bother to introduce Dazai, then Dazai won't either. He tunes the kids out and zeroes in
on Chuuya. "I came to find you but talked to your guarding instead. Congratulations, you have a
job again. And even —"

Chuuya blinks. Then his entire arm, stuffed into his pocket, starts shaking. "You fucking idiot."

"A thank you would be enough too."

"You —" Chuuya opens and closes his mouth, seemingly not knowing what to do. Then he takes a
few steps, straight into Dazai, stabbing a finger into his chest. "Do you even know what the fuck
you were doing when you — when you —" His chest rises and falls heavily, breathing, turning
dangerously shallow before he steps back again and turns around, scrubbing a hand across his face.
"They're gonna kill me."

Dazai's stomach falls.

"Wait," Atsushi cuts in, shaking his head. "Just so I'm sure I understand properly. Chuuya was so
angry because — the people who fostered him would punish him for your actions?"

Scratching a spot on his arm, Dazai nods. "They were abusive. When they realized that my parents
might have seen Chuuya's bruises, they punished him and made him quit the job. And when I went
there to get him back, they got even more upset, though they still couldn't say no to the money."

"Oh." Atsushi's eyes widen then, and he winces at his clumsy word of choice—or, lack thereof.
"I'm sorry! I meant.. this was a shitty situation. You were only a kid, too."

Dazai's smile is bitter. "But I was safe at home. He wasn't."

Dazai shakes his head, refusing to admit he made a mistake even if this one might cost Chuuya
something precious. "I doubled your wage. They won't kill you, not if they want the money."

Chuuya laughs dryly. "Oh, thank god for that. Thank you so much, Dazai." His anger slowly ebbs
away into resignation, but when he catches Dazai just standing there, Chuuya lets out a gruff huff.
"Just go."

"You will come next week?"

"I don't have any choice, do I?"

Dazai nods. It's not perfect, but, at least, he will know Chuuya is safe. He will know Chuuya is
alive for a couple of hours every day. It has to be enough for now. He turns around slowly,
ignoring the kids that gape at him and Chuuya, and starts walking back home.
 1974-1975
Chapter Notes

content warnings:

- self-harm
- suicide attempt
- discussion of child abuse

It feels like years go by before the week finally starts, and Dazai sits down at his windowsill,
obsessively watching the gate in the backyard below. A few minutes late, Chuuya appears though,
frowning and wearing another long-sleeved shirt despite the stifling summer heat.

Dazai doesn't wait before trotting downstairs and outside, finding Chuuya, already obediently
grabbing a shovel from the shed and getting to work. When he spots Dazai, his face darkens, and
he turns away. "Leave me alone. I mean it, Dazai."

"At least, hear me out."

"No. I don't think I will."

How silly. Dazai reaches out to grab him, wrapping a hand around his wrist. Chuuya not only
flinches away, he jerks back like he was shot. And Dazai realizes his mistake way too late yet
again.

Chuuya grits his teeth, pointedly avoiding his gaze. "Dazai. Just —"

"I won't touch you again. I'm sorry."

Closing his eyes, Chuuya shakes his head. "It's stupid..."

"No, it's not. I won't. I promise, but... can you still come with me? You don't have to work today."

"Hah?"

"Do you think my parents need that much garden work? They don't."

"But you promised them money . I know it doesn't matter to you, but that's why I'm here—"

"You will get it. That wasn't a lie."

Chuuya shoots him a frown, clearly suspicious, but he finally relents and tosses the shovel aside,
following Dazai inside.

"I didn't tell my parents about the money, so you will get that from me. You also don't have to
come every day, but, at least, you'll have an excuse to leave for a few hours."

He feels Chuuya stares at him as they head inside. "Why are you doing this?"

"I..." Dazai forces out a cheerful smile. "I owe you. This is me repaying you."
"Whatever," Chuuya rolls his eyes. "So... what now?"

"You could go." Suppose he has somewhere to spend that time at. "Or you can stay."

"And do what?"

"I have an idea. Let me show you."

"I trust you less and less every time you asshole say that."

"You liked the fountain, and you'll like this."

After slapping a sandwich together for Chuuya, they end up upstairs in Dazai's room, and he places
Chuuya on the couch across from his bed before getting out a blank sheet of paper, a hard surface,
and his pencils. Chuuya frowns. "Are you going to draw me?"

"Yes."

"Seriously? That's your idea of fun?"

"Oh, right. Chuuya probably prefers smoking and doing drugs."

"I don't do drugs, idiot." Chuuya makes a face. "At least not that often. And no hard drugs."

Dazai smiles as he glances down to sketch out the lines of his face, the sharp edges of his jaw, and
collarbones. "Chuuya's such a bad boy~"

"Like you haven't ever taken a pull of a cigarette!"

"I haven't."

"You're lying."

"I don't lie. And stop moving around unless you want to come out looking like an evil little
munchkin."

"Ugh, shut up," Chuuya murmurs, though it lacks any heat. "But seriously. No cigarettes? Not
even alcohol?"

"Nope."

"How cute." When the words get out, Dazai looks up, blinking at Chuuya, whose face turns
gloriously red before it shifts into a glower. "What are you staring at, dumbass?"

"Your face," Dazai deadpans. Obviously. "I'm drawing you, after all."

"Yeah, uh. Whatever."

They fill the silence with mindless chatter, Chuuya sneaking glances around the room as Dazai's
hand works over the paper. When he's done with the rough sketch, Chuuya gets up and actively
looks around, picking up a book lying on his desk and scowling at it. "The fuck is this? 70 ways to
commit suicide —?"

"It is what it says there."

"Why would you have something like that?"

"Because it's interesting." Dazai snatches it out of his hands and tosses it aside. Stretching, he lets
out a yawn and sees Chuuya follow the movement carefully.

"You like playing mysterious, huh? Idiot mackerel. I'll figure you out."

"Not if I figure you out first."

"I'm not the mathematical equation here." Shaking his head, Chuuya steps away and glances at the
sketch lying on Dazai's bed before sitting down and running a hand over it. "Hey, that's actually not
so bad."

"Ohhh, I'm honored."

Chuuya rolls his eyes. "I thought you were doing it for shits and kicks."

"I did not."

"But why... draw me ?"

Dazai finds himself hesitating. "Because drawing objects can only be fun for so much time, silly."

Chuuya lets out a hum, keeps staring at the drawing before he spots the clock on the wall, and lets
out a sigh. "I should get going."

"Of course." Dazai finds his wallet on the desk, opens it, and takes out several bills before handing
them to Chuuya.

"That's way too much."

"Your foster parents don't need to know that."

"I don't need your pity money," Chuuya grunts and pushes Dazai's hand away. As if he forgot
about his own rule of not touching, Chuuya releases a sharp breath at the contact of their skin but
doesn't pull away. He stares at their hands for a moment, before finally drawing away and shaking
his head. "Give me what you told you said you'd give me. That's it."

"You're really stubborn," Dazai says and takes one bill away. "I was repaying my favor."

"Tough luck, shithead." Chuuya stuffs the money along with his hands into his pockets and goes to
the door. "See you tomorrow."

"You will."

After Dazai more or less explains the situation in his own, creative words, his parents accept
Chuuya back without any hesitation whatsoever, and so over the summer, Chuuya comes over
every day. When the school semester begins, his shifts dwindle, but he still comes around pretty
often. Because of his incredible skills at fixing things, Chuuya even helps around the house. He
helps Dazai's father with the sink and the new shower stalls and takes care of the rusty bikes that
they barely use. Since Chuuya gets to keep the extra money for once, Dazai makes a habit out of
accidentally breaking things. Obviously, Chuuya notices and yells at him, but in the end, if it's
broken, it's broken. No amount of shouting will help with that.

Dazai has never enjoyed the aspects of the school, but after finding someone to spend his time with
at home, the lessons become even more bothersome, every hour dragging and dragging until he
can get out. A girl from the other class taps his shoulder one day and gives him a letter with
flaming pink cheeks before she bows and hurries away. Later, when he shows the confession to
Chuuya, grinning, he notices the same blush, just a shade more saturated, on Chuuya's face.

Fall comes and goes. Winter's not only nice to Dazai. Chuuya gets to wear as many long-sleeved
shirts as he has — which is not many — so Dazai gets him a soft creamy beige sweater for
Christmas and the expression he gets in return is more worth than any other gift he could ever
imagine.

One night, in late January, Dazai's parents invite Chuuya for mulled wine. The two of them wrap
blankets around themselves and watch the snow fall outside, the hot spicy beverage making
everything seem fuzzier.

"I used to hate winter," Chuuya says then.

Dazai swallows and glances at him. "You did? You like it now."

"Well, yeah. I just... forget it. It's stupid."

"You can tell me."

Chuuya pointedly averts his gaze and lets out a breath. "One of the families I was in before — they
used to lock me outside as a punishment. It was always easier to bear it when it was hot."

Dazai scratches at his arms, tearing some of the bandages. "If that ever happens again, you can
come here."

"Yeah. Thanks."

It sounds like an offhand comment rather than a promise, so Dazai grazes his foot until Chuuya
looks at him. "I'm serious."

"Okay," Chuuya replies slowly, holding his gaze. "Then, so am I."

Satisfied, Dazai leans back into his armchair. Chuuya offered something he's been curious about
for a long time now — ever since he laid eyes on him if he's being honest. These topics with
Chuuya are dangerous territory, though. Prod to deep and Chuuya will recoil like a hurt wild
animal, baring his fangs. Dazai has tried avoiding that outcome — what's the point of knowing
something when he might lose Chuuya's wary trust in return? Or worse. All of Chuuya. But
Chuuya gave away something first, so Dazai feels confident in asking the next question. "Were
they all like that?"

Chuuya's face momentarily stiffens before he lets out a breath. "Most of them. Yeah." He pauses,
but the silence is filled with the air of untold words. "I didn't stay long in most families," he admits
then. "Too much trouble, they kept telling me, but what they didn't know is that that was the plan."

It's smart—something Dazai would have done if he had been in Chuuya's situation.

"What was the longest you ever stayed?" he asks.

"Little less than a year." That's all Chuuya offers, and Dazai asks for nothing more but his silent
and comforting company as they sip their mulled wine and watch the world turn white.

Winter slowly bleeds into spring, bringing more school assignments for the last months of the final
term, more afternoons outside in the backyard, and nights that leave Dazai awake for days. He gets
lost in the feeling of the blade cutting into his skin, just deep enough to blur the borders between
pain and never-ending bliss that shrouds him in a mist of sweet nothingness.

It's when Dazai wakes up in a white hospital room that some of the fog clears a little. His mother
spends hours crying at his bed, asking him why over and over again, begging him to do this and
not do that. His father stands by the window and just shakes his head.

When Dazai gets home after a week of being continuously monitored and watched, he finds
himself going to the water fountain first. For once, he didn't know — didn't even expect it, but
Chuuya's there, waiting.

His bright eyes go huge and wide when he spots Dazai, unmistakenly lowering to his left arm.
"You're back. Are you okay? What happened?"

"Nothing that didn't happen before," Dazai says, sitting down at the pool's edge and blinking up
into the sun. "How did you know?"

"Duh. You disappeared for a week."

"So? Maybe I was busy."

"Yeah, busy," Chuuya mutters but sits down next to him. "I heard rumors. About you."

Dazai's brows furrow. "You did?"

"Heard your neighbors talk. That the ambulance had to come and pick you up."

"Those hags should stick their nose into their own business and perhaps investigate why their
husbands are committing adultery."

Chuuya huffs out a laugh that sounds more relieved than funny. "You idiot. I'm glad you're okay."

"Ohhh," Dazai says and lifts his finger to poke Chuuya's cheek before stopping himself. No
touching. "Does Chuuya care about me after all ~"

"You were the one who wanted us to be friends, shithead."

"I never said that."

"But you meant it."

"Did not."

The same way Dazai doesn't demand answers, Chuuya doesn't ask any more than necessary, and
it's fine. Dazai would much rather talk about crabs anyway.

Still, over time, it's inevitable not to pick up a dozen of Chuuya's quirks and secrets, which Dazai
does with great care. His mind won't let him forget it either way, but he makes sure to put it into
the part of his brain that prioritizes things. Chuuya eats a lot. He has a dimple in his cheek when he
laughs, really laughs instead of puffing out a dry, bitter noise. He pretends not to, but he always
pauses watering the plants or fixing up his bike when Dazai switches the radio channels to put on
music. Wine is his favorite alcoholic beverage. One time, Chuuya slips up and mutters something
in french before admitting he picked up some phrases and words from a few Frenchmen he used to
live with.

But the biggest thing Dazai discovers about the boy working in his garden is that he doesn't make
any sense at all. Chuuya told him he never stayed long anywhere on that night last winter, and yet
he's still here, a year gone by and passed.

Summer comes with maddening temperatures and t-shirts.

Dazai's hiding under the sunshade in the garden, reading a book, when he finds himself looking at
Chuuya instead. He's frowning at a manual of a desk, squatting, and there's a layer of skin exposed
above his hip. A layer that's full of shadows.

For a moment, the mist in Dazai's head clears, knotting his stomach into a pit of bottomless rage.
The book falls from his hands, making Chuuya glance up, and following the direction of Dazai's
eyes. He quickly sees his own mistake.

He covers up the shirt with a glare. "Don't."

It's as much of a warning as he'll get it, but right now, Dazai's here with a muzzle.

"You have to stop it."

"Shut up."

"Let me stop it then."

There are ways. Dazai could kill a man if he put his mind to it, he's sure.

Chuuya gapes at him for a second before the surprise shifts into resentful anger. "This isn't a
fucking teeny novel, Dazai," he spits. "This is my life. And the life of several other kids having to
live there."

"How is it life when you get beaten bloody every single day?"

"Fuck you," Chuuya hisses and gets up. "You don't even know what you're talking about."

"Why would you stay? Why let them do that to you when you can leave?"

"Just shut up!"

"Why? Because I'm telling the truth?"

"No, because you're an idiot! An idiot who has no fucking idea. None . There are worse things than
this. At least, here I have a roof over my head. I have a way to save up some money to get out of
that shithole someday. I have opportunities I never fucking had before in my life, and you're sitting
here, in the hundred square meter backyard of the mansion that you live in, and tell me to throw it
at all away! You know jackshit!"

Dazai's thrilled to get so much information at once, without even asking for it, but as interesting as
these revelations are, Chuuya misses one simple thing. "You're stupid, Chuuya."

Chuuya's nostrils flare, and his clenched fist shakes with the desire to punch Dazai.

"You can stay here. You don't have to endure all that when I can help you."

"No," Chuuya says. "You're the one that's stupid."

It doesn't make sense. The solution is so easy, right there, and yet Chuuya's — what? Too stubborn
to take a hand that's offering to help him?
Chuuya tosses the garden gloves at Dazai's feet and turns around. "I'm going home. Keep the
fucking money to yourself."

"That's not your home, Chuuya."

"Fuck you. You're not my home either."

Dazai ventures into Chuuya's side of the universe for the second time the following day.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he's aware this won't end prettily. In fact, this will become
very ugly very quickly, but it's still going to be more entertaining than the distant voices of his
parents arguing themselves silly back at the house.

He doesn't bother checking first if Chuuya's at home. It's the middle of June, warm, and Dazai's
confident Chuuya spends as much time as he can outside when he's not already at school, working
in his family's backyard, or doing whatever else there is. If Dazai's right — and he always is,
Chuuya should be far away right now. He knocks at the door of the house, faintly noticing a pot of
pink flowers standing on the makeshift porch, the only nice thing about the entire building.

This time, it takes Dazai to knock a second time, louder and more insistent until the door is thrown
open, revealing a man in a white tank top, scowling at him. "What do you need?"

Without saying a word, Dazai pushes inside.

He's well aware that he's physically not strong enough to do any damage, and as tempting as it is to
stick a knife into whoever laid their hands on Chuuya and be done with it, Dazai is smart enough to
acknowledge that it wouldn't hold as a permanent solution. Authorities would come to investigate,
and once they realized what kind of situation the kids were in, they would be swift to blame them.
Chuuya would be shipped off. Dazai would spend his life chasing a feeling similar to Chuuya's
fingertips against his skin, and he would fail.

Not a solution.

Forced to use the one thing he has: money, Dazai holds out the bundle of cash he gathered for this
occasion, effectively silencing any sound of protest the man was about to make as he invites
himself further into the house, locating the kitchen.

That, and influence — as much as a sixteen-year-old boy like Dazai can have.

"Are you responsible for the children living here?"

"Who the fuck wants to know," the man says, suspiciously glaring at Dazai, but eyeing the money
with apparent interest. His glare is hostile, but...

"Does it matter? I have something you want, and you can do something I want."

"Kid, you look like you just finished elementary school. I won't let you talk to me like that again."

Dazai sighs. "Nevertheless, I am talking. Answer the question. Are you responsible for the kids, or
are you not?"

"Yes, you— "

As soon as the word falls, Dazai's blood freezes.

The man doesn't look that much stronger, but he has more mass, and he's tall; probably has fifteen
inches on Chuuya. Maybe that's it? But no matter how he puts it, it won't make sense to Dazai.
Why Chuuya wouldn't put up a fight. Why he would just let his body turn blue when there's so
much fire inside him. Something doesn't fit.

And Dazai can't do anything but level a stare at the man. "You don't touch Chuuya ever again."
That's when the expression on the man's face clears, a mix of understanding and amusement
squeezing out. "Chuuya. Yes? You won't lay another finger on him. Best, you don't look at him
ever again."

"Or what? You'll get your money back?"

"I'll ruin your whole life." Dazai places his hands on his lap, not breaking eye contact. "I will take
away your right to take in any other children. I will take away everything you love and care about.
I will take away this garbage of house and make sure you end up under the bridge, begging for a
piece of bread. You will have nothing left."

A drop of sweat rolls over the man's cheek. "You're just a brat," he says then. "What'd he do? Hire
an actor to threaten me? That what he thinks will work?" He lets out a loud, ugly laugh, throwing
his head back.

Dazai tries not to let it get to him, but he feels frustrated anyway, the feeling biting through his
flesh. Getting up from the chair with a creak, he grabs the kitchen knife lying on the table and stabs
it into the counter behind him, missing the man's hands by a few inches.

At least, the laughter stops.

"Who do you think they'll believe? Me — the heir of a billion company or you — a miserable fuck
that beats children for pleasure?"

"You—"

Dazai shakes his head. "Take the money and leave Chuuya alone."

He turns around then, walking the same way he came from when he spots a flash of pink hair at
the stairs. For a single moment, their eyes meet. Dazai remembers her, the girl who was hanging
out with Chuuya. What he assumed to be his friend must be another kid in this rotten house. She
stares back before finally, spinning on her heels and escaping up the stairs.

Dazai leaves the house with his stomach flip-flopping around. He sold a few things in his room to
make this bribe, but it doesn't feel enough. It wasn't enough to bribe the man to disappear
altogether, not enough to make him piss his pants, but it will have to do until the other parts of
Dazai's plans come into motion.
 1975-1976
Chapter Notes

there's, again, talk and description of physical child abuse in this chapter, as well as
description of self-mutilation and self-harm

Dazai very much doubts the girl has told Chuuya about what transpired in the kitchen since the
next time Chuuya comes around, he looks cooled off, even willing to talk to Dazai.

Their secrets are uneven now, and even though Dazai rarely cares about something as silly as
fairness, he likes to keep things even with Chuuya. Only with Chuuya. So Dazai decides to give
something up.

Sitting on his bed in Dazai's room, Chuuya quirks a brow. "Am I here for a reason, or are you just
gonna stand there...?"

"I'm going to take off my shirt."

"Oh, uh, okay?"

"And show you what's under the bandages."

"Oh," Chuuya breathes out. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

No . Dazai tells himself he's doing it to keep the balance, to maintain some sort of order, but he
can't deny that there's a sick kind of thrill in his belly after he slips out of his shirt and starts
unwrapping the bandages until they fall to the floor in a heap. Chuuya stares, and Dazai both hates
and craves it.

He doesn't look down. He was never a fan of the sight, but he's downright obsessed with the
feeling of running his fingertips across his skin and being able to read all the words that were
carved in there. Sliced. Cut. Human above his hip. No longer right beneath his heart.

The silence stretches over the room, making the air feel hot and heavy.

"You..." Chuuya pauses, lets the word hang there. "Can I touch it?"

It's not what Dazai expected, least of all from him, but he's nodding before he can stop himself.
Control. The one thing that's important enough to bleed for, and he gives it up like it's nothing for
this boy. Dazai crosses the room until Chuuya can lift his hand and let it ghost over the bumps and
ridges on the skin above his ribcage, the phantom touch making him shiver. He sees Chuuya
reading the words — pandora, box, prodigy — and take it all in.

Dazai wonders if Chuuya will get angry. There is Dazai, having a house, and two parents that
provide him with everything he needs, and still, he's drowning in his head. And then there's
Chuuya... a furious sun.
All Chuuya does though is draw his hand back and nod. There are no cruel remarks or questions
about why and what —just silent acceptance.

The odds are even.

(And maybe Dazai lies awake that night, tracing the scars in the hope of getting the same phantom
sensation as Chuuya managed. He fails.)

His father packs his bag and leaves them on a rainy day in august. Dazai finds his mother drying
her mascara-stained cheeks with a handkerchief in the kitchen, a big glass of wine in her hands.

He tells Chuuya about it later that day, recounting the events with his usual distance, and blinks
when Chuuya asks how's he dealing with all of it. His heart, Dazai thinks, is way too big for his
own good.

Figuring out whether Chuuya's foster parents are keeping up their end of the deal isn't an easy task,
considering he wraps himself in long-sleeved clothes as soon as the temperatures start dropping
again. Dazai can't ask him either. Not if he doesn't want to make Chuuya suspicious. But there
have been no more weird limps as far as Dazai can see. That has to mean something.

Another year and they will finish school. Another year and they can escape this town with all its
faults and demons.

As soon as they have the chance, Dazai will pack his bags, just like his father did, and escape with
Chuuya, even if he has to drag him along screaming.

For new year's, his mother takes him to Tokyo, and when the clock turns twelve, Dazai's only wish
is to be somewhere else in precisely one year.

Shortly after the summer Dazai turns seventeen, his school gives them a weekend to visit
universities. Still unsure whether to humor his father and his persistent pushing to study business
administration to eventually take over the company or go to an art school, Dazai has to travel. First,
he goes to Osaka, and it's okay. A school after his father's name. Well-dressed students pampered
by their parents. It's the second trip to Tokyo that's interesting. After a campus tour and lunch in the
afternoon soon, Dazai decided to do some exploring on his own and stumbles into a dimly lit alley
where he sees an interesting sign.

Bar lupin.

That's where he meets Oda and Ango.

Atsushi's brows shoot up at that.

Having done his research, he instantly recognizes these names. Oda Sakunosuke was not only a
very good friend to Dazai but an author that published several successful books that shaped Japan's
modern literature among others. Ango has kept more in the shadows, but he's been working as an
archeologist since his twenties.

Noticing Atsushi's expression, Dazai smiles gently. "Ah, I see. You recognized Odasaku's name."

"There have been rumors about you two," Atsushi blurts out before he can help himself.
"Aren't there always?" Dazai takes another sip of his glass and then crosses his legs. "This story is
not about Odasaku, but he's part of it, as he will always be part of me. I owe him a lot."

Not about Odasaku then. Dazai said Atsushi would figure it out himself, and it's indeed difficult to
miss who this tale has been about all along.

"Chuuya."

"Ha?" Chuuya, who's working on fixing up one of the old motorcycles that have been standing in
the garage for ages, spins around, his face splitting into a toothy smile when he sees Dazai. For a
moment, it looks like he's going to lean in and hug him, but he just rocks forward on his heels and
gently punches him in the shoulder. "Welcome back, idiot. How was it?"

"I must admit," Dazai settles down on a small available stool, "it was helpful. I know where I'll go
now."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Tokyo."

"That's — that's good. Great." Chuuya smiles — tries to, at least, and the falter of movement
confuses Dazai. Of all the times Chuuya was so careless with his heart, he's withholding now?

Nonetheless, Dazai continues. He tells him about the bar, about his new friends, especially
Odasaku, because, in all honesty, Dazai doubted he would ever meet someone else like that. Such
brilliance and charismatic spirit packed up in a gentle giant. He's handsome, too.

He probably spends an hour recounting all the ways Oda amazes him and why he needs to go to
that university if only to have another night like that. Full of light-hearted conversations and humor
and — Dazai notices that Chuuya's been quiet for a while now, silently working on the bike.

He can't help it. He pouts. "Is Chuuya ignoring me?"

"Wha —? No. I'm just busy."

"You're always busy, but you make time to, at least, listen to me. This is important. This is the
future."

A flash of irritation crosses Chuuya's before, though it disappears just as quickly as it came. "Yeah,
well," he mutters, voice rough, "I don't have much time to fix this, and I really wanna fix it."

"Ohhh, going on a hot date afterwards?"

Chuuya glances at him and then away. "No, you idiot. Just... stuff."

"Very eloquent as always."

"Sorry for not talking like someone with a stick up their ass," Chuuya snaps before turning back to
his work.

Dazai can't help but frown. He knows Chuuya's tones, knows what he sounds like when he
pretends to be annoyed and what he sounds like when something actually bothers him.

"Moving on then," Dazai decides. "Did anything interesting happen while I was gone?"
"Nah."

"Really? Nothing at all?"

"No. Unless you wanna hear about your neighbor getting a new pool installed. I can tell you all
about that since she asked me to help her out, then hit on me, like, twenty times."

"You know what they say. There's many a good tune played on an old fiddle."

Chuuya grimaces. "Yeah.. not my type."

Something Dazai has noticed over the last two years is that whenever romance or sex was brought
up, Chuuya always tends to become more awkward — even more so than usual. Obviously, he
tries to play it tough most of the time, and he does it fairly well, but he has a way of stumbling over
his own words sometimes.

Dazai has his theories.

Chuuya's pretty much more experienced in anything that excludes school, so it's fair to assume he's
more familiar with sex as well. Dazai kissed exactly two girls in his life, and both events were
incredibly boring. Nothing he desires to repeat immediately. Sometimes, he gets curious, though.

Surely, there has to be something enjoyable about kissing if everyone's so obsessed with it.

"Hey, Chuuya."

"Hm?"

"Do you like kissing?"

There it is again. That stiffness in his spine. The falter of movements before he visibly forces
himself to carry on whatever he's doing with that screwdriver. "Uh, yeah?"

"Is that an answer or a question?"

Chuuya rolls his eyes. "Obviously, I'm answering, smartass."

"Eh... and you enjoyed it? Actually enjoyed it?"

" Yes . What're you getting at?"

"Nothing. I'm just curious because I... don't see what all the fuss is about. It's wet, kind of gross."

Letting out a soft snort, Chuuya shakes his head. "Well, there has to be... chemistry. You'll have to
like the person to enjoy it, I guess, and yeah, the person has to be good, too. Wouldn't be nice if
they slobbered all over you. It just... depends on your partner."

Partner .

Not the girl. Not she or her.

Dazai has his theories.

He also has theories about himself, though he never cared enough to dissect the topic and come out
with an answer.
Until now.

"What would you do," Dazai asks, "if I asked you to show me."

"Show you..." Chuuya repeats, his long eyelashes blinking innocently.

Dazai nods.

"Oh. We're — You —" Chuuya looks around suspiciously like Dazai suggested to do it right here
and now, out in the open. Of course, Dazai would drag him back into his room. He doesn't want his
mother hearing about it and coming to him later on, crying, and asking another thousand "why"
and "what" questions.

"Ehhh, Chuuya's taking too long."

"Shut up. Why are you interested in this all of a sudden anyway?"

"Well, we have to be prepared for university, right? I like knowing what I'm up against."

"It's a fucking kiss, not a war strategy."

"Everything can be a strategy."

Chuuya lapses into silence then, working on the damned bike without ever giving Dazai any clear
answer. Dazai accepts it and leans back, enjoying the mild sun rays on his pale skin. A gentle tap
on his shoulder makes him open his eyes again, and he sees Chuuya beckoning him to follow.

He has a feeling he knows where this is leading to as Chuuya guides him through his own house,
but it becomes abundantly clear when they go into the bathroom, and Chuuya carefully locks the
door behind them before giving Dazai a look. "Stand there."

"Here?" he asks, settling against the door.

"Yeah..." Chuuya comes closer then. "Don't... touch me. My hair is fine. Or my shirt, but not —"

"Okay."

Nodding, Chuuya takes another step until his chest is only inches away from Dazai's. They have
both grown over time, but Dazai more, so Chuuya has to look up as he curls one hand in the collar
of Dazai's shirt and then tugs him down into a kiss.

It's tentatively slow, but Dazai's eyes flutter closed anyway. He only ever remembers how much he
craves that closeness when it's too late, but now — Chuuya kisses him again, and this time he puts
more pressure into it until Dazai mirrors it. Ever so slowly, he touches Chuuya's sleeve, tugging
him a bit closer and —

"Dazai?"

They jump away from each other like rabbits, even if there's a door protecting them. Chuuya
already looks ready to throw a fit, but Dazai silently tells him that it's fine. "Yes," he shouts back
then, eyes still on Chuuya. "Give me a minute!" Then he murmurs, "I'll lead her upstairs so you
can slip away."

"Okay," Chuuya breathes out.

Dazai smiles. "Thank you."

He goes then, leaving Chuuya behind in that bathroom, unaware that he'll remember this very
moment every day for the next couple of years.

Dazai has several scenarios in mind for the next time he sees Chuuya. Awkwardness. Flustered
cheeks. Chuuya might try to avoid Dazai, act like nothing at all happened. Or maybe he will step
entirely out of the realm of likely possibilities and open up the door to something new.

What Dazai doesn't expect is a fist to his face.

Dazai's sitting at the edge of the fountain and facing the sky above, letting the platter of the water
drown out the hot pulse of his skin, begging him for one more word. When he glances down and
opens his eyes, he sees Chuuya stalking across the alley. Dazai smiles. Chuuya glares. It's then that
Dazai not only realizes something is wrong but that Chuuya is going to punch him. He sees it
coming; he could evade it, but Dazai lets it happen anyway.

"You had no right," Chuuya hisses, his hand fisted in Dazai's shirt. "No fucking right!"

"Chuuya —"

"No, shut up! I told you to leave it be! I told you I had it under control but no —"

"Perhaps if you told me what this is about," Dazai wheezes out, feeling his left eye throb painfully,
"then I would be able to reply."

"Satoshi! The man in our house. You fucking paid him off?!

Oh.

Dazai's blood turns cold. "Did he touch you?"

"I told you to leave it alone! Why the fuck wouldn't you listen?!"

"Chuuya did he or did he not —"

"No," Chuuya bursts out, "but he touched Yuan!" His face crumples painfully. "It should've been
me! Me , Dazai! Not the other kids!"

"What are you talking about?" Dazai asks, though it slowly starts to make sense to him. The
missing pieces fit into place with a sick lurch.

Chuuya lets go of him with a shove and turns around, scrubbing a hand across his face.

"I didn't — Satoshi wasn't supposed to touch anyone anymore," Dazai says.

"Yeah," Chuuya lets out a bitter laugh, "guess he didn't get the memo."

"Chuuya. Why would you take on all of that pain?"

"Because I can. Because it's easier for me than it is for them. Because it's none of your damn
business! I had it under control. I would take it and then I could — I could have —"

What is he talking about? He still can.

"What did you to him?"

"I didn't see that fucker yet."

"Chuuya. Don't do anything stupid."

Chuuya turns to him, and in his face, Dazai realizes no amount of words will stop him. Not even
the barrel of a gun against his temple would. He's a force of nature. Everything else is defenseless
against that kind of determination.

And still, Dazai tries. Like a fool. "I can give you money. I - I can sell every expensive thing I
own, and we can bribe him to leave. You only have several months left until you're eighteen, and
then we can leave. We can —"

"We?"

"Yes."

"Dazai," Chuuya says, bitterness rolling off every syllable. "I was never going anywhere with you.
My family's here. The kids are here. I - I don't even have enough money to buy myself lunch every
day. Where do you think would I get the fucking money to move halfway across the country? I
don't even have a degree!"

"I can —"

"You can," Chuuya mocks. "You can do this. You can do that. I won't live off your money like
some kind of pet. I'm not yours. The people I care about are going to stay here! I can't just leave
them!"

Dazai's mouth opens and freezes. Words are his power, his dynamite, and yet at the moment he
needs them the most, they fail him. "Chuuya." There's nothing left, but this one word. This one
truth. " Chuuya —"

"No."

Chuuya shakes his head. There is pain in his eyes, too, regret and hurt, that are deep enough to
convince Dazai that maybe he wasn't living in a completely different universe the whole time
where the two of them would leave this town together. All the same, Chuuya turns around and
leaves.

The state of panic only lasts for a few minutes before Dazai snaps out of it, and the gears in his
mind start working. He can work this out. Problem-solving is what he's good at. If not solve, he can
talk Chuuya out of it, manipulate him into staying put even if that means Chuuya will hate him for
interfering again. Dazai would rather live with Chuuya hating him than him behind bars. Or worse.

The only thing that's against him is time.

If he had more time. More time to get there before Chuuya. More time to talk to that bastard
Satoshi before Chuuya.

Once, he's home, his chest rising and falling heavily, Dazai makes a call; the same call he's been
making for a year now. After that's done, he finds every penny and bill that's in the house,
including his mother's checkbook. He can fake her signature and talk his way out of it later.

It will work.
His trust fund would have been the more elegant solution, but he's still half a year away from being
eighteen. Sometimes messy solutions are needed, too.

He's running down the stairs when his mother catches him, having just come home. She lets out a
dramatic gasp. "Osamu! Your face!"

"I'm perfectly fine —" He tries pushing past her, but she catches him around the wrist.

"Where are you rushing off to? What happened? Osamu, slow down."

"Mother, I do not have time —"

"You will make time," she cuts in sharply.

Dazai spends fifteen horrid minutes, letting his mother treat his black eye and evading her
questions before he finally gets out of the door. His driving skills are still rusty, not to mention he
isn't even allowed to drive alone yet, but today everything seems to be the exception. He just wants
to stop Chuuya.

After parking the car, he starts to run like a madman, pushing his feet across the pavement and
through the slim streets towards Chuuya .

But it seems like he's too late.

When he reaches the house, the first thing he spots is a girl with pink hair crying outside. Yuan.

"You," he says, running up to her. "Where is he?"

Yuan shakes her head, more tears rolling down her cheeks. There's a bruise on her arm.

"I need you to tell me what happens. Now."

"Satoshi came home and Chu-chuuya —" She hiccups. "— he started beating him, and he wouldn't
stop — Satoshi was already unconscious, but Chuuya wouldn't stop, I told him to —"

"Where. Is. he."

"They took him," she whispers. "Someone called the police. They took him away even though —
even though I tried to tell them that he did it for us —"

For them.

Chuuya let himself in harm's way for them.

And now he's gone because of them.

The thought travels through Dazai like poison, turning his organs into acid. This is —

A white-haired boy trots over and grabs her hand. "Yuan, they want to speak to us." His gaze meets
Dazai's then, tuning cold. Dazai knows what that look means. Blame. Accusement. If not for
Dazai, Yuan would have been left alone. Chuuya could have still been taking the beatings, and
everything would have been just peachy. "C'mon, let's go."

Men like Satoshi are never satisfied, though. Their greed is infinite.

Dazai's left standing there, reduced to the one feeling he hates the most.
He's utterly and unfathomably powerless.

The next morning, Dazai gets a call from the social worker he's been harassing for the longest time
now. They can finally send someone to look into the situation now, she says. They can check the
foster parents for abuse and neglect.

Dazai tells her it's too late.

One day.

One day too late.

Dazai tries to find Chuuya in the system. He calls the authorities to get some information, but they
hang up on him before he even finishes the request. He visits the local juvenile detention facilities
in Yokohama only to be denied any information at the desk. He calls the social worker and begs
him to give him anything at all, a crumb, some sort of trail he can follow to find Chuuya.

It feels like Chuuya never even existed, though. An orphan, a street rat, a violent teenager with
anger issues. Lost in the system. It's nothing new. Who cares if a kid without an identity except for
a name goes missing? Who would bother looking for him?

Dazai tries for months.

Even though he can't be bothered with classes and studying and exams, even though his skin
screams for one name and one name only, he's forced to graduate and finish school, forced to live
his life like he didn't lose part of it.

And just like that, Chuuya quietly and soundlessly slips out of his grip.
 1981

Well you look like yourself

But you're somebody else

Only it ain't on the surface

Well you talk like yourself

No, I hear someone else though

[...]

You're Somebody Else, Flora Cash

xxx

Atsushi opens his mouth to offer an appropriate reply to the tragic turn of events, but at that very
moment, his ring tone blares through the room. "Oh. I'm so sorry, Dazai-san!"

Dazai waves him off. "Let's take a break so you can accept that call, yes? We still have much
ground to cover."

It answers the question of whether that's the end of the story or not. Atushi doubted it. There still
seems so much to be told based on the paintings alone.

"That sounds good. Can I, uh, go to the bathroom?"

"Sure. It's right down the hallway, on your right."

"Thank you so much!" After making a little bow, Atsushi slips out into the hallway and is not
surprised in the slightest to see Ryuu's name on his phone screen. Of course, that jerk would call
him in the middle of, what could be, the most important job of his career! "What?" he snaps into
the phone.

"Jinko. How's the interview going?"

"You could have asked me that through a text. Or just wait like a normal person!"

"And you could have your phone on silent like a normal person," Ryuu shoots back, not even
mildly apologetic. "Since you picked up, you were free anyway. So. How is it going?"

"It's fine. Interesting. Dazai-san has a lot tell..."

"Yeah. I figured."

That makes Atsushi feel guilty all of a sudden. Yes, Ryuu has been following Dazai's career ever
since he was a little child, being downright obsessed with everything related to Dazai Osamu, and
yes, maybe Atsushi only recently started paying attention, but so what? It's not his fault Dazai
specifically requested him to do the interview. Ryuu can't be mad about this. That's not how things
work.
"I... I have to go," he says, which is a lie.

"Yeah, okay." There is a small pause before Ryuu murmurs, "Good luck. See you at home."

Atsushi goes to the bathroom with his stomach in knots, washing his face several times in the hope
that it will clear his thoughts for the rest of the interview.

Back in Dazai's office, there's a petite redhead who eyes him not too politely and then asks, "Want
something to drink, mister?"

"Uh, sure. A coffee?"

"Be right up," she says with a wink and then leaves.

Atsushi turns back to Dazai. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Mmm, where were we?"

"You went to college."

"Ah, that's right. Those four years of my life were both educational and memorable, and even
though I didn't see it back then, I very much needed them to grow after leaving my home. I started
a friendship with one of the most important people in my life who helped and guided me through
the mist." Oda Sakunosoke. "I met my future friends and business partners. I lowered my father
into the ground. I put my mind into something and discovered it's not something I wanted, after
all."

"I experienced things that others might call failing, but in hindsight, it was always a lesson. Except
for that one thing..." Dazai stops for a moment, folding his hands together. "Throughout the four
years, I couldn't stop thinking about the boy from my backyard. Not for one day. I don't dwell on
my mistakes. They're essential for survival in this world, but Chuuya... Chuuya was the one person
I failed."

"Coming back to Yokohama was hard for that precise reason. I had been back for several occasions
but not for longer than two weeks. When I returned there after graduation, it wasn't even by my
own will. I was dragged there because my father was dead, and someone had to take over the
company, so they decided it should be me. I was good. That's why my father wanted me there even
though he told me I was weak my entire life. So, it was my first day at the company. They assigned
a man named Kunikida to assist with my introduction..."

1981

Dazai's favorite part about the first meeting at his father's multinational beverage company is
leaving the conference room once it ends. Make no mistake, he has no problems handling the
multiple old men hammering away at him because they only see him as a bratty child that is going
to steal their precious CEO position someday soon. However, that doesn't mean it's not wasted time
he could have used to do something less bothersome. And something that makes his skin itch less.

" - Yamano is who you should get on your side to - are you even listening?"

Dazai waves a hand. "Of course, Kunikida-kun ~ I'm very interested in what you have to say.
Please. Tell me more!"

"Sarcasm. That's sarcasm, right?!"

"Ding. Ding. Ding. A point for you."

Kunikida pushes up the glasses on his nose, shaking his head like a disappointed father, though
Dazai's pretty sure they're around the same age. "You should take this more seriously, Dazai-san.
You're going to be the boss someday, but for now, you're my subordinate, and I'm going to do
everything necessary to make you fit in."

"How reassuring. What would I only do without you?" They head out of the five-story building,
straight into the heart of Yokohama. Dazai has to admit that his father picked up a good spot to set
up Tsuisutory Group. Everything necessary is close by. That will be useful in the future.

"That meeting was way too long," Dazai says, stretching his arms. "I need a nap."

"It would have been shorter if you hadn't arrived twenty minutes late."

"Ehhh, I told you! I had car troubles. That's not my fault!"

"Well, then I suggest you fix it as soon as possible."

Dazai makes a face. Cars are not really his thing. His parents used to take care of it. His parents or
Chuuya...

Chuuya.

Dazai closes his eyes and lets out a breath. "Oi, Kunikida-kun do you know of any decent
mechanics?"

"There's a really good one downtown. They're fast and cheap, too. Here let me write down the
address." Kunikida gets out the notebook he religiously carries around to note down every thought
and plan he has, which is both amusing and slightly disturbing.

Dazai takes the offered note of paper and tucks it away in the pockets of his grey coat. Money's not
the problem, but if he gets his car back as soon as possible to avoid hearing more of Kunikida's
threats, that would be great.

"Thanks. I'm off then —"

"Don't be late again! And think about what I told you —"

Dazai just lifts his hand and gives him a two-fingered salute as he walks to his car. No more of
Kunikida's loud and incredibly persistent chatter. That was quite enough for the first day.

The auto shop is a fifteen-minute drive away — a cozy-looking garage with an attached office
located in the factory worker neighborhood. Dazai leaves his car in the parking lot and then enters
the small building, taking a look around when a young man comes up behind the desk, short, red
hair sticking up in all directions. His name tag says Tachihara.

"Afternoon," he nods at Dazai. "What can I do for you?"

"My car," Dazai says, pointing outside. "Something's wrong with it." He describes the situation
from earlier today. How the shifts kept getting delayed and how the smell of something burning
made Dazai vividly imagine going up in flames in the middle of the road for several minutes.

Tachihara scratches his jaw. "I see. We'll definitely check it out, so please leave your contact info.
I'm off now, but my colleague will be right up and explain everything that happens next, yeah?"
"Sure."

Tachihara and his horrid red hair make something ache deep within Dazai, so he's glad he won't
have to look at his face for the next hour. After filling out a few forms, Tachihara points him
through the door. "My colleague's right there. You won't miss him." He hands him a piece of
paper. "Give him this, will ya?"

Dazai nods and then goes through the door.

There's an old truck in the workspace, and music blaring from a radio on one of the chairs. The
colleague must be the person currently under the car, judging by the feet sticking out.

"Hello?"

"Be right up," the man calls, and something about the voice unnerves Dazai, making him frown. A
few seconds later, the man rolls out from underneath the car, and...

"Chuuya?"

It's not a question. It's a breath, a whisper, a loud prayer that Dazai has not succumbed to
hallucinations and this is real. Chuuya is real. He is right here, three feet away, wearing a garage
smock and staring back at him.

Dazai can't help it, a garbled laugh escapes him, and he walks forward, reaching out with one hand
before he remembers Chuuya's no touching rules, and he lets it hover there. "Chuuya," he says
again.

Finally, his old friend blinks, snapping back into his body. His brows scrunch together. "Dazai, w-
what are you doing here?"

"My car is broken. But — what are you doing here?" he asks. "I was looking for you. I tried to find
you, I called a hundred people and begged them for something, anything at all, but it felt like you
just... vanished. Where were you?"

"I... it's a long story."

"Well, I have time."

"Uh," Chuuya brings up a hand to scratch the nape of his neck, then spins around and finally, back
again, blinking at Dazai. "This is... weird. I didn't expect to see you again. Do you live here? Did
you graduate?"

"Yes, and yes, but none of that's important. I want to know what happened —"

"Yeah, okay, just — gimme a moment, 'kay?" Chuuya gently takes the paper out of Dazai's hands
and skims it. "I have to work for another two hours, but maybe after that...?"

"Yes. Lunch?"

"Sure."

"Okay," Chuuya says, letting out a breath and even showing him a flash of his smile — god, and
what a smile it is. "Let me see what's up with your car, and then you can meet me here again.
Sound good?"

"It sounds perfect," Dazai says, and he's not lying. Tearing his eyes from Chuuya — whole, alive,
and beautiful — is one of the hardest things he's ever had to do, but he has no other choice. He
slowly leaves, but his gaze keeps returning to the boy from his backyard, except five years have
passed, and everything's different but still the same.

---

Dazai knows a little about slowing down time, but by the nonexistent god above, the two hours he
spends mindlessly walking around the neighborhood are the two longest of his life. By the time,
he's watching Chuuya shrug on a washed-out denim jacket, he bleeds with the desire to slice open
his skin and write where and why and Chuuya .

Not that he's going to do that.

Chuuya looks flustered as he comes up to him, but there's also a new grace in the way he walks, no
more hunched back or slumped shoulders. He looks sure of himself in a way that the past him
never used to be.

"I know a diner round around the corner. They're good."

"Okay," Dazai says. He's pretty sure he won't get more than one bite in, but as long as he gets to
have that time with Chuuya, he's perfectly fine with it.

The door of the garage reception opens, making both of them turn around, and Dazai finds himself
surprised for the second time that day. The woman that just came in is unmistakeably no one other
than Yuan. She pauses on the doorstep when she spots Dazai, realizing who exactly he is before
she lets out a, "Oh. I didn't know you had, uh, visit, Chuuya."

"I didn't know either," Chuuya says with a shrug. "It's fine."

"Right," she says with another glance at Dazai as she walks over to Chuuya and gives him a kiss on
the cheek. "I guess you don't want to grab lunch then?"

Dazai glances away and tunes out the conversation that's happening four feet away. There are very
few things that can make him uncomfortable, but being left out of something is one of them, and
Yuan's careful silence towards him is louder than any words she might say. Dazai doesn't mind, of
course; he wouldn't tell Yuan "Hello" either. But. He's the odd man out here. Whatever happened
in the last years of Chuuya's life, Yuan was clearly part of it. Dazai was not.

Chuuya appears in his field of vision then and offers an easy grin. "Ready?"

"Let's go."

So the variables in his head since he first spotted Chuuya in the garage have changed. Yuan's still
in the picture, and Dazai's not sure what the kiss on the cheek meant, but whatever it is, he doesn't
like it. He can't come to terms with a person that willingly let Chuuya get abused for her sake and
did nothing to stop it.

"So," Chuuya says, breaking the chain of thoughts running through his head. "How are you?"

Dazai figures he can indulge him before he starts his questioning at the diner where he won't be
able to run away or punch him that easily. "I graduated a few weeks ago. Found an apartment for
myself. I have a job."

"You did arts?"

"Oh, no. I had to change my major after a year when my father died."

Chuuya glances at him at that, giving him an apologetic. "I'm sorry, Dazai."

Dazai knows Chuuya, most of all, is no stranger to loss, and somehow that makes those words feel
less empty than the dozen "sorry"s he received at the funeral. However, that doesn't change the fact
that Dazai's not sorry. He would be lying if he said he missed his old man. He thought he had it
figured out by cutting away everything that made him feel weak, but he got it wrong. In the end,
his father only found happiness at the bottom of a scotch glass, and eventually drowned in it.

"It's fine."

"The job you found then —"

"— is his company, yes."

They arrive at the diner before Chuuya can ask the question he so clearly wanted to. An elderly
man with slicked-back grey hair greets them with a nod when they enter — Chuuya must be a
regular, Dazai notes — and Chuuya leads them to a free both next to the window.

"Do you need a minute to check the menu?"

Dazai skims the choice and shakes his head. "I'll take the dish of the day."

A few moments later, the same man appears with a notepad. "Hey, kid. The usual?"

"Yes, Hirotsu-san, and for my friends, the pork buns, please."

"Be right up."

Dazai arches a brow. "I assume you've been in Yokohama the entire time then."

"Yeah, I... thought about leaving a couple of times, but it's harder than it sounds."

"Are you going to tell me what happened, Chuuya?" Dazai finally says, "or are you going to keep
stalling?"

Chuuya rolls his eyes. "I'm not stalling, idiot. After what I did to Satoshi they pressed charges
against me, but since Yuan still had some injuries that proved he was a violent bastard, my
sentence was reduced to a couple of months and anti-aggression therapy and all that shit. I got out
once I turned eighteen and found Yuan and Shirase and the other kids with the help of a woman I
met at the juvenile detention center — Kouyou. She, sorta, helped me get back on my feet, find
work, a place to live, a few useful contacts." He takes a look out of the window. "It's been good,
actually."

That is all fine and well, but it doesn't answer the one big question — the biggest one Dazai has.
"You didn't even think about contacting me?" It's selfish, he knows it is, but Dazai has never
pretended to be anything else.

The surprise in Chuuya's eyes is unexpected. "You moved away."

"And I tried finding you for months before I did," Dazai says. "I called the centers, the foster
homes, the police stations, but it was like you never even existed."

"Oh. Yeah, it's, uh —" Chuuya stumbles over his words for a moment, glancing up and down. "—
it's hard finding anyone in the system. Most of them don't even look at us by our names, but by
numbers, you know. I wouldn't have been able to find shit if not for Kouyou and her connections."

At that moment, Hirotsu appears with two plates and drinks, and Dazai can't help but notice that
Chuuya only ordered a humble bowl of ramen despite the fact that he always eats thrice the amount
of food as him.

He pushes past the ugly feeling of bitterness inside him and gives Chuuya a wide smile. So maybe
they were not on the same page at all those years ago. Maybe what Dazai called a best friend was
for Chuuya, just a lonely boy trapped in a mansion, and also conveniently the son of the people
who paid him. Obviously, he wouldn't bother finding him. Dazai's good at holding grudges, but as
always seems to be the case with Chuuya, his rules and morals are thrown out of the window, and
he is willing to look past them and show that there is more to him than what Chuuya saw back
then. They can become friends. They can build something.

"So you and Yuan then, huh?" he asks as Chuuya digs into his food.

"Yeah..."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic."

"It's complicated."

Dazai can't help but remember the kiss in the bathroom and how his lips tingled all day from it
afterwards. How many times has he laid awake thinking of that day instead of listening to the
whispers of his skin?

"It's not. You're just making it out to be." Dazai jokingly punches the table. "Either you're in a
relationship with her, or not. It's easy."

"People and their relationships are more complex than that, idiot."

"Okay, chibi doesn't want to talk about it, I see. How is your job then? I knew you were good at
fixing things, but I must say, I did not know the whole mechanic look would look so good on you."

It's both the truth and a small test. The old Chuuya would have blushed furiously and told him to
shut up, but the new one... he tilts his head, quirking a brow. "Yeah? It's fine. I like it. Especially
when I get good customers, you know."

Dazai's smile sharpens.

"— by the way, your car," Chuuya blurts out. "I didn't even tell you what's wrong with your car."

"Ah, yes. That..."

The truth is the car could have exploded for all he cared. What matters sits right across from him,
launching into a lengthy explanation of whatever is wrong with the car. Transmission blablabla
something. Dazai's too busy admiring his face and the freckles on his skin to listen to the details.

"— so it might take more than a few days 'cos we gotta order the parts."

"So I have to come around more often?" Dazai asks. "How unfortunate."

"No, it means you just get it back later," Chuuya corrects, but there's a grin fighting its way to the
surface.

"But me and my car are deeply collected. I'm sure she'll heal faster if I visit her twice a day!"
"Oh, yeah? What's her name?"

"Uh.. Kroschka!"

"Kroschka?"

"Yes, it means baby in Russian."

"You speak Russian now?"

"I had to pick two languages in school. Russian and English."

"So what else did happen in university? Did you... meet anyone?"

"There was someone," Dazai tells him, keeping it deliberately vague, "but it didn't last for long.
Didn't work out."

"Was it... that Oda guy?" Once again, it feels like a test, but this time it's Chuuya testing the
waters, and Dazai happily obliges him, throwing out a shrug.

"Neh, Odasaku, and I remained friends. He still lives in Tokyo."

"Huh."

Dazai nods at the plate of unfinished pork buns. "You want that? I'm full."

"Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't be offering it to you if I wasn't, chibi."

Chuuya's eyes remain narrowed, but he does slide the plate over. "I can't say I'm a fan of this
nickname."

"Good thing, I didn't ask you."

They bicker, and they talk, and they laugh, but eventually, Chuuya informs him that he has to go
because he has work in half an hour, which is weird because he just got off from work. Then again,
money must be tight, so Dazai insists on paying for lunch. Of course, Chuuya refuses to accept a
single cent, slapping down enough crinkled bills on the counter before telling him goodbye.

Dazai watches him leave. Maybe his car breaking was a good thing, after all, because it's
undeniable at this point that Dazai missed Chuuya; he missed him like crazy. And this time, he
won't let him go that easily again.

---

Like all things in life, getting Chuuya back into his world requires a strategy. Dazai thinks
annoying him until he gives in will be efficient enough, except that Kunikida hounds him every
step of the way at work, demanding Dazai to look over these papers and calculate those numbers,
and when he goes on his legal break, the blonde man actually has the audacity to harass him with
the product information there! And then there's his mother, who calls his apartment as soon as he
gets home. He should come over for tea and chat, she says. It will be fun, and she misses him, she
says. Dazai loves his mother as much as his brain can love anyone, but he absolutely does not want
to hear any more of her questions about Tsuisotory Group's wellbeing and that he should get
himself a lady so he won't be lonely.
His mother might be lonely. Dazai is not, thank you very much.

Since Kunikida even goes as far as giving him homework — which is not difficult to solve in the
slightest, but sadly, time expensive — Dazai doesn't get around to paying Chuuya another visit.

He strikes the following day, though. Once he leaves the building, he takes the subway to the south
instead of the north. Dazai only realizes that Chuuya might not be even at work when he
approaches the garage, but now that he's here, it would be silly to turn around.

So he goes in.

No one's at the reception, so Dazai peeks into the workroom and — ding. There are two redheads
talking to each other, though he has only eyes for one.

He announces his arrival by banging the door open, making the two of them spin around.

"Dazai?"

"Chuuya. Hello."

"What are you doing here?"

"Hey, isn't that the guy who brought the Mitsubishi Starion here?"

"Why yes, that is me." Dazai tilts his head. "You didn't tell your co-workers about me, chibi? I'm
hurt."

Chuuya lets out a small laugh.

Tachihara glances between the two of them, a curious frown in his eyes. "Oi, you two know each
other?"

"Yeah," Chuuya provides. "We were friends a few years ago before he went away for college, but
that's not the point. Really. What are you doing here?"

"I told you. Kroschka will fix herself faster when I'm around." When Chuuya only stares blankly,
Dazai offers, "And I wanted to ask if you want to grab lunch."

"Oh," Chuuya says. "I, uh, don't have time right now. We're busy."

Tachihara throws a towel over his shoulder, smirking. "Such a good boy, our Chuuya. Always
doing his job."

"Shut up," Chuuya mutters in return, though the tone in his voice could only be described as
endearing.

To make it even worse, Tachihara bumps his hip into Chuuya's side, the gesture feeling familiar
and practiced, and most of all, it makes it obvious that Tachihara cares enough to respect Chuuya's
boundaries, which means they're close, maybe even more than co-workers. "We could probably do
without him, but I'd get bored so you can't have him. Sorry."

Dazai scowls and decides to ignore him, looking at Chuuya instead. "So, you don't have time?"

"No, sorry."

"That's fine. It was just a spontaneous afterthought. I actually came to ask you something else," he
says and gives Tachihara a pointed look until the man gets the message and busies himself with
something else. Satisfied, Dazai returns his attention back to the task that matters. "My mom is
having a small party at the house, and I would like you to come."

"As your...?"

"As my friend, obviously," Dazai finishes. "She will be happy to see you."

"You think she remembers me?"

"Who wouldn't remember the smallest but loudest redhead there is?" It's neither lie nor truth. Dazai
begged his mother to help him look for Chuuya back when he disappeared, but once he moved
away, he stopped talking about it. It was too painful, too much of a reminder that he failed Chuuya,
so he stayed quiet. And he hasn't been in a conversation long enough with his mother yet to see if
his mother still remembers the garden boy from several years ago.

Chuuya's expression remains skeptical. "You talk a lot of shit as always, but fine. Sure. Why not.
Do I have to wear fancy clothes?"

"I mean, you probably shouldn't come in a garage smock that has oil stains all over it," Dazai
ghosts one finger over one of the spots on Chuuya's pants, "but other than that, feel free to wear
whatever."

"Got it. When?"

"Friday. Two days from now on. Eight o'clock." Dazai remembers the state of his car then and
cringes. "I would pick you up, but my car—"

Chuuya's face splits into a shit-eating smirk. Dazai doesn't trust it, but the danger of it makes it
only more fun. "Don't worry. I got something for that."

"Good. Should I come here or?"

"I'll pick you up."

"Then it's a date."

It's not, but Dazai can pretend it is.

 1981
Chapter Notes

I wanted to write a few chapters "ahead" and accidentally finished the whole fic -- at
least, the rough draft of it, so please mind the new tags I added /and/ deleted. The
plans kinda changed as i went along.

Also so sorry for the long wait! I should be updating this regularly now

TW and CW for this chapter: reference to drug abuse

See the end of the chapter for more notes

"When you said you had means to get us there, I thought you meant a car."

Chuuya smirks. "This is better than a car."

"I highly doubt that," Dazai says, rooted to the spot. "It's a death trap. That's what it is."

"And don't you crave a little death once in a while?"

Funny.

"Not when it involves becoming a pavement sandwich at one-hundred-fifty kilometers per hour."

"You will not become any sort of sandwich," Chuuya tells him with an eye-roll as he hands him a
helmet. "I'm good at driving, and I won't let anything happen to you." Dazai only manages a hum,
entirely unconvinced. "Hey, you trust me?"

Does he?

Dazai trusted Chuuya enough to show him the scars hiding under the bandages, enough to invite
him into his room over and over again. There might still be some unresolved issues between them,
but trust? That's there. Always been.

"Fine," Dazai finally says and accepts the helmet, putting it on with a scowl. "You better not make
roadkill out of us, slug."

"I just might if you keep calling me these shit names."

"Why am I doing this again?" Yet he obediently climbs on the flashy pink-colored motorcycle,
fisting his hands into the pockets of Chuuya's leather jacket. Underneath, his chibi's wearing a
black button-up shirt and fitting pants — classy and neat in comparison to the leather jacket which,
sort of, makes him look like a small gangster that hangs around in gas stations with a dangling
cigarette between his lips.

"'cause it's fun."

Whatever Dazai was about to reply gets drowned by the piercing howl of the engine. The last thing
he hears is a, "Hang on as tight as possible!" before they kick off the pavement, his stomach
lurching. Dazai's arms immediately slide around Chuuya's waist, not willing to risk any kind of
accident that involves him flying off this thing.

"I wouldn't let go for the life of me," he murmurs into the curve of his spine even if Chuuya won't
hear him. He'll hang on as tight as possible this time.

They fly over the streets with a speed that Dazai would consider criminal, if not for the fact that
Chuuya makes up for it in skills and finesse as he steers them through the city. Even though he still
clings to Chuuya for dear life, his blood rushing in his ears, he discovers peculiar peace in too. The
wind racing past them leaves Dazai no time to analyze or think, too busy pressing his face into
Chuuya's shoulder and feeling everything — insatiable fire, life, and his pounding heart in his
mouth all at once. For once, his thoughts are reduced to nothing but the instinct to hold on and
survive.

They do not end up in a ditch, but by the time they arrive in front of Dazai's house, he's still
frightfully happy to get off that thing.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Chuuya asks with a deep chuckle. The helmet has left his hair messy,
sticking out in a few odd places, but miraculously, it makes him look even more handsome.

Dazai huffs out a breath as he wills his legs to stop shaking. "It was horrid, you mean."

After several more minutes of Chuuya's god-awful teasing and smirking, they finally go inside.
Dazai's mother told him it would be a small get-together of her closest friends, but it seems like that
includes the whole neighborhood, too — not that Dazai didn't expect that. He weaves Chuuya
through the crowd of people, offering some familiar faces polite nods, before he finally spots the
person he's looking for in the living room, fussing with the candles.

"Mother."

She turns and her face splits into an enthralling smile. "Osamu! It's so great to see you," she cries
and pulls him into a hug. "Oh, how I've missed you, my boy." When she pulls away, she gives
Chuuya a curious look. "And who is this? A friend from university?"

"Mother, this is Chuuya. The boy who spent almost every day here five years ago?"

"Oh," she says. "Oh! The garden boy!" Her surprise melts into confusion quickly. "I must say I'm
happy to see you, but I also fear I do not understand—"

Looking at Chuuya, Dazai presses his lips together. "I'm sorry for her — we're friends, mother.
He's amazing —"

Chuuya smiles sheepishly.

"Oh, well, that's great. By the way, I have someone here who would love to meet you." She starts
looking around the room, and Dazai has a sinking feeling that he knows what's about to happen.

"Please tell me you didn't —"

"Where is she? Oh, she's lovely, Osamu. Well-educated and a starlet in school. And so pretty too!
Ah, there —" His mother points to the hallway. Dazai doesn't have to look over to know it must be
a woman. One that she did not mention on the phone.

"Before you say anything..." Dazai leans down to murmur into Chuuya's ear, "I did not know about
this."
Chuuya shrugs, but his shoulders are unnaturally stiff, bleeding with tension. "It's fine. I can
entertain myself for a while."

"You don't have to."

"Dazai, your mother is introducing you to someone. There's clearly no place here for me." The
words end up sounding snappish, though Chuuya's expression softens immediately. "Really. It's...
cool. I'll just — grab a glass of champagne."

Before Daza can do anything to stop him, his mother is already playing cupid in full force. "Dazai,
this young lady here is —"

"Yosano," the brunette woman slyly cuts in, her smile kind but as sharp as a blade. "Lovely to meet
you."

"Likewise," Dazai says, returning the grin and placing a kiss on the hand she offers him. Best to let
this situation play out for now. "We're happy to have such beautiful guests over."

"You do have a nice house."

"Yes, do you fancy a tour?"

"Oh?" Yosano's quick to link her elbow with Dazai, and thankfully, that gives him the opportunity
to escape his mother's arduous claws. Step one done. Now only to slither away from this
unprompted rendez-Vous. As charming as Yosano is, Dazai has somewhere else to be right now.
He didn't ask Chuuya to accompany him back home only to amuse himself with someone else.

Dazai steers her around the house, providing commentary that's polite, maybe even humorous, but
brief enough to keep it shallow. He's about to venture outside with her when Yosano says, "You do
know, I'm not keeping you handcuffed?"

"Pardon me?"

"You keep glancing around," Yosano provides. "And you might use pretty words, but it's clear as
day that you don't want to be here right now. Rest assured that I don't need a man to have a good
night out by myself."

Dazai makes a face. "Okay, you got me. I was actually here with a friend before my mother all but
assaulted me with the introduction. I'm sorry. You're lovely. You are I'm just not —"

"I know. I'm not either, but I figured making a few connections wouldn't hurt."

"Oh."

"Tell you what." She gets out a notepad and scribbles down her number. "Here. If you need
someone to get your mother off your back... or if you simply want to have some harmless fun." She
stoves the note in Dazai's pocket and winks before walking away.

Dazai finds himself surprised for a moment, just standing there and watching her walk away.
Yosano would be everything he ever dreamed of in a partner — if he was looking for one. He
might have to take her up on the offer eventually, but first...

Chuuya.

The last place he saw his redhead was in the kitchen, snagging a piece of sake nigiri, but when
Dazai looks for him he finds everyone from his American neighbor Bob to the owner of
Yokoham's land tower — everyone except Chuuya. Dazai quickly realizes that Chuuya's not hiding
in any of the other rooms either, leaving him slightly concerned.

And then he remembers...

The water fountain.

Dazai power-walks outside, across the lawn, and through the alley, guided by the dimply-lit
lanterns on each side of him. Sure enough, he sees a figure sitting at the edge of the pool. Chuuya
lifts his head when he spots him, hugging an entire bottle of red wine that he must have swiped
earlier.

"Having fun?" Dazai asks.

Chuuya squints at him, cheeks flushed, lips a glossy pink, and Dazai realizes that he's probably
already tipsy — adorably so. "I wasn't sure if you'd find me."

"Of course I would," he says as he sits down next to him. "I found you after five years, didn't I?"

"That was a coincidence."

"You think."

It was, but sometimes letting people believe that Dazai is smarter than he actually is, does the job,
too.

"I'm gonna ask you somethin', and I want you to be honest," Chuuya says then with a brooding tilt
to his voice.

"Sure."

"Did you bring me here as... some sort of rebellious act?"

"... what?"

"Come on, you heard me. You're loaded, you've got your whole life set up for you, and your mom
clearly wants you to get married and settled soon. I was your garden boy for fuck's sake." When
Dazai opens his mouth, Chuuya shuts him up with a raised finger. "I'm not the fifteen-year-old boy
anymore who considers himself street trash; I know what I'm worth and I like where I am in life
right now, but I fucking mind if someone brings me to the party of the fucking elite just to give his
mother some tough time."

"Chuuya," Dazai murmurs, "Is that really what you think of me?"

"I don't know. I'm asking you."

"I didn't."

"So why did you?"

"Does there always have to be a reason?"

"You're Dazai," Chuuya says flatly like that's already answer enough. "You don't do things without
a reason."
As true as it is — chibi knows him well — that common sense escapes him every time the topic is
Chuuya. Dazai lets out a sigh. "I want you in my life."

"Why?"

"Chuuya, you just said you know your worth. Why is it so hard for you to believe that I like you for
you?"

Chuuya actually moves back at that, clearly not having expected it. "I just — I —"

"You asked if I trusted you, but you don't trust me, do you?" He didn't trust him with much of what
was happening back then, the abuse, the people that dared to call themselves foster parents. And
after he got out of juvenile prison, Dazai realizes, Chuuya must not have trusted him enough to find
him. Was it because Dazai paid off that guy? Or was it just Dazai himself?

Chuuya exhales. "I want to. I do..."

"But?"

"But," he says, "give me some time."

Time. They have enough of that now, right?

"Okay. I can be patient." Dazai gets to his feet then, tilting his head. "So what do you want to do
now?"

"Hah?"

"You drank, so I'm not letting you get on any bike, which means we have a night to waste here."

Chuuya makes a face as if he hadn't even considered that when he picked up the glass of
champagne. "I didn't think things through."

"Clearly."

"Shut up. I feel like I know your house in and out by now. What's there to do?"

Dazai feels himself smirk. "Oh. I might know a thing or two."

They're on the roof.

Dazai spent a considerable amount of time there in his childhood years. Once he jumped from it
with the firm child-like belief that whether he'd be able to fly with the birds or fall to his death
would be the same ending anyway. He broke his right arm and several ribs instead.

"I like this," Chuuya says, staring up at the stars with that same childish wonder in his eyes. "It's
peaceful."

"It is," Dazai says, looking at

When Chuuya's in the bathroom brushing his teeth, Dazai finds himself staring at his bed like it's
an enemy. Considering his next course of action.

"What are you doing?"

Dazai lets out a low hum. "I'm looking at my bed."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"I don't mind sleeping on the floor."

Chuuya's brows tug into a fierce frown. "It's fine, Dazai."

Is it, though? He's sure Chuuya would pretend it is just to get it over with, but that's stupid. He
should be comfortable.

However, Chuuya acts first. He climbs on the bed and gets under the sheet, pulling them up to his
neck. "Just get in, asshole."

Dazai sits down at his feet. "I take off my bandages to sleep. Give me five minutes." He starts
unwrapping the gauze around his ankles when he feels the mattress dip behind him.

"Can I?" Chuuya asks, tapping Dazai's shoulder.

"Yes."

Dazai is well aware this is nothing but a way to get them to sleep faster, but his pulse still trembles
and gallops as Chuuya efficiently unties the bandages around his neck. Then his arms.

"All done," Dazai comments when his skin is bare and exposed. There's no reply except the sound
of Chuuya shuffling back in bed. "Aren't you curious?"

"You wanna tell me?"

"Chuuya," he complains, "I asked you first!"

"Geez. I mean — yeah, but it's your thing. You don't owe me an explanation. You never asked me
either."

"That's because you don't trust me, but I trust you. After all, I let you ride me around on that death
machine of yours."

"Stop calling her that, idiot."

"You can ask me."

Chuuya should ask him.

"Is that your way of making me trust you? 'cos it doesn't work like that."

Dazai lets out a doleful sigh and finally gets under the covers. "Why not? I'm offering you
something here, but little chibi is as stubborn as always."

"Just fuck off and go to sleep already, bastard."

"Oh, did I not mention it? I'm an insomniac. I might not sleep for hours."

"Want some help? I could try to choke you with that pillow under your head."

"Ohhh, kinky ."

That makes Chuuya groan. The silence that stretches over them is comfortable, warm with apple-
sweet nostalgia and tenderness that can only be found between two individuals willing to share
such an intimate space as a bed.

When he hears Chuuya's breathing even out into a soft snore, Dazai lets a smile ghost over his lips
as he murmurs, "Good night, Chuuya," and his mind begins to wander.

He's balancing the edge between consciousness and the hazy lull of sleep that's an arm's reach
away when there is a violent shudder next to him, accompanied by more panting. Dazai rolls over
and is barely conscious enough not to grab Chuuya and shake him awake when he sees that
Chuuya's probably having nightmares, his white-knuckled hands fisted in the pillow underneath
him.

Dazai considers just letting him be. Nightmares aren't unfamiliar to him, and sometimes getting
jerked out of them is just as unpleasant as it is experiencing them, but the sight of Chuuya fighting
something invisible right next to him makes Dazai's whole ribcage tighten with intolerable ache,
the urge to do something clouding his own ability to breathe. After a moment, he takes the pillow
that's lying between them and throws it at Chuuya.

Chuuya flies up, scrambling into a sitting position —

"Hey, hey, you're alright," Dazai cuts in. "You're okay. You're safe." Chuuya's eyes land on him,
his pupils tiny, unrecognizable dots in the haunting white glow of the moon outside. "It's me,
Dazai. You're in my house. You're safe."

Chuuya releases a drawn-out breath, like his lungs are full of water, and scrubs a hand across his
face. "Oh... sorry about that."

It's probably too dark for Chuuya to see anything besides his silhouette, but Dazai shrugs anyway,
settling deeper into the bed. "I wasn't sleeping anyway."

Chuuya follows suit, sliding down until he's lying across from Dazai, facing him, their faces
several inches apart. "It's gotten better over the years, but I guess I still get nervous waking up in
strangers' houses." Dazai hums in response. "Which is dumb given that I used to change houses
every other month but —" Chuuya trails off, casting his gaze on the small and empty space
between them. "It still happens sometimes."

"I used to have them, too. So I refused to sleep for a few days. I wouldn't recommend doing that."

Chuuya lets out a delicate snort. "Is that why you became an insomniac?"

"I doubt it. Sleep and I simply aren't friends." It should be the opposite. Dazai should love
sleeping, should love the fact that you get to pass out from this awfully dull world for a few hours,
but instead, he dreads it every time. For others, sleep is a reprieve. For him, it's always been a cage
with a fancy name.

"I still like sleep," Chuuya confesses, "even if it sometimes sucks because of the dreams and shit.
But ... the knowledge that no matter how bad it gets, at the end of the day I get to escape for a
while, always helped me get through the day."

"I guess you're my polar opposite then."

"Guess I am."
Back home after another heart-stopping ride, Dazai digs out the crumpled piece of paper Yosano
tucked inside the pocket of his shirt and dials the number.

Yosano offered him something he hasn't ever considered before, but now that the ball was pitched
into the court, he is going to take a swing. That way, he will, at least, get his mother off his back
for a while. Because right now, Dazai has no time for something as futile as relationships and
romance. The taste he got back in college was more than enough.

They meet to discuss things a few days later.

The party made it crystal clear to Dazai that Chuuya's trust is barely there — their progress
stagnant or, at best, wavering. And he doesn't blame him. After all, the very system that was
supposed to protect Chuuya hurt him. But they're clearly on entirely different pages, if not chapters.
Chuuya has a life. A family. He doesn't consider Dazai to be part of that.

So Dazai has to take a step back from his current mission of repairing their relationship and take
care of his own business in the meantime. That's where Yosano comes into the picture.

"I must admit," Yosano says, watching the waves gently lap against the harbor, "I didn't expect a
call from you." They're walking down the kishimichi promenade, and it's sunny, the wind a
soothing caress. A perfect day to make a deal.

"Oh? I didn't take you for someone who throws out highly dangerous offers to men without being
confident in herself."

"I was confident, but that was before I saw you with him."

Dazai feels himself falter, steps slowing down. "Him?"

Yosano awards him with a coy smile. "Don't play dumb now. It's way too late for that." Her cherry-
red lips smooth into a smirk that's both dangerous and reassuring. "You should know that I'm not
just a nobody who's offering you to pretend to be your lady. I'm finishing med school, but I took a
few modeling gigs to afford the fees. I will appear in a short film next month, too. I will most likely
be in the face of the public from now on, and so will you if we do this."

"Yosano-san, don't take this wrong way, but do you honestly believe I don't already know that?"

"So you did your research. That's good."

"I only have one question."

She stops mid-walk and turns to him, tilting her head—an invitation to ask away as straightforward
as it could ever get.

"What's in it for you? Surely, it wouldn't be difficult to find someone who would love to actually
become the man on your side?"

Yosano shrugs innocently, though the gesture is everything but. "Let's just say, I'm looking for...
different things in life right now."

A few days later, Dazai gets the call that he can pick up his car.

So after another irritating day at work, Kunikida being very loud, and old, dreary men thinking
they're subtle when they talk about him behind his back, Dazai takes the bus to the garage. When
he arrives there, he can already sense that his cloudy Wednesday is about to get even darker.

He finds Chuuya in the workroom, leaning against one of the cars, eating fried noodles and
laughing, loud and infectious. Tachihara and Yuan are across from him, the same carefree grins on
their faces.

Coming in between that feels very much like bursting a bubble, the happy noises dying down and
shifting into an awkward silence.

"My car," Dazai says. "I'm here to pick it up."

"Yeah, uh, of course." Chuuya jumps up from where he was standing and hands over his food to
Yuan, who gives Dazai a once-over before turning back to Tachihara, talking to him in a low
murmur. Dazai returns her gaze with a smile that lacks any substance, then follows Chuuya.

Chuuya keeps up a constant stream of information, telling him this and that about his car, which
Dazai will not only forget but not even remember.

"Thank you," he makes sure to say when Chuuya's finished, though.

"No problem. You sure got all that?"

"Obviously."

Dazai holds out his palm, and Chuuya looks at it for a second before placing the key there. The
touch lingers.

"So, uh, if something comes up, I'll make sure to fix it myself, okay?"

"Ahhh, Chuuya's so generous ~" Dazai holds his gaze. "The same goes for you, by the way. If
something comes up, I'll make sure to fix it," he echoes before offering him a contrived but
cheerful grin.

Chuuya squints. (Adorable.) "Why do I feel like whatever you mean isn't really legal?"

"Oh, chibi. So little trust in me. I'm hurt!"

"I'm suspicious."

"Don't be. I mean it. Whatever it is."

The next week, Dazai's coming back from lunch with Yosano by his side, when he spots Chuuya
outside his apartment door, pacing up and down the hallway and chewing on his fingernails.

"Chuuya?"

He glances up. His eyes immediately slide to Yosano, narrowing ever so slightly before snapping
back to Dazai. "I - I need your help," he stammers out. "You told me I can come to you, right? You
said —"

"Hey, yes, I said that, and I still mean it," Dazai crosses the distance. "You're shaking. Breathe ."

"It's Yuan."

"What about her?"

 "She — I came back and found her on the floor, vomiting, and she's high so I don't know what to
do —"

"I'm a medical student," Yosano cuts in, coming up beside them. "I can help. Where is she?"

He starts walking, leading them back down the stairs. "She's in the car."

"Why didn't you go to the hospital?" Yosano asks.

Chuuya's words feel like sizzling venom in the air. "Why do you think? She can't afford to go to
prison for being a fucking addict —"

"We won't tell the police either," Dazai cuts in. "Right?"

"Obviously, not," Yosano replies. "I want to save lives, not ruin them. It's still an important
question."

"I'm sorry, I'm just — it's all —" Chuuya cuts himself off when they reach a car on the side street.
A rusty red Toyota Corolla that Dazai didn't even notice before. Chuuya opens the door and climbs
inside, Yosano close behind him.

Dazai remains outside, considering their options that would promise the least amount of damage. It
falls together with the question of why Chuuya would seek out Dazai, of all people. He's no doctor.
Chuuya couldn't have possibly known about Yosano considering this was their first official date in
public. So?

In the end, it all comes down to the same thing Dazai used when he was a child. Money. He has
money. Money to bribe a doctor?

Glancing inside, Dazai asks, "How is she?"

Yosano's bent over Yuan. "She's breathing, but her pulse is racing.."

"They'll call the police as soon as they see she's on drugs."

Yosano lets out a vexed breath. "I can watch over her until they're out of their system. She'll
probably be fine until then but after that —"

"Yeah, okay."

Dazai sits down behind the wheel, the door banging shut, and starts the car. "Chuuya, where do
you live?"

"Garage. Drive to the garage."

Chapter End Notes

sorry for that abrupt ending but i had to cut it off somewhere n_n
 1981
Chapter Notes

content warning (?):

- mentions of drug abuse and addiction
- explicit sex towards the end.

Also see updated tags!

"Garage. Drive to the garage."

Apparently, Chuuya has been living above his workplace the entire time. It's a tiny attic flat that
splits into a small, cramped bedroom and an equally small living room where Chuuya gently places
Yuan down on the grey couch, telling Yosano where to find the supplies she needs while driving
his fingers through the pink strands of Yuan's hair, a forlorn tremor in his upper lip. He looks like a
helpless creature.

It's an unwelcome reminder of the last time Dazai saw him before he got taken away. Chuuya's at
his most vulnerable whenever it concerns his friends, instead of himself, and Dazai hates it. He
despises it.

Yosano returns with a medkit she must have found in the bathroom, shooing Chuuya away while
she replaces him on the couch. Without looking up, she asks, "Dazai, can you keep him busy? His
pacing is distracting me."

Before Chuuya can let out the stream of curses he so clearly wants to, Dazai grabs a fistful of his
black tank top and drags him into the bedroom, forcing him to sit down.

"Dazai —!"

"Relax, chibi. We're only three feet away."

Chuuya looks up at him, eyes twitching back and forth before he finally lets out a drained sigh and
buries his face in his hands. "This is all my fault."

"I don't see how Yuan being involved in drugs is your fault."

"You don't understand."

"Explain it to me then."

"She — I could have stopped her. I mean, I tried, I told her it's only going to get worse, but I should
have tried more. I should have —"

"Yuan is an adult," Dazai says. "And an addict. Do you know why addicts best get their help at
clinics? Because it's nearly impossible to argue with them."

"But I'm her best friend —"

"Chuuya. You can't be responsible for everyone."

"It's Yuan!"

"I know."

"I didn't try hard enough."

Dazai sits down and tries to catch his gaze. "Look at me."

"I just —"

"Chuuya, look at me." After an eternity, he finally does—a wild animal, caught in a trap. "I wasn't
there in the last four years, but I know enough about you to know that wouldn't let anything happen
to your family. Not ever. Damn it, you love them more than yourself, so don't take the blame. Not
again."

"You think she'll be okay?"

"She doesn't look too bad, and Yosano's good."

Chuuya's adam's apple bobs as he swallows. "I'm glad she was with you, but — didn't you say you
weren't looking for that?" If Dazai's not wrong, and he rarely is, it almost sounds like Chuuya's
annoyed, a suggestion of betrayal in his brittle voice. Though Dazai decides to bring that up later,
given that they have more urgent matters to deal with right now.

"I saw an opportunity, and I took it," he tells him, keeping it deliberately vague because it wouldn't
be fun otherwise.

Chuuya scowls. Then he lets out another stuttered breath and breaks the eye contact. "Can you
check if she's okay for me?"

"Sure."

Yosano has just finished the check-up when Dazai comes in. Yuan is fine, her nausea and
confusion coming from a dose too high but, thankfully, not lethal. A bad trip, one might say. They
briefly discuss the plan for tonight before he returns to the bedroom with a quick sandwich he
slapped together for Chuuya, forcing him to eat a little and then relax. Soon they both retire to the
living room and individually spread out across the couch and the floor, taking turns monitoring
Yuan's condition. To no one's surprise, Chuuya tries to stay awake the whole time because he
doesn't know when to stop and take a break, but eventually, around ten o'clock, he passes out,
curled up in a ball next to his — best friend? Girlfriend? Roommate?

Dazai suspects it's the first and the latter only, not having seen anything more than platonic
friendship between the two of them, but if there's one thing that he has learned about Chuuya ever
since he returned to Yokohama, it's that his tiny redhead is full of surprises.

The drug problem is one of them. They will have to talk about Yuan's addiction one way or
another, though Dazai's sure Chuuya won't make it easy. It makes sense, in hindsight. Why Chuuya
still has to work several jobs to afford such a tiny shared apartment. Why he's so attached to her.
Why he doesn't like spending time too far away. She's his responsibility, and Chuuya would rather
walk straight into hell than give up on someone he loves.

Yosano, who's cuddled up in a bean chair, snorts quietly. "And I thought I would get you all
tangled up in my life when it's the other way around."
"Thank you for doing this. I know you didn't have to."

"Well," she nods over at Chuuya, "it would have crushed him if I hadn't done anything, and that
would've pissed you off. I prefer to keep my business partners happy."

Dazai lets his head fall back, closing his eyes. "Ehhh, chibi can get annoying about his precious
friends. That's why."

"Uh-uh."

They spend the entire night like that until Yuan finally wakes up early in the morning, groggy and
confused. Dazai volunteers to go for a coffee run, partly because they all need it after the last
twelve hours and partly because he's not interested in seeing Chuuya's heartfelt reunion with the
very person ruining him. Using him. Again.

He's climbing down the stairs, yawning when he almost stumbles into Tachihara, who's probably
there to work.

"Oh, Dazai. Mornin'"

"Hello," Dazai says, already looking for a way to step past him.

"So, I see you guys finally figured it out, huh?"

"Excuse me?"

Tachihara waves his hand through the air as he grabs a few tools from the shelf. "You and Chuuya.
I mean, I had no doubts about it, but Chuuya's stubborn as hell about that stuff — I would know —
and you seemed to be content with playing the chase. No offense. Anyways, I'm glad you did. The
pining got boring after a while."

Dazai blinks. "I spent the night there because of an accident."

Tachihara's smug grin falters into a wide-eyed, almost panicked expression. "Oh, you didn't — I
mean, forget it then. I didn't say anything."

"Yes," Dazai says slowly. "Forget it." He continues staring at him blankly until Tachihara scurries
away like he's being chased by a hive of wasps. Good.

He finds the nearest milk cafe in a daze.

Dazai can't decide what bothers him more. The fact that Tachihara knows more about what's going
on inside Chuuya's head than him, or the fact that Dazai was too blind to see the truth himself. That
maybe what he assumed was Chuuya being distant and different and occupied, was Chuuya hiding
his feelings.

When he comes back, Yuan's sitting at the table. She looks beat down, but conscious and alert, her
gaze slipping to Dazai for a mere second before returning to whatever medical advice Yosano's
giving her right now. It seems like no matter how much the two of them will ever love Chuuya —
and Dazai's being generous using that word for the way Yuan has mostly used Chuuya's love
instead — they won't ever get along outside of that chibi-shaped bubble. That's probably for the
best.

"You're a live-saver," Chuuya groans happily as he makes grabby hands at the tray of coffees
Dazai's carrying. Dazai gives him the black, sugarless one, knowing that it's his preferred and
disgusting way of drinking it.

"Yes, I am," Dazai chirps, masking the itch to address Tachihara's remarks with manufactured
cheer. That must wait until they're alone. He doesn't want to have that conversation with both Yuan
and Yosano only four feet away. "How's the patient doing? She's up and awake, I see."

"She was in some pain, but Yosano gave her some pills. We're waiting until we can safely go to the
hospital to let it get checked out."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?" Chuuya asks the puzzlement on his face, nothing but the crystalline truth. Dazai
wants to reach his hand inside and rewire his brain — or, even better, that big heart of his that
continually gets him in trouble.

"How are you doing, you little idiot? You had ten near-meltdowns yesterday."

Chuuya puffs out a soft breath, tucking his hair behind his ear. "I'm fine."

"I'm pretty sure you don't know even the meaning of that word."

"I do, asshole. I've had a perfectly reasonable reaction for that kind of situation."

"Mmm. I want a shower and a change of clothes. Do you fancy giving me a ride?"

Chuuya's eyes narrow. "You can have that here."

"I'm not going to squeeze myself into your fun-sized shirts," Dazai tells him, only half-lying about
his reasons. "Besides, you could use some fresh air and a distraction."

"But Yuan —"

"I'm sure the girls can handle themselves for an hour."

A visible mental battle happens in Chuuya's expression before he finally gives in with a sigh.
"Fine. Come to think of you, I have a debt to repay you."

More like to Yosano, but Dazai is okay with stealing the credit if it gives him a few moments of
privacy with Chuuya. After informing the two women where they're going, they walk to the car in
companionable silence, thankfully without any run-ins with Tachihara this time.

Dazai doesn't mention any of the topics burning through the flesh of his tongue on the ride to his
apartment, instead filling the silence with easy questions to get Chuuya's mind off Yuan and
whatever hardships they will most likely face in the future. Instead, he asks about his other job — a
bartender gig at a nightclub. About the nice gentleman who owns the garage that took him in.
About Kouyou.

Back at the apartment, Chuuya curiously glances around, taking in every little detail of Dazai's
home. That was always one of the things that fascinated Dazai. Chuuya's unparalleled ability to
drink in the colors of the world, no matter how little or much he gets to see of it.

Dazai lets life pass it in front of his eyes, and then before he can even blink, it's gone.

They're in the bedroom, Dazai taking his sweet time digging through his closet and using it to
formulate the perfect approach. He doesn't want to scare Chuuya away – though who is he lying
to? Chuuya’s anything but a coward. He just doesn't want to overwhelm him or come off as
desperate when he is actually curious.

He wants the middle, and maybe an inch more.

It's when Chuuya's curiously looking at one framed picture on the wall in his hallway that Dazai
sidles up to him and says, "So I ran into Tachihara earlier. He said something very interesting."

"Yeah?" Chuuya hums, barely listening.

"He said he's happy that we finally figured it out. Apparently, he got sick of you, and I quote,
pining."

Chuuya freezes. Time slows down around them, and for once, Dazai tries to be here, to be present
as Chuuya turns to look at him, and drink in the delicious war of emotions on his face like it's his
personal lifeblood. It certainly feels like it.

"Oh," he eventually says, the words feather-light, pitching upwards at the end.

"Help me out here. What did he mean by that? I'm too stupid to figure it out."

Without missing a beat, Chuuya says, "Tachihara thinks we fucked."

Dazai tilts his head. There's a feeling in his chest, something vibrating and hopping around, making
him feel lightheaded. It might be his heart. "Now, why would Tachihara think that?"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that playing dumb isn't cute?"

"I have a feeling you like it anyway."

"Your feeling is full of shit."

"Chuuya."

"What?" Chuuya snaps.

"You're attracted to me," Dazai states. If Chuuya wanted the naked truth, then here it is. "And I'm
attracted to you. I realize now that I'm at fault for that too. I guess I wasn't clear enough on that
front — but, to be fair, you weren't either."

"What are you saying?" Chuuya asks in a breath, taking Dazai's with it.

"I'm saying that I want this."

"What about Yosano?"

"My life is easier without my mother meddling in my life. What about Yuan?"

"She — It's not really like that."

"Not really," Dazai repeats, not liking how unsure and vague that sounds. These two words could
mean everything from Yuan thinking they're in a relationship either way to both of them going
through the motions just to convince themselves of something. "Does she know that?"

"Yes."

"Then I don't see any single reason why we should deny ourselves of this," Dazai says, taking a
step to the side, so he's across from Chuuya, facing him.

"I might hurt you," Chuuya murmurs as he winds his fingers around Dazai's collar, tugging him
closer. "And you hate pain."

"I would hurt you back," Dazai says. It's a lie. Out of all the people he would like to see bleeding,
Chuuya's the last of them. Instead, Dazai would like to see a bunch of different emotions on him;
all but pain.

Chuuya snorts softly, and they're so close now that Dazai feels it on his face, the motion making
his skin dance with goosebumps. His fingers travel down until they're wrapping around Dazai's
hands and pull them up, tangling them in his ponytail that got loose over the night. "Like that," he
murmurs, biting his lip.

Dazai nods.

An electric moment passes, and then one of them must move forward — Dazai's not sure who
because the next second their lips are pressed against each other, warm and soft, and his mind goes
blank.

It doesn't often happen — that peaceful silence.

When Dazai cuts. When he drinks too many glasses of gin. Sometimes when he's sitting in Bar
Lupin and talking to Odasaku and Ango about everything and nothing.

When Chuuya kisses him.

Dazai's hands tighten ever so slightly in the ginger locks, angling his head a bit and deepening the
kiss until Chuuya makes a desperate little sound that he hungrily swallows. Throughout the last
four years, Dazai learned that there are ways to make the experience more enjoyable; he has felt
the tingle of lips and the hot curl of his stomach a few times with Nobuko as well as with nameless
strangers from shabby barbs with neon lights, but he was never hungry, never craving every last
slide of lips like the next shot of liquor. Not like this.

Chuuya grips the back of his neck and gently pushes them around so that Dazai's the one pressed
against the wall. It elicits an embarrassing sound from him that Chuuya uses to lick into his mouth,
rubbing their tongues together. It's —

"We," Chuuya murmurs against the corner of his mouth, breath hot, "should probably get going."

Dazai makes a face. "We can say we got lost."

"Yeah, no. Yosano seems way too smart to buy that." He takes a step back and drives a hand
through his hair. "I'm still worried about Yuan."

Dazai represses the urge to roll his eyes like a child, instead puffing off his clothes and then
grabbing all the necessary things from the counter. "Of course."

"You don't like her, do you?"

"Who? Yuan?"

"Who else, jackass?"

They step out into the stairwell. "She's not my favorite person. You are correct."
"She's a good one," Chuuya says, though he lacks his usual temperament. "Give her a chance."

Dazai shakes his head as he throws open the door of his car. "She's a mess; that's what she is. Yuan
has a drug problem, and instead of getting help, she's dragging you down with her." Chuuya opens
his mouth to argue, but Dazai cuts him off with his index finger. "I've been asking myself why you
have to juggle several jobs at once — and no offense, your apartment simply isn't big enough for
all the money you must be making. I see why though now. You're spending it all to help her get her
fix."

"It's not as simple as you make it sound."

"You keep saying that, but I think you're afraid to see the truth."

"And what would that be, huh?"

"That you keep on giving and giving all of yourself to the people you love. It would be admirable
if you didn't end up in the shit's creek because you gave everything and were left without nothing."

Chuuya huffs out a breath. "I'm not giving away everything, idiot. I just help out my friends
because it’s the decent thing to do. That’s all."

"Did they ever help you?" Dazai levels a stare at him when he stops because of a traffic light.
"When your foster man was beating you black and blue, and you let him so he wouldn't touch the
others, did they even try to stop you?"

"It's not —...." Chuuya trails off with a long sigh and turns his head away to look out of the
window. "Just leave it, Dazai. You wouldn't understand anyway."

Maybe that's true. Maybe the two of them are too fundamentally different to ever be on the same
page. Dazai too rational and clear and Chuuya's heart too fucking big for his own good. But that
doesn't mean it's not worth discussing.

Dazai softens his voice before speaking. "I won't back off just because you get angry hearing the
truth. And —" he quickly adds, knowing Chuuya's temper is already flaring, "you won't run away
just because you don't like what I'm saying. We're adults."

"Fine, but I won't let you act like you're some all-knowing god," Chuuya snaps. "It's my damn life.
Just because we’re fucking around now, doesn't mean you get to stick your head into my personal
shit again."

Again.

"We haven't fucked yet, chibi..."

"A figure of speech, bastard."

Dazai lets a smile roll over his face as he steps on the gas. "But speaking of sexual acts..."

Chuuya groans.

"... would you like to have dinner with me this week?"

He sees Chuuya eye him out of the corner of his eye. "As in a date? Because — I'm not — we're
—"

"Relax, chibi. I said dinner, not arrangements for a lifelong relationship. I don't know about you,
but I find jumping straight into bed with someone — even if I know the person — quite blunt."

Letting out a quiet breath, Chuuya shrugs. "Yeah. Okay. Sounds good. I work every day, though."

"Even on Sunday?"

"Yeah."

"After work then?"

"I guess."

"Good. I'll pick you up?"

Chuuya meets his gaze for a brief moment. "Fine."

They arrive back at the workshop not much later, Chuuya immediately trotting up the stairs to
check on Yuan, who's doing better, being regularly checked by Yosano. Although his cooking
skills aren't the best, Dazai volunteers to make something, knowing Chuuya won't care enough to
put something in his own stomach, too busy asking Yuan how she's doing every few seconds. It's
an awkward dinner, Yuan both skirting around the topic of what happened and avoiding any eye
contact with Dazai while Chuuya acts like nothing happened and Yosano idly humors all of them.

When he leaves home that day, after managing to steal another kiss from Chuuya out in the
hallway where no one sees, he’s satisfied with the outcome. Sure. The problem remains though.
And she goes by the name Yuan.

After several long and draining days at Tsuitory Group that leave Dazai with the wish to drown in a
pool of liquor, Kunikida chasing him from one task to another and the managing directors
opposing Dazai's suggestions every step of the way even though his strategies are excellent, he
very much is looking forward to the date with Chuuya. He wouldn't even be opposed to an
uncomplicated night of good food and several drinks, willing to miss out on whatever might come
in the bedroom afterward, just so he can hear anyone's voice beside his co-workers.

As promised, he picks Chuuya up and drives him to a cozy-looking restaurant he saw in the town's
magazine a few days ago, not wanting to ruin his own night by going to one that he used to visit
with his father. It's full of golden fairy lights, not too fancy, and Dazai, as always, knows he made
the right decision when they sit down at the table for two that the hostess lead them to.

Chuuya seems a bit tense, in comparison, which Dazai decides not to comment on for the time
being. Time will help.

"How's Yuan?" Dazai finally asks once the food's served.

Chuuya shrugs. "She's fine. Yosano even stepped by two times to check on her. Tell her thanks."

"I'm sure you already did, but I will. How is Yuan’s family?"

Ocean-blue eyes snap up, blinking. "Huh?"

Dazai lets out a breath, tilting his head. "You're juggling several jobs and looking after a drug
addict. That must be exhausting. How are you?"

"Don't call her that." He sees Chuuya's fists clench on the table, his whole body stiffening for a
moment. "Yuan has a problem, but she's more than that."
"I didn't say she wasn’t."

"You only implied it."

"I just want to know how you're doing," Dazai says. "My priority will always be you and not Yuan.
I'm not going to apologize for that, Chuuya."

Chuuya's stare remains red-hot for another second before the anger drains out of him, and he
swallows. "I know. Let's just... eat."

The evening could be smoother, less stiff, but the dinner is still nice, and aside from the tension
that comes up whenever Dazai even comes near the topic of Yuan and drugs, they get along just
fine. It's good. His childhood wasn’t one grand delusion. They can be friends. It wasn't just his own
wishful thinking.

When the waiter arrives to give them the check, Dazai sees Chuuya scramble for his wallet and
decides to stop it. "I'm paying for tonight, chibi. Let it go."

"This isn't a date, you said, so you don't have to."

"It was my suggestion and therefore it is my treat."

"Dazai."

"Chuuya," he replies, raising his brows. "You can pay next time or the thousand ones after. Just let
me."

Chuuya's clearly not happy with it, too fucking stubborn for his own damn good, but he gives in
with a full-body sigh and stares out of the window when Dazai hands over the money with a polite
smile.

It's only when they arrive at Dazai's apartment — finally, a decision that they both agreed on
without any arguments, the thud of the door incredibly loud, that Dazai addresses Chuuya's nerves.
They've been together for hours now. Either Chuuya's really nervous, which Dazai doubts, or
there's something else is wrong.

"Chuuya."

"Yeah?"

"What's wrong?" Dazai crosses the distance between them until he's standing in front of Chuuya,
where he's been staring out of the bedroom window for far too long. "And don't say anything.
Something is clearly bugging you, and I refuse to do this when you're mentally not here."

"I —" Chuuya's gaze flutters to him, a storm of emotions passing through in an instant. "You said
you want sex. And I don't know if I can give you what you want."

Dazai's brows furrow. "What do you mean?"

"I have boundaries. Lots of them. And this —" He waves a hand between them. "— is supposed to
be just fucking. Not..."

"Chuuya," Dazai says, and the vowels hurt. "I only offered because I thought you were into it as
well. If you don't want to—"

"No," Chuuya cuts in firmly. "I want this. Fuck, you're disgustingly attractive, you damn mackerel,
and I've thought about this more times than I can count, but.. sex can be icky."

"I'm fine with whatever you're open to. It's not like I have much experience myself —"

Chuuya's eyes widen. "You're a virgin?"

"I'm not," Dazai huffs out a laugh despite himself, "but I haven't been with men before. I've kissed
them. I kissed you. And I like it. But it has never come to more than that until now."

"Oh."

"Have you?"

"Yeah."

Dazai lets that linger. "So, I'm not going to push." Never.

"Yeah, okay. Fine."

That's what he says, but he still doesn't look 100% sure of it, so Dazai gently tugs at the collar of
his red shirt. "We can try some other day..."

"Shut up," Chuuya huffs, rolling his eyes, as he closes the distance, pushing up on his toes until
he's only inches from Dazai's mouth. "Yes?"

He closes his eyes. "Yes."

Chuuya's lips are soft, but his kiss is hard, eager, and driven, undoing Dazai right then and there
with only his mouth until he releases a rather embarrassing little sound when he draws away.
There's a smirk on his face though. Something that Dazai loves; something that he has missed like
breathing the last four years of his life. With that same fire in his eyes, Chuuya guides him to the
bed until Dazai's sitting and Chuuya's climbing on his lap, his fingers traveling down his neck,
leaving scorch marks on their way.

"Like this," Chuuya murmurs, positioning Dazai's hands in his hair and clothes. "This is good."

And it is good. Chuuya's hair is soft and silky, and Dazai enjoys the shiver he feels against his
mouth whenever he drives through his hair, fingers spreading and lightly scratching his scalp. Of
course, Chuuya doesn't let that sit for long. He opens Dazai up with skill and finesse, his hips
grinding forward against Dazai's crotch, creating friction that leaves Dazai gasping for breath.
Chuuya licks inside his mouth, guiding his tongue over the roof of his mouth as if he has always
known that it's one of the places that make Dazai dizzy the most.

They kiss, and it's better than any of the pain killers Dazai has taken in a futile effort to silence his
mind. They kiss, and his skin burns, but for once, it's not with the desire to cut.

"Can I?" Chuuya asks, his lips hovering against the corner of Dazai's mouth as his fingers touch his
zipper.

"Yes."

They work together on getting both the pants and the briefs off, fumbling and chuckling when
Chuuya nearly falls off the bed in the process, but in the end, Dazai's naked — from the waist
down anyway — and the hungry look in Chuuya's eyes makes his stomach curl. Neither of them
makes a move to get the bandages off, so they stay on.
Chuuya lies down, one hand curling around the shaft with an expert grip, his thumb tracing up the
length of a vein. Dazai sits and watches. Even if someone held the barrel of a gun against his
temple, telling him to stop, he'd just press his forehead against it; he wouldn't be able to tear his
eyes away.

Dazai's half-erection grows hard and heavy as Chuuya strokes him slowly, eventually leaning
closer to give him a hello lick where the precum has gathered at the tip. He works his down from
up there, pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down the length of his cock, making an
excruciating slow stop at the base, giving the spot right above his balls a suck.

"God." Dazai can't help but run his fingers through Chuuya's hair, tucking a few loose strands
behind his hair because he's good; it feels so good.

Chuuya's eyes flick up at him, pupils blown and dark, and he holds Dazai's gaze as he sucks the
head of his cock into his mouth, his hand jacking the shaft. The effect is monstrous.

"Jesus," Dazai mutters, curling his fingers in the sheets like his life depends on it. "You're so good
at that. Where have you been hiding all my life?"

Stretched around him, Chuuya's mouth grimaces a bit, but Dazai can tell it's something like a
smirk. "Damn it," Chuuya breathes out when he breaks away with a slurp, rolling his eyes, "you
once again talk too much, bastard."

The insistent blush in his cheeks says otherwise. "Did I forget to mention that was all part of the
package?"

Chuuya huffs, his breath ghosting across his sensitive cockhead. Dazai suppresses a whimper. "Just
shut up and lemme suck you off."

"No promises..."

Nuzzling closer, Chuuya stretches his mouth open, and Dazai's not prepared for the sight or the
feeling of his cock sinking into that hot, wet mouth of his. His eyes get a bit watery when the head
bumps against the back of his throat, the soft palette fluttering wildly. Still, after pulling away for a
moment, Chuuya tries again, and he swallows. Dazai dies a little inside, especially when those blue
eyes meet his stare once again, open and completely unashamed.

"Chuuya," Dazai whines.

Chuuya repeats the motion several times, working in his cock deep until Dazai's thighs start
shaking with the hot pull of his stomach. A string of spit connects Chuuya's swollen lips to the tip
of his cock when he pulls away, eyes hazy, and Dazai longs to wipe it away, but he restrains
himself, content with watching Chuuya suck around the head as his hands curls back around the
shaft and pumps, hard and fast little jerks. Dazai feels himself unwind like a snake. "Fuck, Chuuya.
I'm gonna — you have to —"

Chuuya moans a little, sucking harder, and when Dazai comes, he draws back, stroking him
through his orgasm with fluttering eyelashes and wide, blue eyes.

There's a peaceful silence in Dazai's mind in the afterglow — one he would chase for the rest of his
days if it didn't immediately turn sour the moment he got his bearings back. Chuuya's mouth leaves
soft, warm kisses on his thighs, though, and even after the normal sounds of the world return, Dazai
feels good.

"Hey," Chuuya murmurs when he comes up. There are few spurts of come on his face, most of it
having landed on his neck and collarbone.

"Hi." Dazai carefully lifts his hand to Chuuya's face and asks, "Can I?"

"Yeah. Okay."

Chuuya's skin is hot against his fingers, Dazai wiping it clean in gentle but efficient motions before
bringing it up to his mouth. It was supposed to be sexy — and it is for a second as Chuuya watches
his tongue dance against his fingertips — but his face turns into a grimace as soon as the taste
registers. "Oh. I thought this would taste better."

"Oh my god," Chuuya groans, but he's laughing, and it's fine, it's good. "I think that says a lot
about your diet."

"Is Chuuya telling me I'm fat?"

"No, idiot. I'm telling you, you should eat healthier."

"Ehh," Dazai grumbles. "I'm just going to restrain from eating my jizz in the future—"

Chuuya shuts him up with a kiss, seeking permission to Dazai's mouth with his tongue before
rubbing it against his, chasing whatever's left of it. When he pulls away, there's a thoughtful frown
on his face. "It's not that bad. You're just dramatic."

"That's because you didn't really taste it!"

They argue back and forth, half-laughing, half-breathless because they keep exchanging kisses in
the middle of it. Dazai doesn't push, but he's thankful when Chuuya guides his hand into his pants,
curling them around his cock. With his free hand, Dazai pushes the clothes that are in the way a bit
down until Chuuya's half-kneeling, half-sitting on him, and Dazai can stroke him as they trade lazy
and sloppy kisses. The fire between them is softer, Chuuya's whimpers and gasps are quiet and
breathy, but the look on his face, mouth open, and cheeks flushed as Dazai whispers how beautiful
he looks into his ear when he comes is perfection.
 1981
Chapter Notes

content warning:
- mentions of drug abuse and addiction throughout the whole chapter

See the end of the chapter for more notes

A routine establishes in his life. One that he didn't plan to have when he came back to Yokohama
after university, but one that digs its way into his skin and bones so deep that Dazai can't remember
what it ever was like before.

He goes to work every day, mostly on time too, just to avoid landing at the receiving end of
Kunikida's rants. After he persuades Yomano, one of the senior directors, to give one of his
strategies a shot, and everyone realizes they are, in fact, good and not just words he says to hear
himself talk, the company basically eats out of his hand. The respect for him grows, fast — and
with that grow the responsibilities and tasks, but apparently, that's supposed to be the goal. Two
times a week, Yosano steps by in the afternoon and brings him lunch — a coffee — and, of course,
a few kisses and hugs. His mother, whenever she calls him, is delighted. Once a week — mostly on
Fridays — Dazai takes her out for a fancy dinner in public, or he follows her to one of her
photoshoots and holds her bag as she gets styled. There are several issues of magazines now with
the two of them on the cover. "Yokohama's it couple," they say. Oh, how willfully blind the people
love to be. When Dazai leaves work and isn't with Yosano or being dragged to irrelevant parties by
his mother, he visits the garage. Sometimes Chuuya's got a free hour, and they grab dinner or make
out in the storage room against the door. When Chuuya's busy with cars or clients, Dazai lingers,
having no choice but to talk to Tachihara when he's bored, or, well, Yuan. What they do isn't really
holding a conversation. They're probably the two incompatible people on the planet, but they have
gone from ignoring each other to giving nods — now and then. After Chuuya gets off, and if he's
not busy elsewhere, they drive around the city, finding hidden spots with no people around where
they can sit on a bench and discuss parallel universes, or explore corner shops, picking out silly
little things for each other.

Sometimes Yosano and Yuan accompany them to restaurants and cinemas. It's easier that way,
with two girls by their side. Everyone just sees what they want to see, which is two couples. The
truth might perhaps not be that far off, just in a violently different color.

Time runs. It gallops.

At one of the business dinners with the boards and a few of Tsuitory's business partners, Mori, the
president of a store line, brings up a topic that Dazai has dreaded hearing ever since he agreed to go
along with Yosano's proposal.

"Dazai-kun, you should consider sealing your relationship to Yosano as soon as possible."

It's been only two months. Too little time to go from dating someone to marrying them for normal
people, but an outrageously exaggeration for Dazai, who would need ten times more than that.

Not that any of them cares.

His relationship with Yosano has brought them a lot of good publicity in the last few months.
People have been buying their drinks, especially the ones Yosano is seen sipping on the news, like
crazy. The idea of it is idiotic to Dazai, but he recognizes the selling value of it.

So Mori's right. A marriage — a public one — would only help.

"I don't intend to rush it," Dazai says after a moment, playing it safe. "We're both happy with the
current place we're at right now." He takes a large sip of his drink, gin, and carefully watches the
men around him frown and seethe over the polite refusal. Clearly, Mori wasn't trying to suggest
something but to order.

"You're already twenty-two," Fukuchi, senior adviser and marketing chef of Tsuitory, points out.
"People don't want to see an illegible bachelor at the head of the company. They want someone
reliant. Someone they can trust."

"I'm hardly a bachelor when I'm in a relationship."

"You might as well be if you refuse to get married."

Mori, who brought it up in the first place, doesn't look nearly as offended as the rest of them.
Instead, he grabs the bottle of gin and pours Dazai another glass. "Naturally, you shouldn't do
anything to sabotage your relationship, but... you should talk about the benefits both of you would
reap from a marriage. It's worth considering, no?"

It's not.

Dazai doesn't want to spend the rest of his life in an artificial marriage just so people he doesn't
care about can sleep happily in their beds out of money. The only reason he's doing it, in the first
place, was to get his mother off his back, to make it easier, and after a while, he has always
planned to stop the charade eventually.

No.

He doesn't say any of that, though. Dazai nods and acts like any of their empty words and bribes
are useful when, in reality, he doesn't even listen.

Not many days later, Chuuya, after a lot of nagging and prodding, finally gives Dazai the name of
the place he's been working at most nights — a relatively popular alt club downtown. Chuuya has
always managed to switch topics whenever it came up, and Dazai let him, but last night, he gave in
and mentioned he could stop by if he feels like it. Maybe he noticed Dazai’s pissy mood after the
business dinner. Or maybe it was just a lucky coincidence.

Of course, Dazai immediately visits with Yosano, not surprised to find Yuan already lingering at
the bar where Chuuya's swiftly and efficiently mixing drinks and serving customers with a
charming smirk on his face and tight leather pants that are sure to attract a lot of people.

It's enticing watching him work. There's a constant flush on his face that Dazai wants to spend
hours kissing.

Even though Dazai didn't plan to tell Yosano about the marriage topic, feeling like she's way too
generous with her time and involvement anyway, it doesn't take her long to pick up on his
frustration, and not long to get him talking, especially when Chuuya provides one free drink after
the other.
When he's finished explaining, Yosano tsks, playing with the cherry on her straw. "I didn't expect
them to start talking marriage so soon, but my publicist mentioned it to me in passing as well."

"Oh?"

"I told him to bugger off, of course, but yes, I'm starting to feel the demand for a damn wedding
too."

Dazai takes a sip and closes his eyes. "It doesn't matter. They can ask as much as they want. In the
end, it's up to us and only us."

At that moment, Chuuya turns to them, free of customers for one glorious moment. He throws both
of them a playful smile. "Hey you."

"Hey stranger," Dazai drawls, letting his eyes rake over the bare and muscled skin on Chuuya. He
already has spent hours appreciating it in bed, not always allowed to touch, but he could do it for
another thousand years. Chuuya's simply put, gorgeous.

"What are you two gloomy heads chattin' about?"

"I was just telling Yosano-san that your ass looks glorious in those pants."

Chuuya's grin gets brighter — if that's even possible — and he leans forward on the counter,
stopping a few inches shy of Dazai. "Uh-uh, and what else is glorious?"

"Everything," Yosano chirps beside them. "Back, front, side. If I weren't already dating Dazai, I'd
set my eyes on you."

"I doubt that'd be an obstacle," Chuuya murmurs, eyes sliding between her and Dazai. "You
wouldn't mind, would you, Dazai?"

Dazai's smile sharpens. "Never."

It's a dynamic that was born somewhere on the night they all spent together at Chuuya's, watching
over Yuan, and has magnified with every day since. Dazai doubts he has ever felt so free around
people, with the exception of Odasaku. Free to joke around and flirt. Free to be gloriously naked.

"— another twenty minutes."

"Ah," Yosano steps back to look past Dazai. "Why's Yuan over there?"

That makes Dazai turn to look at her, too. She's sitting all the way on the other end, holding on to
the drink in her hands like a lifeline. Her fingers are shaking. Ah.

"She's not feeling so good."

Dazai and Yosano both share a brief look, understanding what's going on. Every time they bring up
the elephant in the room, Chuuya gets defensive, which is understandable. In a society that
criminalizes any sort of drug use, getting help is a terrifying concept, especially when you could be
punished for it instead of receiving help. Still, it can't go on like this. Chuuya works day and night
only to end up with a few bills in his wallet, getting by on rice and noodles.

It's not a sustainable lifestyle for neither of them.

Chuuya gets another customer, and Dazai watches him start blending juices and liquors and
crushing ice. Once he cashes up, he walks over to Yuan, and they talk for a moment before Chuuya
gets out a few crumpled notes from the back pocket of his pants and slides them over the bar. She
takes the money and leaves, vanishing somewhere inside the crowd.

Yosano sighs. "You know we have to do something about this soon, right?"

"Obviously."

"I'm a med student. I can't watch her ruin herself and do nothing."

"I know," Dazai says with more vigor. "We have to come with a plan, though. If we just say this
should end, neither of them will take it well."

Yosano gives him a look that says obviously. "She's an addict; of course, she can't just stop. I've
been looking into rehabs..."

"So have I, but state-owned rehabs might do even more damage, and I doubt Yuan has enough
money for a private one."

"We do."

Dazai has thought about that as well. Many times, even. The problem is he predicts that Yuan will
not accept the money — using Chuuya's for drugs is one thing, but using Yosano and Dazai's for
going through withdrawal is something completely else. Not to mention that she will try to deflect
and act like she doesn't have a problem.

It will be hard, but maybe if they get Chuuya on their side.

Maybe if Yuan realizes it's either getting professional help or going through it on her own... maybe
she would agree.

"Let's talk about it tomorrow at lunch," Dazai says, just loud enough for Yosano to hear, and
downs the rest of his drink. Sirup-sweet warmth spreads in his chest, completely at odds with the
darkness in his mind.

Yuan comes back not much later, sniffling but in a much better mood. Obviously. She joins them at
the bar and acts like nothing happened, and this time — and maybe another — they let her, going
along with it. Just until they figure out the details.

When Chuuya rounds the bear, he's wearing a mischievous grin. "I'm on break." He loops his
fingers in Dazai's belt. "Want to have some fun?"

As Chuuya leads them through the club, hands around his wrist, Dazai assumes he wants them to
dance, which is not something Dazai planned to do tonight, but he's somewhat incapable of saying
no to Chuuya these days. They end up in some sort of storage room, however. Shelves full of fruit
and bottles.

As soon as the door falls shut behind them, he's being pushed against the wall. Chuuya kisses him
with fervor and need, and Dazai grabs hold of his hair and lets him. His brain is melting. His skin is
burning in every place that Chuuya's finger trace. It's almost painful how good it feels. Almost too
good to be true in a place like this, but Dazai doesn't care. He drags his lips against Chuuya's and
lets the world fade away.

It takes a few days, but eventually, they come up with a proper plan to get Yuan help. It's a long
shot, but Dazai has mastered the art of predicting events, and he’s willing to take the risk if it
means giving Chuuya more space to breathe.

It involves a weekend trip to the mountains, which is conveniently only one hour away from the
rehabilitation center Yosano and Dazai agreed on. That, and three days of a chance. Three days, in
which Chuuya and Yuan are forced to listen to them. Three days to get it right.

"No way," Yuan lets out a gasp as she stares out of the car window at the cabin. Well, it looks
more like a residence; even Dazai has to admit that. "We're going to live there?"

Yosano smiles as she pulls up in the front yard. "We inherited it from my grandparents and
sometimes use it for vacation. I've always wanted to visit with my friends."

Chuuya's more quiet, but Dazai sees his eyes take in every detail, no matter how small, once they
get out of the car and start grabbing their bags and suitcases.

It wasn't easy to convince him to go here. He had work and didn't want to bail on it last-minute, so
they picked another weekend, one that would only require him to miss one day, which isn't the
world. Apparently, Yuan was unimpressed by the idea too but now as she flits through the house
and explores the rooms, she seems to have changed her mind.

"I guess you two wanna get the double," Yosano says, leading them up the stairs. "It's right next to
our rooms, so for the love of god, don't be fucking loud."

"I have no idea what you mean," Chuuya says, fighting off a grin.

"I smell jealousy," Dazai adds, but only gets a crude gesture in return.

It takes a while to unpack — or throw the suitcase into a corner and flop on the bed, in Dazai's case
until Chuuya eventually lies down next to him and starts placing soft kisses on the back of his
neck, and before they know it, they're heavily making out, Chuuya's dirty little hand wandering
under Dazai's shirt and —

"Oh my god."

They don't really jump apart — the cat's been out of the bag for a long time now — but withdraw
with something like annoyance at being interrupted. Dazai still catches Chuuya's cheeks flush with
color when he sees that it's Yuan in the doorway.

She's half-looking away, half-glaring as she holds the door open. "I — I thought you'd, at least,
wait until later!"

"And I thought people knock," Dazai replies.

Chuuya sits up and drives a hand through his hair. "What is it?"

"Yosano suggested we go for a hike and check out the landscape. I'm here to get you."

Obviously.

"Give us five minutes," Chuuya says, and at last, the door shuts again. His face scrunched up in
embarrassment, he flops back down, hiding his face in Dazai's neck. "I feel like a horny teenager."

"You are horny," Dazai murmurs with a smile, "just not a teenager anymore."

"You're not fucking helping."

Dazai lets out a sigh. "I don't feel like hiking. Maybe we can stay and use the time for something
better...?"

Chuuya raises his head a little, just to glower at him. "You dragged us here, so you're going to go
on every single hike, dumbass."

"So mean."

It's better. After all, Dazai isn't here for amusement only. He’s on a mission.

And he will need to talk to Chuuya soon.

Tonight, Yosano and he agreed. Tonight when Yuan's already in bed or in the bathroom.

"I can try to make it up," Chuuya taunts with a smirk and climbs back on top of Dazai, his whole
body pressing against him in one, hazy grind that lets his brain malfunction as Chuuya kisses him
tender and sweet before teasing his tongue across his lip. The moment, Dazai tries to chase him
back, he draws away and climbs off him, all with that devilish expression.

"No," Dazai whines. "Come back here!"

"C'mon, up! Put on some tracking pants and hiking boots, and let's fucking go, mackerel!"

"I don't own anything like that."

"You're useless."

The hike is tiring but useful. Dazai takes pictures with the camera his mother got him for his last
birthday, and when Chuuya and Yuan attempt to climb a tree for whatever reason, he has a chance
to talk to Yosano again, affirming that whatever happens, they will try to get Chuuya on their side
tonight, so they can work on Yuan for the rest of the trip.

Back in the cabin, they cook dinner together, Dazai and Yuan on chopping duty as Yosano and
Chuuya do magic with sauces and spices. It feels like these moments happen in another life,
untouchable because they feel so oddly peaceful. Chuuya comes over every now and then to grab
Dazai's waist or poke his ribs. Yosano performs an awful version of Chakra's Free. Even Yuan
laughs as she shares her failed attempts at making dinner for herself and Chuuya. It's good, safe —
painfully so that, for a few short moments, Dazai finds himself wishing they weren't here for a
reason. That they could stay here in this moment, perfectly imperfect.

After dinner, they decide to digest the food before either watching a movie or test out the
whirlpools that are on the balcony.

Dazai's in the search for Chuuya when he steps outside, but he finds Yuan instead, bundled up in a
blanket as she sits on the porch and watches the sunset in the distance.

He could leave. The two of them have never exchanged more than two sentences, but something
tells Dazai there has to be a pivotal change to make their plan happen, and he has to play his part.

"You don't know where Chuuya is, do you?"

"Last I saw he was heading upstairs," Yuan murmurs without turning around.

Dazai takes a few steps until he's next to her and takes in the view. He has never really seen the
beauty in nature. It just is what it is. On rare occasions, he looks up, though, and the sight makes
his heart stop. Like now.

"You don't really like me, do you?"

Dazai blinks. He didn't expect Yuan to break the ice.

"I used to," he decides on saying because it's the truth. "I've accepted that you're going to be in
Chuuya's life whether I want to or not."

Yuan puffs out a breath, glancing down at her feet. "I don't like me either, most of the time. And
what I'm about to say is not some sorry excuse so we can become besties because I don't think
that'll ever happen but — I deserve to tell my side of what happened back then, too."

Dazai doesn't reply. He sits down, though.

"I was a kid," Yuan starts. "And whether you only cared for Chuuya doesn't change that. I was
fifteen and scared, and I got thrown from one abusive household to another. I bore the beatings
because I didn't have any other choice... until Chuuya. He gave me another choice. I'm not proud of
it. I'd change it if I went back, but he protected me, and I was glad because for one and half years
nobody touched me." She looks up at Dazai, eyes more fierce than they've ever been. "So you don't
get to judge me for that. Because you have no fucking idea what it was like."

Dazai holds that stare. "I know."

There's something like surprise on her face, then a huff, and she turns away, wiping at her nose.
"Good."

"You're still using Chuuya."

Yuan's posture stiffens.

Dazai doesn't elaborate — that would be crossing their plans. First, Chuuya. Then Yuan. If he
reversed it, he'd make it worse. Chuuya might not forgive him again.

"You like Chuuya," Yuan says, deflection. As expected. "Really like him."

"Yes."

"Does he know?"

"I'm pretty sure he likes me too," he says, brows furrowing.

"No, I mean —" Yuan shakes her head. "You're in love. Head over heels in love. I can see it, you
know."

Dazai shoots her a look. "I'm not in love with Chuuya," but even to his own hears, his voice sounds
wrong all of a sudden. Is he lying to himself? No. He's not... in love.

Yuan snorts. "Okay, whatever you say. I might not be a genius like you, but you can't make
feelings go away by pretending they don't exist. I know that much." Then she gets up, dusts off her
pants, and walks back inside. Dazai remains on the porch for another few moments, questioning
himself for the first time in a while.

He can't be in love. He's not capable of that. Right?

They're in the jacuzzi — well, Yosano, Yuan and Chuuya are. Dazai's sitting on the edge, only his
feet dangling in the water where Chuuya's sitting between them, and sipping on a glass of gin that
he brought along when he packed for this trip.

Yuan's slowly starting to get antsy. He can see it from the way she keeps scratching parts of her
skin, not able to sit still. Her body craves drugs and, if he's entirely honest, Dazai can't blame her.
If Chuuya were a drug, he would want to take him over and over again, willing to do whatever
necessary to keep getting his fix. Maybe that's what being in love means, after all?

Addicted.

Dependant.

Dazai shakes his head and returns to the moment. Yosano has noticed Yuan's behavior as well by
now, and Chuuya pretends not to see it because that would mean changing things.

Any time now, Yuan should find an excuse to leave.

"I think I'm going to hit the bed," she says only moments later, pressing out a smile. "I worked up a
headache and want to be fit for the rest of the weekend."

Yosano tilts her head. "You want me to check you out?"

"Oh, no, that's fine. I'm sure it's nothing."

"If you say so," Yosano replies with her charming smile. "Good night, Yuan."

"Night," Chuuya calls after she climbs out of the jacuzzi. "See ya tomorrow."

There's a moment of silence, and Chuuya lets his head rest against the edge, closing his eyes.

Dazai almost feels bed for ruining his mood, but it's going to be worth it in the long run. He hopes.

"Chuuya," he murmurs. "We need to talk."

His eyes fly open. Confused.

"About Yuan," Yosano adds, spreading her arms. It's good that they're doing this together. She's
good at cornering people.

"What is it?" Chuuya asks, his whole body tensing as he glances between the two of them.

"She has a drug problem. We know it. You know it. I don't want to be harsh, but if we don't do
something, she'll end up very sick or worse — dead."

"She has it... under control. She said —"

"She's an addict," Dazai says. "What she says doesn't matter."

Chuuya, of course, bristles at both the words and the lifeless tone in his voice. "Don't act like she's
some mindless junkie, okay? You both spend almost as much time with her as me, so you and I
know she's trying her bes—"

"If you want to protect her, then you have to take a step back and let us actually help her," Dazai
cuts in.
"Stop fucking psychoanalyzing me," Chuuya snaps, shooting him a glare.

"Chuuya," Yosano says. "You have to realize that she can't keep going like that, right?"

"Obviously," Chuuya exclaims. "I'm not fucking stupid. I know it looks bad, but — but if we even
so much as utter the words drugs, they'll either lock her up or fine her, and we can't fucking afford
either—"

"There's a rehabilitation clinic. A private one." She holds his gaze. "They could help her if she
agreed to go. Only if she agrees. All we need is for you to get on our side and convince Yuan to go
there. That's it. "

Chuuya's breath stutters. "They won't punish her?"

Yosano shakes her head.

"How much?" His fists clench on his sides. "How much does it cost?"

"Let us worry about that," Dazai says.

"No," Chuuya insists. "Yuan's my —"

"Your what? Sister? Family? Girlfriend? She isn't. She's your friend, but she's also ours, so stop
being stubborn and just say yes."

"I can pay you back..."

Yosano rolls her eyes. "Do whatever you want, darling, but first promise me that you will help us
convince her. Since the clinic's not state-run, they can't force her to stay, and the only person she'll
actually listen to is you. We need you on our side for Yuan's sake."

It takes him several long inhales to finally exhale and give in. "Fine. When?"

Back in their room, Dazai utters the words that have been on his tongue ever since Yuan left to go
to sleep. "Do you hate me now?"

For a while, Chuuya doesn't reply, slipping into an oversized shirt and then sitting down on the
edge of the bed. "No," he says eventually. "She does need help." And somehow, that's even worse.
Because, at least, if he was angry, Dazai would know what to do with it, would know how to reach
out without burning himself, but this resigned tone in Chuuya's voice leaves him helpless.

Dazai gets under the sheets and stares at the ceiling. "It will be good for her," he murmurs
eventually. It's the only thing that can turn this whole thing around.

"Yeah," Chuuya breathes out and settles on his side, facing away from Dazai, "but only if she
agrees."

And even though only a few meager inches separate them, Dazai feels like Chuuya is miles away.

"I'm so full," Yuan says with a yawn and stretches her arms over her head. "I think I can't eat for
the next ten days."

Her good mood doesn't catch the rest of them, though. Instead, the table falls into a rigid silence as
the three of them wordlessly look at her.
After a second, she frowns. "Okay, what did I miss?"

Chuuya was supposed to open the conversation, but his face is twisted into a grimace, hands
clenched into white-knuckled fists, so Dazai decides to take that one burden off his shoulders for
once. "Consider this an intervention. Your little drug problem is getting out of hand."

Her confusion turns into wide-eyed surprise and then into a cold glare. "You don't know what
you're talking about."

"Yuan," Chuuya says quietly, "you're addicted. It's okay. You don't have to lie."

"I'm not —" Her hands turn into tight little balls on the table. "I'm not fucking lying. You of all
people should know that, Chuuya! Okay, sometimes, I get high. So what? You do too!"

Chuuya flinches. "That was once."

Dazai sees Yosana’s patience run dry. "Throwing accusations around isn't going to make any of
this better, Yuan. There is a big difference between trying something out and being addicted, but
we've been with you for the past months. You're taking drugs nearly every day. You get cravings
that make you physically sick when you aren't getting your fix. That's an addiction."

"I'm not addicted," Yuan insists, shaking her head.

"We can test out this theory very easily," Dazai says, tilting her head. "If I go through your bag and
finds drugs and you let me flush them down the toilet... then maybe I'll believe you."

Unfortunately for Chuuya, Yuan doesn't even consider this suggestion. She gets up, her chair
scraping the floor with a loud, ugly noise. "This is crazy. You're all —" She looks at Chuuya. "...
crazy. I'm leaving."

"Where to?" Chuuya asks. When he speaks his tone is flat, tired, and it's so unlike him, it punctures
Dazai's lungs.

"Home."

"You can't even drive," Chuuya snaps. "You're probably high right now. How do yo—"

"Shut up!"

"Yuan, please. I'm trying to help you."

"You can't help me. I'm not sick. I just want a little distraction at the end of the day. Is that so
fucking wrong?"

Chuuya jumps up. "I get it, I do, but you're going to get yourself killed if you continue like that!"

"You're too paranoid—"

"And you're too careless!" Chuuya takes a breath, and then he explodes. "Do you think I wanna see
you die like him?!"

An awful silence settles over the room; even Yuan's anger and desperation ebb away as she stares
at the boy in front of her, so full of life, full of emotions, his pain emanating from him in bone-
rattling waves.

Something in Dazai's brain clicks. Oh. He couldn't have an epiphany this big in a worse moment
 than this.

"Shirase... Shirase was different," Yuan stammers out.

"That doesn't fucking matter when the outcome's going to be the same." Chuuya takes a step
towards her and grabs her shoulder. "I know you're still grieving, I know life fucking sucks, but
wake up. Come back. You're still alive. You still have a chance."

"I... can't." It's barely a whisper, but the admission is louder than anything she's said so far. "I
can't," she repeats, voice breaking. "You don't understand... I can't... it hurts so much."

"There are people that can help you," Yosano cuts in. "We can help, Yuan. All you have to do is
let us."

Yuan shakes her head over and over, tears spilling across her cheeks as she slowly sinks to the
floor. Whether it's her mind going into withdrawal already or the realization that she soon will have
to be whether she wants to or not or whatever happened with Shirase back then, it doesn't matter.
She's shattering into pieces in front of them, and all Dazai can do is watch Chuuya wrap her up in
her arms and think about how much it must hurt him to do this.

Dazai doesn't like how attached he is to her, but he understands, even from the outside, that Yuan is
the only thing he could call family, that they've been together for more than seven years now.
Everything passes. Chuuya's foster families. Dazai. Shirase. And now... Yuan.

Yuan's helpless sobs eventually turn into more anger and instead of clinging to him, she tries to
push him away. She fights him. She uses insults. She begs. She gasps and takes sobbing breaths as
pain, emotional or physical, starts wrecking her body.

It's not a pretty sight, but Chuuya forces himself through it, and if he can, Dazai and Yosano can
only follow suit. After all, it was their idea. It would be unfair to let him deal with the ugly
aftermath.

It takes hours of tears and sweat, and words repeated over and over until Dazai feels like they're all
but bleeding out, though by the end of the night, Yuan gives them a shaky promise. Once she calms
down enough to sit down and apologize quietly, they make the living room into a place where all
of them can sleep in, and keep watch that way. One person always staying awake to make sure
Yuan doesn't try to do anything funny.

Then morning comes and another fight begins. And another. And another.

In the end, Yuan asks them to take them to the clinic even earlier than planned, so they do.

There's a cold, heavy silence waiting in the house when they come back afterwards, and an even
heavier look in Chuuya's eyes before he wordlessly disappears in their room. Dazai thinks about
talking to him. He thinks about sleeping on the couch. He even oddly thinks about driving back and
getting Yuan just to see him smile again. Instead, Yosano takes his hand and knocks on their door
and when she asks if Chuuya minds, he doesn't tell them to go away, so they lie down on the bed,
on each side of him, and they sleep. Together. The three of them. Just one person missing.

Chapter End Notes

*whispers* if you squint you can imagine the emotional comfort sex chuuya, dazai
and yosano had that night
 1981
Chapter Notes

I'm so sorry for the long wait! I'm going to be honest, writing -- or editing this fic has
been super hard for me lately. I have a lot of expectation (writing-wise) for it, so I
guess it always takes me ages to muster enough energy and patience to work on it. I'll
definitely finish it since it's basically all written out already except for a few (crucial)
scenes, so don't worry about that, but bear with me if it's going to take me a while.
Thank you for understanding, your patience, and your feedback <3 Your words 100%
make it easier!

Dazai was equipped for Chuuya to be upset once Yuan was gone, but he did not plan to feel her
absence like a physical thing inside his chest himself. The ride home is undeniably empty. Even if
he barely talked to Yuan or liked her, something is just missing. A significant piece of their little
group.

For once, he's thankful for the load of work waiting for him at the company. Dazai greets
Kunikida's stern frown and the stack of files landing on his desk with a broad, cheery smile that
makes Kunikida frown furiously and Dazai's grin even wider. His mind is as sharp as ever, and so
is his liquor when he agrees to go to a bar with Mori to talk about the next few weeks. They're
working on the formula for the new drink — one that's supposed to finally land them a place on
every shelf in every store across the whole country. Dazai can't do anything about luck, which
always plays a part in a product's success no matter how many business people deny it, but he can
work out a strategy that will come pretty damn close. It keeps him occupied at day, while Mori and
the rest of the board keep him busy at night.

Nearly two weeks pass until Dazai uses one of his rare free afternoons to pay a visit to the garage.
And to Chuuya. He only lets himself think about how much he has missed the chibi when he spots
him rummaging through a toolbox, his high ponytail swinging back and forth.

"Hey, stranger."

Chuuya looks up, and the smile that flashes across his face is nothing short of gorgeous, though it
quickly bleeds into an accusing glare. "Well, hello. I was starting to think you got sick of me."

Dazai drops off his bag on the ground and makes his way towards Chuuya. "I was busy," he says.
"Working. That's what Chuuya always tells me to do, no?"

"Yeah, work, not drown in it," Chuuya brings up a hand to gently touch the skin beneath his eyes,"
'cause you look like shit. When's the last time you slept?"

"I sleep enough."

"The dark circles under your eyes tell a different story."

Dazai's not interested in diving into this particular topic, so he brushes his lips against his, letting
his hands slide down the length of his arms as Chuuya recovers from his momentary surprise and
melts into him. It never stops to amaze Dazai how gorgeous and alive he feels every time they
touch, like liquid scotch, strong and hot and delicious when it slips down his throat. How his
muscles move and flex under his hands, and what his lips feel like when they slide just right
against Dazai's. There are limits and boundaries; there always will be. On some days, Chuuya can't
stand being touched, and Dazai always stops when he tells him to; on others, he lets Dazai place
kisses on places that make him shiver and gasp.

"How are you?" Dazai asks, kissing the corner of his mouth. That's the only thing that matters.

"Fine," is the answer. What else? "A few more days until we can send her letters or visit her."

We. Not just him. We.

Dazai draws away until he can look at Chuuya, his fingers threading through his hair. "You would
want me to come with you?"

"Obviously. Yosano, too." Chuuya cocks his head. "You're her friends... and Yuan will probably
hate me for a while."

"Chuuya, you did the right thing. You know she needs this."

"I do, but..." he shrugs. "It all happened so quickly. I feel like she didn't get to really prepare for it.
We basically bulldozed her into getting help."

Which was Dazai's doing. Again. Maybe he has a knack for inserting himself into Chuuya's life
and messing everything up, even if the intention behind it is good, even if it's supposed to help.

"She will thank you someday."

Chuuya huffs out a sad laugh and sighs. "I guess." Then he loops his fingers in Dazai's collar and
tugs him closer. "You know, you were gone, and I was bored and lonely. I considered asking
Tachihara to give me a hand..."

Dazai scowls. "You could have come over."

"I wasn't about to drive all the way to the other side of the city just for you not to be home." His
brows raise then, as if to say what are you going to do about that?

Dazai has to leave it to him. It is a good tactic.

Closing the distance between them, Dazai gives Chuuya a taste of what exactly he's going to do
about that. The kiss is hot, ravenous, the one that makes your stomach burn up from the inside, and
when Dazai cups Chuuya's face, angling him just right, his arms loop around him, bringing them
even closer. Dazai picks him up, delighting in the small noise it gets out of Chuuya and places him
on the car behind him. What's the point of making out in a garage if you're not going to use it to
your full advantage? Chuuya's legs spread open, allowing Dazai between them, and they trade
kisses until they run out of breath and their hands start to wander.

"How likely is the chance of Tachihara walking in at any given moment?" Dazai murmurs against
the skin on Chuuya's neck.

"Uh, very likely. With a customer, too."

"So we should stop."

"We should," Chuuya breathes out.

They don't.

Afterward, they go to grab dinner from a Thai shop around the corner.

"So I had lunch with Yosano a few days ago —"

Dazai glances at him. "You did?"

Yosano didn't mention it when she visited him at work yesterday.

"Well, yeah. You know, we don't stop being friends just 'cause you're too busy to see us."

Dazai elbows him. "Your attitude is, as always, lovely."

"Anyways," Chuuya continues. "You remember how she joked about me trying out for modeling?
Well, she got me a gig."

A flash goes off at the same moment, and Dazai turns his head to see a man with a camera walking
a few feet away from them, not really trying to hide the fact that he's taking pictures. Dazai has
gotten used to it over the last few weeks, but being followed with Chuuya instead of Yosano, who
attracts the paparazzi in the first place, is different. "Looks like they might find you even before
that," Dazai murmurs. Yosano's going to be in the commercial for Tsuitory's next drink — they
even discussed putting Dazai there, too. The public would love it. The it couple uniting forces. It
would be a seller and make both of them ten times more known than they already are. Dazai's
starting to regret that. He has no issues being in the spotlight, but dragging Chuuya into it as well?

Dazai looks at him. Chuuya frowned when the flash went off, but now he's acting like it's
something completely normal.

"I didn't know you were interested in modeling." As gorgeous as he is, Chuuya definitely has the
potential. The mental strength, too, to survive in an industry as brutal as modeling. Dazai just never
guessed that's where his path would take him.

Chuuya shrugs as they duck into the shop. "I wasn't, but it could make good money."

Going over the menu, Dazai works over the words with a frown. Chuuya already has several jobs.
Without the part that was funding Yuan's drugs, it should be enough, unless...

"You're not still thinking about paying for the clinic, are you?"

Chuuya pointedly avoids his gaze. "I should pay. I was the one who enabled Yuan and didn't get
her help sooner —"

"Chuuya," Dazai cuts in. "I don't need your money."

"Just leave it, will you? I'll do it whether you want to or not, so." With a quiet huff, Chuuya turns to
the woman working behind the counter and rattles off his order. Dazai lets out a breath and does
the same, ordering duck in coconut sauce and a bottle of sake. Stubborn little chibi.

Dazai-san stops talking, and Atsushi, deeply immersed in the story, startles a little.

"Do you think you know where this story is heading, Atsushi-kun?"

"Erm, I — I have a feeling."

It's hard not to notice that every time Dazai talks about the events of his past, he's always drinking
something — never drunk but always drinking. And it makes Atsushi's stomach twist to see Dazai
lift his glass and take a sip right now, seemingly satisfied at whatever reaction shows on his face.

The story, Atsushi fears, was never meant to have a happy ending.

One day, Dazai misses a date with Chuuya. It happens after a long, gruesome photoshoot for the
commercial he filmed with Yosano, after a meeting with the board immediately afterward, and
after a bottle of gin at home. After using the spare key, Chuuya finds him passed out on the couch,
and the look on his face is even worse than the leeching feeling in his stomach, making him feel so
lightheaded he might dissolve into the mud at any given moment.

Dazai apologizes. Chuuya accepts it.

Towards the end of the year in December, Odasaku calls him and mentions that he will be staying
in Yokohama for a week, asking if Dazai wants to meet and grab a drink like back in Tokyo. It's
the best news he has heard in a while.

He makes plans for his friends, for Chuuya, to meet Oda, too, and though, Chuuya has always been
a bit more reversed whenever Oda's name came up, Dazai's sure the two of them will get along just
fine. (Both of their hair is red. That must mean something, right?)

They all go to one of the nicer restaurants in town. Dazai makes introductions, Oda talks about his
flight here and the seating neighbor that talked his ear off the entire time. Dazai feels Chuuya's
eyes slide to him when he orders himself a drink, but given that there's a glass of red wine on
Chuuya's side of the table, he has no room to judge.

"Do you still draw?" Odasaku asks after the food has arrived, and a busy silence has settled
between all of them.

"I don't have time for that anymore." Between the company, his public outings with Yosano, and
spending time with Chuuya, there simply isn't room to pick up pen and paper. It's always been a
silly dream anyway.

Yosano raises her brows. "You draw? And never bothered to tell me?"

"He did all the time in college," Odasaku, the traitor, tells her with an odd smile. "You were so
good."

"That's because classes were so mundane and boring, I had enough free time for it." Dazai takes a
sip of his drink. "Running a company is on quite another level if I do say so myself."

"You know, you're still not officially running it. You could slow down and give yourself some
time to breathe." Chuuya softly bumps shoulders with him.

Dazai shakes his head. "I won't let them run the company into the ground just so I will have to fix
the mess when they let me. Better to work on it from the very start." Then he gives Chuuya a
pointed look. "And I'm not going to take advice from someone who has just started his fourth job."

Chuuya's eyes narrow.

"Chuuya was so good," Yosano decides to insert herself, "he'll soon only need one. I was there.
They loved you."
Oda smiles as he eats his curry — probably inhumanely spicy. "I like your friends, Dazai."

"Thanks. I grew them myself."

"Bastard," Chuuya mutters with an annoyed smile.

"More like we raised you," Yosano says dryly.

"You should all visit Tokyo someday," Odasaku continues. "I recently joined a community for
artists and writers. You would fit in."

Chuuya scoffs. "I don't have a single artistic bone in my body."

"No, I think we all do. In one way or another, every person has a story to tell; it's just a matter of
giving them a voice. I'm confident you all have things to say."

Chuuya goes quiet, thinking about it. Yosano cocks her head. Dazai grabs his glass and drinks
because even if he had something to say, his father made sure it would only be something that
could be turned into profit, and money does not care about tales of personal failure and growth. It's
money. It does not think.

Dazai offered Odasaku to stay at his place for the week — why pay for an outrageously expensive
hotel when Dazai has a room to spare, right? — so after dinner, they both return to his dark
apartment.

After grabbing a bottle of sake from his fridge, Dazai sits down at his desk and pours over all the
paperwork that has to be finished by tomorrow. If he doesn't want Kunikida to strangle him, that is.

When Oda comes to tell him good night, his eyes are full of shadows as they roam over Dazai.
"Are you okay?" he asks.

Dazai chuckles. "I'm peachy, Odasaku."

Why wouldn't he be?

A few days later, the four of them are supposed to go to a baseball game. Dazai gets held up at
work, though, so he stays behind, which isn't the end of the world, considering he finds most sports
boring anyway. Who cares who catches the ball? It's an obtuse activity.

He falls asleep in his office in the Tsuitory's building, not hearing the insistent ringing of the phone
on his desk, the gin pumping through his blood too numbing.

On the last day of his stay in Yokohama, Odasaku slams shut his suitcase and turns to Dazai. The
look on his face is familiar, achingly so because it reminds Dazai of their years in university
together. Oda used to wear that expression on Dazai's bad days when blood was running down his
arms. He looked like that after the phone call informing Dazai that his father had died.

"Spit it out, Odasaku," Dazai says with an idle smile. "What is that you want to tell me?"

"I'm worried about you."

That's blunt.
Dazai stretches his arms over his head with a yawn before turning to the fridge, grabbing
yesterday's leftovers — maybe the day before, even. "You always are, Odasaku. Tell me
something new."

"You're overworking yourself," he hears Oda say, "and I'm not certain you're doing it for
something you even want."

"Many people have jobs that they don't like. That's life."

"It doesn't have to be."

Sure, it's one way to think of it, but what else is Dazai supposed to do? He has no desires, no
motivation, except maybe the feeling of Chuuya's lips against him and the exhilarating rush of
falling asleep after downing a bottle of gin. He hasn't drawn in years, and if he's honest, even the
idea of pursuing that silly little dream seems absurd. Is he really supposed to paint for a living?
Laughable. Back in his first year of university, he was naive, but now Dazai knows the truth. His
place was always meant to be here. In Yokohama. At Tsuitory Groups where he's excellent. Useful.

"But it is," Dazai says with a simple shrug.

Oda doesn't look happy, but he doesn't look like he will continue arguing about it. This is why he's
one of Dazai's favorites. So simple, yet so interesting. "If you ever change your mind, you know
where to find me."

In Tokyo. A city that is no longer part of Dazai's future.

 1981
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Dazai likes to think that circumstances in life happen like dominoes — one event triggers another,
and another, and another, and ultimately something collapses. Something breaks.

He can't pinpoint the exact moment the first stone fell. Maybe when he came back to Yokohama.
Or when he accepted the first drink, Mori slid over to him. Or maybe, it was earlier, the day his
father died, and Dazai suddenly had an entire company to his name. What Dazai knows, though, is
that one of the remaining stones that eventually lead to the downfall was Odasaku's visit. Not
because it was bad — it was great. Not because something specific happened. It was just that one
conversation.

A reminder. A gentle suggestion.

A few words trigger an emotion in Dazai, something that has been living in him for a while,
festering and rotting him inside out. And that... that eventually comes to life with a vengeance.

He's in a meeting, spitting out word after word of strategies and tactics for the drink that's coming
out next week already. The faces around him range from horrified to furious, making the wrinkles
on these old men's faces stand out even more. It looks so morbidly ugly, Dazai has to cut off in the
middle of his sentence to laugh. He laughs for a long time.

"What's so funny?!" one of them eventually snaps.

"I think we should postpone this for tomorrow," another one says, getting up from the desk. "I
suggest you get some rest and clear your thoughts, Dazai-san." It doesn't sound like a suggestion. It
doesn't look like one either.

When the conference room is blissfully empty except for Kunikida, who is staring at him like
Dazai's skin might become transparent and allow him a look inside that wretched brain of his.
Dazai leans back and lets out a long sigh. "Oh, dear."

"What is going on with you?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You're acting like a... like a clown. I know you're fond of jokes, Dazai-san, but you've almost
ruined everything you worked for in the last few months in one sitting."

Dazai turns to look at him. "I'm starting to think I was working in the wrong direction."

"Cut the nonsense—" Kunikida bends forward and grabs a fistful of Dazai's collar, but he freezes
mid-act, his nose sniffing. "What is that smell — are you drunk?!"

"No," Dazai replies with a slurred giggle. "You are."

"It's ten in the morning, for god's sake," Kunikida snaps. "Get it together! You're not in university
anymore where you can get away with this behavior. This is real life, Dazai. Thousands of people
rely on this company — rely on you."
Dazai lifts his finger, shaking his head. "See, that was their first mistake. I never wanted to be here.
I never wanted any of this."

Kunikida's anger starts to ebb away into something softer, something pitying. "Then you never
should have come. You should have declined your father's will from the start." Grabbing Dazai's
arm, Kunikida pulls him to his feet. "We're going."

Kunikida drives him home, where he forces him to drink an entire bottle of water before putting
him to sleep. Or so he thinks. Because Kunikida is a reputable man, he has a schedule that he
follows every day, and taking care of his drunk co-worker is not written down in his little book, so
when Dazai closes his eyes to play along, Kunikida eventually leaves.

There's little else to do. Dazai has spent his life in Yokohama investing his time in work, not in
himself or even drawing, no, just in work. He has no places to be. No people to know. So he goes
to the only other place he's been to, which is the garage. And Chuuya.

Dazai spots him packing books into a bag on the hood of his car. "Hey, stranger," he calls. "Where
are you going?"

Chuuya looks at him, amused and confused and so very handsome. "Visiting Yuan. Wanna join?"

"Visiting a rehabilitation clinic with a pretty boy like that has always been one of my lifelong
dreams."

"Just get in," Chuuya says with a faint snort. Inside the car, when Chuuya pulls into the street, he
shoots a brief glance towards Dazai. "What are you even doing here? I thought you had work."

"Ruining my life."

"Okay. Am I supposed to understand that?"

"No, I don't think so. Just look at it like this... I wanted the moon, but now I'm planet earth, and I
can't have both, so obviously, I have to destroy the earth, so the only option left is going to the
moon."

Chuuya frowns. "Or, you could just go to the moon. Why destroy all of the earth just so you can
leave?"

"But what if I don't like the moon? Then I'd have to go back to earth, and we can't have that."

"Why not? It's good having options, you know."

"No, Chuuya, no. I can't have both. I can't live with the earth, but I can't live without it, either."

"You're... drunk, aren't you?" The question is quiet and soft. Chuuya isn't angry. He sounds sad.

"I had something to drink, yes."

"Don't you think it's starting to become something regular? Too regular?"

"No, I don't."

Sure, Dazai has a drink once in a while. A lot of people do. He could live without alcohol; he could
stop drinking at any given moment, but it was just more bearable with a drink. So why stop?

Chuuya's hands curl around the steering wheel, his gaze pointing straight forward, never wavering.
"Why are you drunk at eleven in the morning, Dazai?"

He has an answer for this. He has ... It just escapes him right now. It flew out of his head like a
bird.

"Ask me another question."

"Dazai..."

"Chuu~ya," Dazai replies. "You're the earth. You're the moon."

For the rest of the one-hour ride, Chuuya's quiet, except for a word here and there, but he lets Dazai
talk. When he cuts the gas in the parking lot of the clinic, he turns to Dazai, his face so full of grief
that Dazai must have missed the moment he accidentally drove over someone. "You should stay
here."

Dazai smiles. "I want to talk to Yuan." It's a lie.

"Stay here," Chuuya repeats. "Yuan needs to focus on herself, not on..."

"On what?"

"On worrying about you."

"She doesn't even like me. I doubt she'd worry about me." Dazai unbuckles his seatbelt. "And what
would she worry about? That I'm a little tips—"

Chuuya's hand around his wrist physically stops him. "I'm serious, Dazai. I'm not letting you go in
there." At that moment, he realizes it, too —Chuuya's dead-serious for reasons unknown to
mankind.

"I guess I can take a nap then."

Chuuya nods, worrying his lip, and opens the door.

"Don't lock the car, Chuuya. I'm claustrophobic."

"Okay. I'll be back soon. Sleep."

Every time people tell him to sleep, Dazai loses more and more interest in that, his body running on
spite and resentment, never rest. Once Chuuya disappears into the building, he gets out of the car
and starts walking. If someone's here dumb enough to steal the car, then Dazai will just have to buy
Chuuya a new one. He has a feeling he will be quite rich very soon.

Hours later, when he finally reaches the door of his flat, he finds Yosano in front of it, glaring
daggers at him. "Dazai, where the hell —"

"Fancy meeting you here," he gives her a two-fingered salute and struggles to fit the key in the hole
for a second. "Oopsie."

"Darling, you reek worse than a bottle bank."

"My new cologne! It's called a bottle of gin," he says, adding a splash of french accent at the end.

Yosano follows him inside, not amused as she should be by that fabulous joke. "You do realize
Chuuya has been turning the entire city upside down trying to find you, yes?"

"That's quite unfortunate when all I did was take a walk. I heard those are good for your body."

"I'm sorry."

He stops in front of his fridge and gives her a look. "For what?"

"For not noticing." Yosano, who always looks composed and ready to fight with her high heels on,
has visible eye rings, her mascara smeared around her eyes. "I should have seen the signs sooner."

Dazai turns away. "You're not making any sense. I suggest taking a nap. My bed is free."

"It's okay. I've got you now."

The sentence I've got you now has several meanings, but mostly it means that Yosano and Chuuya
camp out in Dazai's apartment and take turns making sure that he doesn't get any access to alcohol
whatsoever.

It's annoying; that's what it means.

Completely redundant.

But even through the misty haze in his eyes, Dazai can't pretend that the situation isn't achingly
familiar. That he wasn't doing the same for Yuan not too long ago.

He stops pretending that it isn't a problem, that he doesn't have a problem when the third night of
being utterly, emptily sober arrives, and with it, a whole new realm of pain.

Finding something to do with himself after he once and for all resigns from Tsuitory Groups is
surprisingly the hardest challenge. When he wasn't working, Dazai was drinking. When he wasn't
drinking, he was working.

Now he can't do either.

It leaves him restless, unsettled like he's about to crawl out of his skin at any given moment and
find himself something to numb the buzzing mayflies in his head.

Chuuya makes a point of taking him to work, not leaving Dazai alone in his apartment, and even
though, Chuuya has always managed to soothe that wretched little itch under his skin, it just makes
him feel worse at some point.

Chuuya, always having to take care of someone else.

Dazai, as always, a burden.

Yosano spends as much of her free time with him. She studies at his apartment, lets him quiz her
for upcoming exams. She checks his shelves to find any evidence of smuggled booze every
morning and night. She suggests a rehabilitation center. Ironically enough, Dazai refuses to. She
tells him about the anonymous group in town, the ones that meet on a regular basis to help each
other with their drinking problems. Dazai goes once and spends the entire looking out of the
window, not even a single word piercing the bubble he's stuck in.

Dazai feels like he's drowning. He quit his job, he hasn't had a drink for a month, and he has two
friends that would do just about anything to offer him a helping hand. And yet, he's drowning.

And so, one day, Dazai walks to his phone and calls a certain number, one that was offered to him
not too long ago.

"Hello?"

"Odasaku, hey," Dazai says. "I changed my mind."

Dappled morning sunlight streams through the windows, painting the room in golden hues. Dazai
leans down and places his lips on Chuuya's skin. He wants to taste the sun.

"Morning," Chuuya murmurs, his voice sleepy and muffled. "Have you slept?"

"Like a baby."

"Really?"

Dazai has battled insomnia his whole life, but ever since he quit drinking, it's been even harder
getting a moment of rest, night sweats, and unrest haunting him. His skin whispering to him.
Sometimes, after sex, or when he's sharing a bed with Chuuya, it helps. Sometimes.

"What'd you dream about then?" Chuuya demands.

"You. Naked. In my bed."

Chuuya hums, and Dazai feels the reverberation deep against his mouth, a smile forming on his
life.

"Oi, I think you're confusing dreams with reality."

"Do I now?" His hands start trailing up and down Chuuya's chest, inching lower in the smallest of
ways. When Dazai feels him stiffen, he stops, just massaging his chest, but Chuuya leans back and
nudges him with his head.

"Don't stop," he mumbles, voice breathy.

Dazai drifts lower until he can feel his half-erection, his hand wrapping around it and giving him a
few strokes. It's too dry, too slow, but Chuuya moans anyway. The most gorgeous sound he's ever
heard. His hand reaches back, slipping under the covers and over Dazai's length.

It's like this, sleepy and softly that they stumble to a climax together.

It's because of this languid, fuzzy warmth between them that Dazai decides it's the right moment.
The right day.

"Oda hooked me up with a job in Tokyo." Chuuya freezes with the shirt — one of Dazai's — still in
the air. Dazai goes on, "It's in a gallery. I'd work some days, manage it, and get free lessons and a
spot in exchange." It's perfect.

Chuuya finally lowers his hand and turns around. A big smile graces his face, one that lights up the
shadows that Dazai has been living with for a while now. "Are you going to take it?"

Dazai sits up. "I guess. It's something good, yes?"

"Yeah, Dazai. It is."

His heart hammers; the blood in his veins pulses. Dazai feels alive. "Come with me."

Chuuya's smile falters.

Dazai's doesn't. "Come with me," he says. "Your modeling gigs are going well, right? You could
find even bigger ones in Tokyo. We could find an apartment together and —"

"Dazai, stop talking." Chuuya takes a breath. "I'm not... I can't go with you."

"Yes, you can."

"No, I fucking can't," Chuuya snaps, anger bubbling from his chest. "I know your first concern's
always you and that everyone else is just a secondary character in a story that's centered about you,
but I have a life here. I have friends here. I worked for what I have, and I can't go running just
because you have once again decided that it's something you want!"

Dazai presses a hand to his forehead. He knew Chuuya wouldn't say yes, that he'd grumble and
bitch, but — this was supposed to be different. "I know you have a life here," he tries. "You can
still visit. Yuan could follow. You can —"

"There you go again, thinking you know what's best for me." Chuuya gets up and hastily grabs his
pair of sweatpants. "I'm happy for you, Dazai. I am. I know you never wanted to come back to
Yokohama in the first place but stop fucking demanding that I turn mine upside down just to
accommodate you."

"I asked you," Dazai says helplessly. He didn't demand. Not with this. He wanted Chuuya to want
to come with him — he still wants to. "Chuuya, I..." The words are there. Heavy on his tongue like
lead. He can't get them out. No matter how much he tries.

"You what?" Chuuya asks, fully dressed, ready to go.

"I... thought it would be nice to go together," he murmurs. "Different than last time because we're
not kids anymore. It could have worked. I get it, though. I do."

Chuuya lets out a short, irritated breath. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."

Is this how it's going to be? How they're going to part?

"I have to go."

"Chuuya," Dazai says. It's a fruitless attempt to stall for another moment. He wants — he wants
something he already lost, and now he's clinging to it like a fool. A damn fool that's weak and
pathetic and... "You can keep the shirt," he ends up murmuring.

Chuuya glances down. "Oh. I can —"

"Keep it," he cuts in. "I said you can, no?"

"Yeah, I guess."

He doesn't want to say goodbye, but dragging out this conversation makes it hurt only more, so
Dazai gives Chuuya a nod and turns around, stretching down to pick up a sweater from the floor.
It's quiet until he hears the door fall shut. Something wet slips down his face.
Dazai stretches his head over his head and yawns. "I'm feeling a bit stiff. Let's take another break,
shall we?"

"That's not the end, is it?!" Atushi only remembers his manners when it's already too late, but if
there’s one thing that’s not a mystery, then it’s that Dazai does not hold much value for those
things. And Atsushi has found himself deeply invested in this story, this pair. He would rather skip
the break and hear the end of it with so many unanswered questions.

Dazai smiles. "Not yet."

Atsushi lets out a breath. "Okay."

"What do you say about lunch? I can have my staff cook us something."

As if on cue, Atsushi's stomach lets out an embarrassing growl. He makes a face.

"I take that as a yes. Follow me."

They walk to Dazai's big and modern kitchen, where the red-haired girl and the blonde boy are
talking to each other, relaxed grins on their faces. Once they spot Dazai and Atsushi, they go quiet
but don't stop smiling. "Dazai-san, something to eat for you and Mr. Atsushi?"

"Yes, please. Two bowls of Chazuke, will you?"

"Be right up."

Dazai nudges his head towards the big set of glass doors that lead into a gigantic, green backyard,
set with a porch and a swing and a cherry blossom tree. When Dazai sits down, he lets out a long
sigh. "It's a beautiful day, no?"

"Yeah," Atsushi says and offers the man in front of him a bashful grin. "I didn't expect for the
interview to take so long, but I'm glad I took the day off."

"I apologize for the lack of confidence. I wanted you to show up without any worries."

"Well, I was still worried. I have to confess, I still don't understand why you picked me of all
people, Dazai-san, but whatever reasoning you have, I'm honored to be the one to get to hear it."

"You will understand once I'm finished."

Atsushi smiles.

"Something I can tell you already know, though, is that I also needed someone open-minded."
Dazai’s eyes travel over the scene. "It's 2016 — miles from the society I experienced growing up,
but despite it all, hate and ignorance still linger."

Atsushi's smile falls a bit. He's bisexual and out to his friends and a few of the co-workers he's
close to, but even today, even now, he still overhears comments and jokes and the news. The
community has come far, but it's not enough. It breaks his heart to see that Dazai, who had to hide
part of his life — part of himself for centuries, has to face the same struggles even now.

"I allowed myself to do a bit of research before inviting you," Dazai tells him with a sly grin. "I let
my assistants talk to your co-workers, and you know what they said?" Somewhere, Atsushi is
aware that if he's here, hand-picked by Dazai, then whatever his colleagues had to say about him
couldn't be bad, but his heart still hammers in his chest. What if Dazai asked Ryuu?! "They all said
 that you were the kindest and most selfless person they've ever come across." The light in Dazai's
eyes flickers. "It reminds me of someone."

Atsushi feels his whole face flush. "I — My colleagues like to exaggerate sometimes—"

"Don't sell yourself short," Dazai says. "Use your voice."

Before he can reply, the red-haired girl waltzes out, carrying two bowls. "Thank you, Lucy-kun."

"Sure thing, boss."

Her wordiness makes Atsushi laugh as he digs in with the sun and the birds above him. This day,
he thinks, is so much more interesting than he could have ever hoped for.

For the duration of the meal, Atsushi wonders about the end, about Chuuya. If there's another and
last part, then they met again — they had to, right? They were clearly in love even though neither
of them ever said it. Well, Dazai was. Atsushi's not sure about Chuuya.

Maybe they met again, and it still didn't work out. A love that lasted an eternity and beyond even
though it never worked. These things happen. Or maybe, it did work out, and Chuuya is
somewhere here in the house. It's not that unlikely. If Dazai were to keep their relationship secret
and private all this time, Chuuya could still be in the picture somewhere. Atsushi would love to
meet him. From everything he's hard, he's great. The other possibility not so much. Maybe
somewhere along the way, something happened. Maybe Chuuya's not among the living anymore.

Whatever it is, Atsushi is both excited and terrified to find out.

"Are you okay to continue it here?" Dazai asks, cutting through his thoughts. "It's such a lovely
day."

"Of course, Dazai-san."

And so they do.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for the super lovely comments last chapter. I might have shed a tear or two.
I love this story and I hope you guys will like the rest and last act of Dazai and
Chuuya's journey <3
 1981-1993
Chapter Notes

I updated the tags so please do make sure to check them out if you need to!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

I think I've seen this film before

And I didn't like the ending

[...]

Exile, Taylor Swift (ft. Bon Iver)

xxx

Dazai moves back to Tokyo a week later. As much as he would like to have the chance to say that
there was another, a better goodbye with Chuuya, one in which he was able to say what he really
wanted to say, and one in which Chuuya didn't leave angry and hurt — there wasn't. Just this one
perfect morning that shattered like glass between Dazai's fingers.

For a while, Dazai stays with Odasaku. He has enough money to find something for himself,
especially after selling his rights and shareholdings of Tsuitory Group, but Dazai has been sober for
little less than a month, and his first setback comes not much later.

Oda finds him hanging onto a bottle of gin one afternoon, quietly slurring about how much he
misses Chuuya, about how even if he turned in the right direction, his life will never be better than
the lukewarm mediocrity that leaves him feeling squeezed dry and hollow.

When he wakes up the next morning, sporting a raging headache and dry mouth, Oda tells him
something has to change. So Dazai does.

Working at the gallery, taking lessons, and bringing his thoughts onto paper doesn't diminish his
urge for a bottle of gin — the craving in his blood is there like a tangible presence; it probably
always will be. The urge gets easier with time, though, and sometimes, there are several hours in
which, Dazai completely forgets about it, lost in a canvas of colors and brushes.

It's in that state of mind after the first setback, after everything he has gained and then lost again in
Yokohama, that Dazai starts working on The Monsters. A series of ghost-paintings illustrating the
lack of life inside you, and what it's like to be thoroughly empty in a working body with a broken
mind through oil, thick brushes, and a mix of impressionism and Dazai's self-reflection. One of
them, he calls No Longer Human.

It's his first one in a series of paintings that get discovered hanging in the same gallery a few
months later and get sold for 10,000,000 yen.

He stays in touch with Yosano over the months that eventually fade into years. They write each
other letters, have long phone calls, and sometimes she visits — though Dazai never gathers the
nerve to return to Yokohama. Yosano keeps him updated on her career that she soon puts aside to
focus on medical school, about her scandalous love affairs, and about Chuuya and Yuan, once the
latter gets out of rehab and, as expected, returns to Chuuya's side. For a long time, the mere
mention of him gives Dazai a leeching sorrow that cuts through bones. And as much as he hates it,
he loves it, too.

With time, that feeling wanes, too, and one day, Yosano tells him that Chuuya's modeling gigs
have turned out more than well, that he has a boyfriend now, someone with a strange name that
Dazai doesn't bother remembering, and... Dazai doesn't feel like opening a bottle of gin and
throwing himself in front of a train. Instead, he smiles to himself.

He still relapses. Not because of Chuuya. Not because of anything in particular. Gin is the greatest
and most toxic love of his life, and Dazai is an addict — ironic, really, after everything he's said
about Yuan.

When Yosano's done with residency, she eventually moves into the apartment next to him — one
that he bought after his paintings started to sell. Odasaku publishes his first novel. Somewhere in
Yokohama, Chuuya opens his own garage. Dazai has a try at dating. He wastes a few nights. A
few months. He spends a year of his twenty-sixth year with a Russian guy he met in a nightclub.
It's nice, but not worth fighting for, and never that bone-rattling, breathless kind of love that
Chuuya made him feel. Never like that. Yosano wins a Keio Medical Science Prize for her stem
cell research. The news in Yokohama reports that one of the local orphanages burned down in a fire
and that a garage-owner donates a large sum of his money to rebuild it.

Time both runs and crawls; twelve years pass; then Oda dies, and his world comes to a stuttering
halt.

The funeral takes place a week later, on a windy day in October. So many people come, shedding
tears and sorrowful words, and Dazai can't even muster the energy to feel bitter. Odasaku, despite
his humble style of living, managed to touch people wherever he went with his words. Dazai
wouldn't be surprised to see his neighbor who only ever exchanged two words with him sobbing at
his grave.

The only person that surprises Dazai that day is Chuuya. He shows up in an elegant black coat and
a ruby-colored scarf around his neck, his mouth twisting into a regretful smile when he finally
meets Dazai's eyes after twelve long years.

"Hey." He comes to stand in front of him, and Dazai, for a moment, feels like he's been tossed back
into the past. "I'm so sorry, Dazai."

How many times did Dazai imagine seeing him again? And for it to happen at the funeral of his
best friend. Cosmic irony.

Dazai smiles back. "I'm glad you came, chibi."

"I heard the news, and Yosano called me." Letting out a puffy breath, Chuuya shrugs. "I thought
you could use a little support from an old friend."

Dazai can't help but see the letter in front of his eyes. Odasaku, who was only thirty-four but
already had his will written out as if he had sensed his own death happening. Dazai doubts he
could have seen a car accident coming, though. No one ever does. The letter told Dazai how far he
has come, how proud Odasaku was of calling him a friend and of the things he accomplished, but
he also urged Dazai to do something he loves. To not settle for anything less than pure, consuming
love. It seemed like a poetic way to say get your ass up and fight for Chuuya even though, as far as
Dazai knew, Chuuya was in a relationship.

And now he's here.

"Do you want to grab a coffee later?"

Chuuya's eyes crinkle when he nods. "Yeah. I'd like that."

Two hours later, they're sitting in a booth in a coffee shop not far from the cemetery. Chuuya's
reading the menu, his lips quietly moving along, and Dazai's watching him.

Odasaku.

In a way, he has not properly dealt with it yet. It happened so quickly that Dazai didn't have time to
cope with it, but knowing that Oda spent the last ten years of his life doing what he loves in a
relationship with a guy he loves helps. He should have had more time. Still, it helps to soothe that
gnawing hole in his chest.

And here Chuuya sits, Dazai thinking about how fast life can happen.

"How is Yuan?"

Chuuya's eyes lift to meet his gaze. Despite the years, he doesn't look much older. His hair is
longer though, just a few inches shy of reaching his hips. "Great. She has a two-year-old son." His
face turns into a mild wince. "Well, the dad's an ass, but she's doing better without him anyway."

Dazai snorts softly. To think that the girl he saw last time now has a kid... "I never imagined Yuan
with children."

"I don't think she did either, but," the smile on Chuuya's face is a warm melody, "she's an amazing
mother."

"And you?" Dazai asks. "I read about you, you know."

Chuuya tilts his head with a smirk. "I read about you too. Dazai Osamu — painter of a
generation."

"They called me a man of a generation, too," Dazai huffs. "Then I quit Tsuitory, and suddenly I
was," he holds up his hand and starts counting down, "a manwhore in an open relationship, a loser,
a junkie, and a criminal."

"Hey, how did they read my thoughts?"

"Eh, rude."

Chuuya lets out a quiet laugh. "I've been fine. The garage is doing great. I'm still involved with the
orphanage. Life's... good."

"And your boyfriend? What was his name — Signal?"

"Sigma," Chuuya corrects, narrowing his eyes. "His name was Sigma, and we're not together
anymore, but still friends."

Ah.
That's his opening.

"How come?"

"It just happened."

"So you're single?"

"Yeah, and starving," Chuuya smoothly parries before calling the waitress over.

Dazai's not sure whether Chuuya's not in the mental state to jump into something new or whether
he just — doesn't want Dazai. After years of self-reflection, Dazai can't deny anymore that he was
in love back then — it's the closest word that could ever describe that feeling, but that doesn't
mean that Chuuya was. Maybe for him, it genuinely was only physical comfort. Maybe it wasn't
the once-in-a-lifetime-love for him like it was for Dazai.

But trying can't hurt, right? That's what Odasaku would want him to do.

Chuuya doesn't eat as much as he used to, shoving the food on his plate back and forth, but he's
better at playing it down than Dazai, and his tone is light and casual as they talk about life and the
years they spent without each other.

Aside from having a kid, Yuan has been sober for twelve years now, working as a bank clerk.
Chuuya rode out his modeling career until last year before he decided to stop and invest all his time
into the garage and the orphanage he's been supporting, fixing things, and cleaning up the backyard
for the kids. Dazai has no doubt, Chuuya probably keeps an eye on the children as well.

After only an hour, Chuuya glances at the watch around his wrist and lets out a small sigh. "I'll
have to go soon. My flight's pretty early."

It's not supposed to be like this. There should be room for more, more than one lunch, more than
one conversation before Chuuya flies back to Yokohama and Dazai stays here, more before they
spend another few years not seeing each other.

"You could stay here," Dazai finds himself saying, "for a few more days. I could show you
Tokyo."

Chuuya's smile can only be described as a wordless apology. "I have to return to the order of
things. The garage needs me... and I've already seen Tokyo. I see why you like it so much."

The rejection is as clear as day, but it leaves Dazai confused. Chuuya doesn't seem to be still angry
from what happened, not bitter; he's just... withdrawn.

"It was nice seeing you, Dazai," Chuuya says, blind to what's going on inside. "I missed talking to
you." He places several bills on the counter with a wink. "This one's on me."

"When is your flight?"

"Four in the morning."

Dazai nods and gets up, giving Chuuya a look. "Can I hug you?"

Instead of answering, Chuuya smiles and wraps his arms around Dazai. His grip is strong, way too
tight for someone looking for a way to leave as soon as possible — maybe, Chuuya thinks they
will mess it up again; maybe, he thinks they already used up all their chances. Maybe he's right.
Dazai presses his face into the side of his neck, just for one moment, and allows himself to bottle
up his next inhale — one that smells like a pair of warm arms, and water fountains, and
motorcycle rides.

"Goodbye."

It starts raining, and Dazai finds shelter in a bar.

Odasaku would be disappointed. Being here is the equivalent of spitting on his grave. But why
cling to sobriety when it's the one thing that would give his life some sort of spark? Even if it's a
bad one. Aside from Chuuya, gin is the only love he has ever felt, one that at least loved him back
even if it wasn't a good kind of love.

What's the point of staying sober when he's going to spend the rest of his life in a foggy haze that
robs him of feeling anything real anyway? He does not want to eat, or to paint, or do anything at
all, really.

Alcohol would be a liberation.

The man behind the bar comes over. "What's it gonna be?"

Dazai orders gin.

He hears the rain outside tear against the asphalt. He hears his own heart continue its steady
rhythm inside that hollow chest of his.

What's it gonna be?

Yosano will kick his ass for giving up eight years of sobriety, but she will help him, too, maybe
even suggest to finally visit a rehab. It might harm his reputation as an artist, but it also might give
his works more value. Dazai has never struggled with money. He could live with what he has now.
He could get sober again. He could try to find some sense of freedom is something else — a book,
maybe, or a ...

He could drink, and nothing would change. He could not drink, and the song would remain the
same.

Or he could tell Chuuya how he feels. That even after years of coming to terms with the distance
between them, one conversation is enough to rekindle the flame that has never been truly
extinguished. Still very much alive.

Dazai could be honest, for once in his life.

He could try.

The drink sits in front of him. So far, untouched.

It's just one choice. What will it be? Right or left? Diving off a cliff or getting thrown out of a
plane? Destroying planet earth or leaving in a space shuttle? Gin or Chuuya?

Dazai slowly gets to his feet. Each step is heavy and measured. He moves.

It's not a certainty that Chuuya is still in his hotel room — which will be a hassle to find out but
worth every nerve — but Dazai is willing to bet on it. If he's not there, Dazai will run down the
airport halls until he finds him. And if he's too late for that, too, he will book the next available
flight to Yokohama. Everything is possible. Dazai's skin is burning, his heart pounding; he feels
out of breath, but the lack of oxygen only makes him fly higher.

He knocks at the door.

Chuuya will be sleeping, and he'll cuss him out for interrupting, but he'll let him in anyway —

The door swings open. Chuuya's in a plain black yukata, hair freshly showered and parted to one
side. "Dazai?"

"Chuuya."

"What are you doing here?"

He will get to that soon. "Can I come in?"

Chuuya looks unsure as if the thoughts racing through Dazai's minds are tiny, visible flies. But he
doesn't shut the door in his face. Not yet. "You're not drunk, are you?" he asks, and finally steps to
the side to let him in.

"No. No, I'm not." Once in the room, Dazai turns around to look at him — really look at him. If
possible, the years have only made him more beautiful. A gentle edge to that sharp-tongued, brisk
young man he used to be. It feels right. Right to do this.

"I love you," Dazai says.

There. Out.

It makes Chuuya blink, his long lashes fluttering, and with every second that passes, Dazai
becomes less and less scared to fall down. He already experienced everything that could break him.
This won't either.

"I know it sounds crazy. We haven't seen each other in twelve years, and the last two times, we
crashed and burned, but I want you to give us a chance." Dazai takes a step closer. "I didn't spend
all that time pining after you, and I'm sure you didn't either. However, the moment I saw you, I
knew that I could learn to love you again. That I could fall in love all over again. I don't care
whether it's in Tokyo or in Yokohama. I don't care if I have to travel two stupid hours every week
to see you. I don't care that a thousand different circumstances are holding us apart." He takes
another step and gently twists his fingers in the softness of Chuuya's Yukata. "You once told me to
hold onto you as tight as I can, remember? I'm doing that, Chuuya. I'm not letting go."

Chuuya's eyes water and as much as Dazai would like to foolishly believe it's out of happiness, that
boundless grief comes from something else.

"Dazai," Chuuya whispers and aggressively wipes at his eyes. "I'm... I'm sick."

"Like... right now?"

"Right now, and tomorrow, and the day after. I'm sick. I'm dying." Chuuya glances at the hand that
is curled in his yukata as if to see it fall — Dazai almost does, but he's not letting go. He just said
that. Even if the words I'm dying rip through his body like a bullet. It's so —

Chuuya can't be dying.

Not possible.

"You're not sick," he gets out.

"I am." Chuuya must see the refusal to accept that, and he presses out something like a smile. "It's
my lungs. Emphysema. Chronic bronchitis. They’re giving out. I managed with it for a few years,
but — it's been getting worse in the last few months. And it'll only get worse from now on."

"You're too young," Dazai decides. Because he heard of these things in passing, he hears a lot of
these things with Yosano in his life, but it's supposed to affect old people. Older people. Not a man
that is only thirty-four. Too fucking young. It must be some kind of mistake.

Chuuya's laugh is hoarse — and now that Dazai knows, he can't help but listen carefully, try to
find evidence because he refuses to believe it. "Life doesn't fucking care about that. I am sick. And
you shouldn't waste your time on a hopeless case like me. You should go out there and live your
life. You should be happy—"

"Chuuya," Dazai cuts in. His hands slide up until he's cupping Chuuya's cheeks, meeting his eyes.
"I'm. Not. Letting. Go."

That Chuuya's —

That he's —

He can't even think about it right now, not really, but it doesn't matter. The sky could split above
them and send a comet down to earth, Dazai would burn down the world to find Chuuya and have
that time with him. No matter how little. No matter what kind of time. He'd still find him. In every
life. In every universe.

"They gave me a few years, Osamu."

"Then I want them."

"You stubborn asshole," Chuuya says and his voice cracks at the last syllable.

"No, that's you if you think I'm going to let some shitty lungs scare me off. There's always
something you can do. There are therapies. Medications. You can fight —"

"Don't you think I've already heard this a thousand times?" Chuuya lets out a sharp breath. "It's not
like I want to die! But I don't want to spend the rest of what little time I have confined to a hospital
bed!"

"Even if it could give you a chance?"

"There is no chance! It's incurable!"

Dazai's hands don't leave his face, shaking him. "Then I will be by your side the entire time until
the fucking end of the line."

"Why? Why do this to yourself? You have a chance to walk away now, spare yourself from all the
pain?"

"What do you want me to say? There's this silly little thing in my chest — I heard people call it
heart and love — and it's telling me to stay because if I walk away now, I will regret it for the rest
of my entire life!"
Chuuya holds his gaze, furious and hurt. "Why are you making this so hard? I despise you."

"I love you," Dazai repeats. He blocks out everything else, everything that he will have to feel and
deal with in the future, and just focuses on this — Chuuya. There's no one but this man right here.
No one is more important than him.

Chuuya's grip loosens, and his lip wobbles when he whispers, "you were supposed to say I hate
you back. You getting soft, Osamu?"

"Yes."

"Idiot." Chuuya's hands curl around Dazai's neck and tug him down. Their lips brush in a whisper
of a kiss, too soft, too brief, too painful before they withdraw, sharing each other's air, and meet in
the middle again. They kiss like it's their first time, every slide of lips bleeding with remorse and
regret and longing. With each bruising push of tongue, each touch that burns his skin, every cell in
Dazai's body comes alive. He loses himself.

He is lost. Right where he has always wanted to be.

Dazai picks Chuuya up, and they stumble to the bed, all but collapsing in on each other. Chuuya
unbuttons his shirt; Dazai trails kisses along his jaw until he rouches his mouth and has Chuuya
desperately reaching up. His lips have always been soft, gentle, so at odds with the words that
always escape his filthy mouth, but so painstakingly perfect.

Dazai traces his tongue along the seam of his mouth, making him open up and let out a wordless
gasp when their tongues tangle and rub at each other. It feels too good; it's always felt too good,
and Dazai could scream to the skies that it's not fair to give him this and don't let him keep it if he
believed someone would hear him.

Between kisses and bites and wandering, calloused hands, they manage to get rid of their clothes,
rid off Dazai's bandages until they're completely bare in the darkness of the room, skin against
skin, every single beautiful inch on display.

Before Dazai allows himself to descend Chuuya's body, he looks up at him, chest rising and falling
with each fragile breath. "Do you have lube or something we can use?" They could try without it in
the worst case, but this is supposed to feel good for both of them, and not —

"In the side compartment." Chuuya nods towards the tiny suitcase laying on the floor next to the
closet, but he rolls his eyes when Dazai raises his brows. "Don't look at me like that. I always carry
a travel-sized bottle of lube with me. A safety precaution."

With some effort, Dazai gets off the bed and pads over to retrieve the lube. "Safety precaution,
huh?"

"Yeah. I didn't think —" Chuuya's words stumble when Dazai comes back, and lets his hand
carefully travel up the gorgeous length of his leg to that soft spot where hip meets thigh. "I never
thought we would do this again."

"I've dreamed about it," Dazai tells him, nuzzling his face against the inside of his thigh. He
presses his lips against the skin. Soft. Light. "But that's all it was to me. And then I saw you
again..."

And Dazai would have jumped into a fire for even the slightest possibility of that dream coming
true.
Chuuya's head falls back against the sheets.

Dazai takes his time working him up. He needs to make it last. Bottling every little noise that slips
out of him. Every mark he burns into Dazai wherever his fingers dig into him.

"I'm going to miss my flight," Chuuya murmurs above him when Dazai's fingers, slick with lube
and gradually warming up, massage the skin around his rim. Yet he doesn't sound sorry about it,
especially when Dazais's lips ghost along the length of him and wrap around the tip, sucking.

"I'm going to buy you a new one," Dazai murmurs around his cock, his finger teasing his hole. "I'm
going to buy you a ticket to every city and country you've ever wanted to visit and fuck you in
every single one of them."

Chuuya's hoarse laugh melts into a whine as Dazai finally pushes in the finger, his head tossing
back against the white bedsheets, legs spreading to give Dazai more room. He looks absolutely
beautiful like this, red, long hair spilling around him, back arched like a bow, eyes squeezed shut in
the onslaught of pleasure of Dazai slowly opening him up in deep thrusts while his mouth licks and
caresses the length of his cock. A forest fire contained in a human body, waiting to erupt.

He doesn't let him climb the crest to his climax yet, barely grazing his prostate but fucking him
thoroughly enough that Chuuya loses all means to curse or complain, a stream of lovely, little high-
pitched sounds replacing his filthy mouth. Only then does he aim for that one spot, unrelenting and
merciless, hitting it with every push while his hand wraps around his cock and starts stroking him.
It only takes a few of them, and Chuuya's coming, hands curling in the sheets as his back bucks off
the bed.

He's so incredibly beautiful.

Blinking, Chuuya glances up at him and clasps his hand to pull him up until Dazai's braced above
him, their faces a breath apart. "Fuck me here first." He kisses him, tender. "And then we'll see
about the rest," he murmurs.

Basking in the afterglow of Chuuya's words and kisses, Dazai gives himself a few strokes. Chuuya
watches him, eyes hungry and hands splayed out on Dazai's scarred chest, as he slowly pushes in,
first the tip, and then slowly the rest of it until he bottoms out with a groan.

Dazai takes one of Chuuya's legs and gently pushes it open, pressing it against his chest, before
dragging his cock out and then gradually push it back in. Chuuya's breath stills and stutters, but his
grip only gets tighter, more demanding.

"Fuck me," he hisses like Dazai isn't already doing that. "I'm not going to fall apart."

Dazai smiles and kisses him, keeping the slow but deep pace. "I'm trying to make love to you."

"Fuck," Chuuya half-gasps, half-cusses against his lips, "th— ah, that's so cheesy."

"Let me," Dazai whispers. "Please?"

Chuuya's Adam's apple bobs as he swallows visibly, but he nods anyway and lets his hands wander
down until they meet Dazai's, intertwining their fingers. "Not letting go, Osamu."

They fuck, trading kisses and holding hands until they feel each other come apart, trembling and
breathing hard, but never letting go of each other, holding tight until the very end.
The weight of what Dazai learned today only comes crashing down when Chuuya's softly snoring
next to him, one arm thrown out over his chest.

I'm sick.

I'm dying.

Dazai has lost Oda, and soon — in a matter of years according to the doctors Chuuya has been to
— he's going to lose Chuuya, too. It seems like such an abstract and silly concept when he's right
there beside him, looking just like the boy from his garden even though nineteen years have passed
since then.

Something rolls down his cheek, and Dazai frowns. He can't allow himself to cry, not when
Chuuya's still here, not when this is the first day of many days and months and years with him. It's
the beginning of something beautiful. Dazai can't cry.

The tears fall anyway.

Dazai nestles closer and watches Chuuya's chest rise and fall, careful not to wake him up. He lets
himself cry. Just this once. And then never again.

The next few days fly by in the blink of an eye as they book flights to Yokohama. Dazai packs his
bag for an indefinite amount of time, has dinner with Chuuya and Yosano, kisses Chuuya whenever
he can, and ultimately steps on the plane with him. No matter how much Dazai tries to drag it out,
make it last; time won't slow down.

Back in Yokohama, the city where it ultimately all started, Dazai sees Yuan for the first time
again. He meets her son — Shirase. He realizes there's not much left of that resentment he always
held for her.

As they take a walk through the park, Shirase waddling in the front of them trying to chase
pigeons, Dazai leans into Chuuya's side, voice in a murmur. "Does Yuan know?"

"Yeah," Chuuya doesn't tear his eyes away from the kid. "She was there with me."

His chest constricts at the fact that Yuan was there all this time, while Dazai wasn't. Gone. Again.
How much more time would they have if Dazai hadn't had a breakdown following a move to
Tokyo? How much less stress and nerves would Chuuya have had lost? What would be different?

It's an unfair and illogical way to think about it. Dazai's well aware. After all, he doesn't regret
moving away because it's something he needed — something that helped him. Yet, it always
crosses his mind, the great and terrible what if —

"I'm glad you had her all this time," Dazai says, smiling at the way she picks up her kid and spins
him around.

Chuuya's grin is wide and bright, rivaling the sun above them. "Me too."

"Paris. Definitely write Paris on the list."

Dazai glances up the table, batting his lashes. "Aww, you want to visit the city of love with me?
Kiss me under the Eiffel tower—"
"Yeah, yeah, all that shit." Chuuya nonchalantly waves a hand as he grabs a frying pan from the
drawer. "More importantly: the louvre. You're an artist, for fuck's sake. Shouldn't you want to see
that?"

"The only piece of art I care about is right here."

"Stop," Chuuya says with a snort. "Cute alleys with corner shops! Macarons! I want to try
macarons."

They're in his kitchen, making a list of countries and cities to visit for their trip that they're going to
attend — any minute now, really. (Places, and things to do.) For once, Chuuya's not making a fuss
about finances and Dazai offering to pay, though that probably has a lot to do with the fact that he
can afford it on his own. The garage and his modeling gigs saved up a lot, and now... he can spend
it all in the next few years. They both agreed to mostly travel through Japan in case he gets sick
and needs to be treated quickly. Mostly, though. One or two exceptions outside the country are
possible.

"Paris then," Dazai says with a nod and writes it down on the sheet of paper.

So far, they have: Kyoto. Takayama. Nikko. Naoshima. Kamakura. And now Paris.

Yuan comes back, a drowsy smile on her lips as she tries to take a peek at the list.

"Did you manage to put him to bed?" Chuuya asks.

"Yeah, he was pretty much knocked out the minute I put a blanket over him." Yuan steps closer to
look over Dazai's shoulder, but he pulls the list away, hiding it under his arms. "Oi, let me see!"

"No," Dazai says, "this is only Chuuya's and my list, so pesky little gremlins don't get to put in
suggestions!"

Yuan swats at his shoulder. "I'm Chuuya's best friend, so I very much do have a say in it!"

"I'm the boyfriend, and boyfriends come before best frie—"

"No fucking way! Relationships come and go, but friendships stay forever. Right, Chuuya? I think
we're the best example for that."

Dazai huffs. "I'm still here after nineteen years, so I don't see the evidence anywhere."

"Chuuya!" Yuan exclaims.

"Quiet. Both of you," Chuuya snaps, though his eyes are crinkling with amusement, "or I'll eat the
food all by myself."

"Go ahead," Dazai says. "I'm not hungry anyway."

Chuuya levels a cocky stare at him. "Then you don't mind sleeping in the guest room tonight?"

Dazai's mouth falls closed.

"So," Yuan says, "that means best friend over stupid boyfriend, right?"

"That means no fucking comment."

Dazai shoots her a smile. "See, he just doesn't want to hurt your feelings, Yuan. It's okay. You can
shed a tear."

"I'll shed my fist!"

"What's that even supposed to mean? You can't shed a fist."

"That I'll kick your ass!"

The sound of sizzling meat cuts through the room, and Chuuya, unbothered, starts humming to one
of the songs that constantly plays on the radio before his mouth opens in an adorable little oh.
"Florence?"

Dazai sighs, having no choice but to reveal the list. "Florence."

On the day of their departure to Naoshima, Dazai's mother convinces him to visit.

It wasn't necessarily included in his plans, but he's denied her any visits ever since he moved to
Tokyo, and she's old and frail and lonely. By now, Dazai is well aware that time waits for no one.

Besides, there's one thing he has wanted to do for ages. Literally.

"Are you sure you want me to come along?" Chuuya asks for the hundredth time as they approach
the mansion, its bright white colors faded and worn out by the years.

"Of course," Dazai says. "I want to introduce my mother to my boyfriend, after all."

Chuuya freezes, eyes going comically wide. "Osamu!"

"What? It's the 90s! She will just have to accept it."

"I mean, yeah... but aren't you scared that she'll..." He trails off, making a vague hand gesture.

"What? Kick me out? I don't live here. Take away my funds? Don't need them. The only thing she
could take from me is her love, and frankly, I never felt much of it anyway. Well, she did love
me," Dazai shrugs. "But it always came with a price."

A moment later, he feels Chuuya's hand taking his, strong and reassuring. Dazai smiles, and
Chuuya returns it with the force of a billion suns. "Whatever happens, I'm not letting go."

That seems to be their motto these days.

"Until the very end," Dazai murmurs and knocks.

One agonizingly slow minute passes. Then the door swings open, and his mother appears, bursting
with joy until she registers the second person in the picture and her eyes fall to their entangled
hands. Her smile wanes.

"Mother," Dazai says, loud and clear. "May I introduce you to my boyfriend? You've known him
for quite some time, actually. Nakahara Chuuya."

Chuuya's hand squeezes his.

"Osamu," his mother all but stammers out. "W-what is the meaning of this? Surely, you mean
friend—"
"No, your hearing's still good enough to understand what I said." Dazai tugs Chuuya inside, past
his gaping mother, because holding this conversation in the chilly air is just making it five times
more uncomfortable. Better to be antagonized inside where it's warm. "Chuuya and I are together,"
he nods firmly and holds up their hands for more clear evidence, "as in sexually and romantically
involved, mother. "

"Dazai," Chuuya hisses, elbowing him.

"I'm just making sure there are no misunderstandings! So should we proceed to have a very
uncomfortable lunch, or do you plan to kick us out before that?"

His mother stares some more, then she lifts her hand and wipes at her forehead. "Don't be silly,
Osamu." For a moment, he fears that his words haven't been clear enough, after all. That she thinks
he's joking around. Then she gives him a look. "I'm not rejecting my own flesh and blood. Come on
in." Her eyes slide to Chuuya. She doesn't smile, but she doesn't glare or say anything mean either.
"You too."

It is an uncomfortable lunch. His mother asks them questions she didn't even ask when he brought
Yosano over for show. And she keeps bringing up Yosano like it's evidence that Dazai's love for
Chuuya can't be real as if being attracted to both men and women isn't something very possible and
very common.

However, it's a relief, too — one that Dazai never even noticed was shackled to him all this time.

He never had any issues with his sexuality. He liked girls — even if that attraction was very faint
initially, but it was there and real. He liked boys — that much became clear the first time Chuuya
kissed him in a bathroom in this very house. Although it never bothered Dazai, he was also aware
that it could have bothered others, so whenever he was around strangers and people he didn't trust
— which makes up 99,9% of the people he has met over the years — he didn't bother to mention it.
It wasn't their business. Somehow, both of his parents ended up in the part of the equation that
never got to know about it. Mayhaps, it was due to the way his father had raised him. Surely, a
man that called crying "weak" and attempted suicide a "shame for the whole family" wouldn't treat
the news of his son's bisexuality well. Or maybe Dazai simply didn't trust them enough.

Whatever it was, coming out to his mother almost two decades later still feels good. Still feels like
getting something off his chest that has been wearing him down for a long time.

By the end of the dinner, his mother even laughs at a joke Chuuya utters. When they leave, she
wordlessly kisses Dazai's forehead and squeezes him to his chest.

It feels nice.

"I'm proud of you," Chuuya says when they walk down the steps. Heading for the car, he gets
jerked back when Dazai instead steers them in the opposite direction. Around the house.

"Yes, yes, tell me that later. First, we have to pay a visit to an old monument."

"The fuck are you talking about?"

"Just follow me, chibi." Dazai looks back with a grin before he picks up the pace. "Hang on
tight?!"

They run across the lawn like children, the wind cold and biting, but the warmth of Chuuya's hand
in his and that gorgeous smile on his face makes up for it. It feels surreal to be back here, back at
this place, so many years later. With Chuuya. Surreal, but right. Like it was always meant to be this
 way.

They're both panting when they reach it. It's barely notable, but Dazai has noticed how easy it is to
get out of breath for Chuuya nowadays despite his brutal workout regimes and all the sports he
does for fun. How his appetite has decreased. How much more time he spends sleeping. It's so easy
to miss, but it's there, and it terrifies Dazai so much that he purposefully looks away most of the
time. Because if he ever starts thinking about when and how, he will never be able to stop again.

And that would just hurt both of them too much.

"The water fountain?" Chuuya asks, half laughing, half wheezing for air with his hands on his
knees.

"The water fountain," Dazai affirms with a nod before wrapping Chuuya up in his arms, hugging
him tight to his chest and dropping a kiss on the side of his face. "I've always wanted to do
something here."

"Do what?" Chuuya asks. His cheeks are flushed with color when he blinks up at him, head tilting
curiously.

"Kiss you."

"Is this, like, the Eiffel tower for you?"

"It's even better."

Chuuya spins around in his arms and curls his fingers in Dazai's scarf, smirking up at him. "Then I
guess I will grant you that one wish."

He kisses him, sweet and light; then so deep and hot, Dazai's belly tightens with heat as he clings to
Chuuya's face. It's everything he ever wanted — something to die for that isn't alcohol. Something
much better.

Chapter End Notes

I'm both ready and absolutely terrified to finish this story.

 1993-1994
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Naoshima, October 1993

"Your nose is so red. You look like a reindeer!"

"What kind of fucking reindeer has a red nose?" Chuuya glowers at the bottle of sun cream in
Dazai's hands. "Gimme that!"

"Rudolf the reindeer, silly."

"Never heard of him." His red skin quickly turns to white as he spreads it all across his cheeks and
nose. Dazai helps him with a few spots that he missed. "You know, you're not so unburned
yourself."

"I do know, and because I'm such a good boyfriend, I was trying to warn you not to fall into the
same trap as me. The sun is out to kill us!"

Chuuya rolls his eyes before he flops back down on his towel, letting out a content sigh.

"Chuu~ya."

"What?"

"Do you want to make love in the sand today?"

"What, like, right now?" Chuuya glances around. "There are people here. I don't wanna get
arrested."

"Later. Tonight. Under the stars."

Chuuya frowns, trying to look annoyed, but Dazai knows there's a smile under that expression.
After all, Chuuya was the first one to suggest that they could try to fuck on a beach. Well, they
have a perfectly fine beach right here. "I guess."

"You're not chickening out, are you?"

"Fuck off," he mutters, closing his eyes again. "I'm down to fuck. You know I am."

Indeed, Chuuya's sex drive has always been a tad higher than Dazai's, but lately, it's been
declining. The doctor they consulted while planning their trip mentioned it could be one of the
early symptoms, among a bunch of other things. Dazai's not sure whether he's overanalyzing each
and every one of Chuuya's actions, or whether there is something true to it.

Already.

Dazai places his head on his hands and looks at Chuuya. The most beautiful sight he's ever seen
despite all the attractions they've visited in the last few days.

Stay in the moment.

"Good," he eventually replies. "You and me, chibi. Here. Tonight."

"Wait, did you hear something? I think there was rustling."

Dazai stifles a laugh and strokes his hand down the stretch of Chuuya's back. "Maybe the waves?"

They're naked under a blanket trying to fuck on a sunbed on the beach. As exciting and hot as the
concept sounded, the reality is a bit more... different.

"The waves don't talk, mackerel," Chuuya huffs but finally tears his eyes away from the darkness
to look at Dazai. Leaning in, he gives him a sloppy kiss. "Don't know why I'm even, ah —" his hips
rock a little. "— having sex with someone so --"

"So what?" Dazai asks, squeezing his ass. "So handsome? Smart? Funny—"

"— irritating!" It doesn't come out with the effect it should have, not when Chuuya's gasping into
his ear. Dazai stills rewards his efforts by wrapping his fingers around his cock. It's not easy to get
into a smooth rhythm when every little sound disturbs them every two minutes, so Dazai just has to
help out with other means. With neck kisses and hand jobs, that is. "And smartass-ish," Chuuya
huffs softly, his hot breath tickling Dazai's skin. "I despise you."

"You don't," Dazai says. He doesn't say that Chuuya loves him because he never said it himself so
far, and that's okay because he's still here and still giving Dazai the time of his day. That means
more than three words. "You like me."

Chuuya lets out a stifled growl, holding on tight to his back as he moves his hips und and down, in
short, little jerks — more grinding on Dazai's cock, than riding him, really. Not that Dazai blames
him. It feels too good either way.

There is laughter in the distance, and Chuuya's rhythm stutters for an agonizing minute before he
curses and picks it up again, trying to go faster without moving too much. Dazai strokes him
through it before he comes with a silent gasp that Dazai hungrily swallows with his mouth. The
giggle Chuuya lets out when he climbs off him and descends lower is northing short of beautiful,
and Dazai has a besotted, dazed smile on his lips all throughout the blowjob that Chuuya gives him
— until the very end when his face scrunches up, and he comes with his boyfriend's mouth licking
it all up.

"Hey, we actually made it," Chuuya murmurs as he helps Dazai tug on his pants.

"Of course, we did. We're winners." Dazai pulls Chuuya closer until they're face to face, and he can
kiss him and the corner of his mouth and his cheek — "Every single thing on the list. We're going
to check them all off."

Chuuya has a doubtful look on his face before it shifts into determination, and he draws Dazai back
into a long, deep kiss. "Every little resolution."

Kyoto, November 1993

The streets look like a painting with the most brilliant, happiest colors. Dazai has never been that
interested in picturing landscapes before, more intrigued by people and faces and the ultimate
horror and desolation that can be found within them — found within him — but right now, walking
down the streets with Chuuya by his side, his fingers itch to sit down in the middle of it all and try
to recreate something so bright.
He can't do that, so Dazai takes out his camera instead. When Chuuya notices, he swings his arms
up and closes his eyes with a broad smile — he laughs, and the moment becomes timeless.

Paris, December 1993

Dazai jerks out of sleep with a stifled gasp, his eyes ripping open only to be flooded with morning
light and rays of the blazing winter sun shining through the hotel room.

It was just a dream.

His hand reaches out to the body next to him first. When he grasps skin and limbs, Dazai turns his
head, the roaring remnants of his nightmare ebbing away into quiet dread that lingers no matter
how much he tries to shake it.

Nightmares. A brand-new sort of them.

In the last few years, Dazai has made his peace with the act of sleeping. It's part of the human
cycle. Yes, it's unproductive and a total waste of time, but it happens, and fighting it is more
exhausting than not. (Try telling that to his insomnia.) However, now, more than ever, sleep feels
like a merciless thief. The content of his nightmares doesn't help its case either.

In his sleep, Chuuya lets out a soft grunt, and his lashes flutter nervously before his facial muscles
relax all over again. Dazai allows himself to simply watch for a moment, drinking in every little
noise and expression and bottling them up deep inside the vault of his chest. Then he tugs at the
pillow under Chuuya's head until he starts groaning slightly.

"Rise and shine, sunshine," Dazai says, barely containing his smile.

Chuuya groans some more before turning away, burying his face somewhere where he can escape
consciousness. "Lemme..." he mumbles. "...sleep."

So much energy in this tiny body except in the mornings. Chuuya has always been a passionate
sleeper.

"We'll miss breakfast and your precious croissants, love."

"'m not hungry."

It's okay, Dazai thinks. Chuuya loves sleeping in. (And it has nothing to do with the fact that he's
been more tired than usual. Less energy. Less hunger. Less... ) It's okay. They still have time. They
still have so much ahead of them.

Dazai crawls closer and presses a kiss to his neck, grinning when Chuuya lets out a content sigh at
that and tries to pull Dazai along into his nest of sleep. Unfortunately, Dazai has other plans.

Once he slips out of bed, Dazai quietly dresses and brushes his teeth. It's little past eleven when he
walks down the hallway of the hotel they've been staying at for the last three days, so breakfast
time is already over. Thankfully, there are about a thousand different shops, patisseries and
bakeries nearby that Dazai makes use of. He grabs coffee, croissants, a mozzarella-tomato-
baguette, and is on the way back to Chuuya when the display window of a craft store catches his
eye. Brushes and pens and fancy sketchbooks. Every artist's wet dream.

Dazai's wet dream.

Everything with Chuuya happened so fast that when Dazai packed his suitcase, he only tossed in
the necessities. He figured he could buy anything he missed. So he left most of his painting tools at
home. Not the end of the world, but Dazai has spent the last twelve years painting almost every
day, and after a few weeks without it, aside from light-hearted doodles on notepads and Chuuya's
skin, he is starting to miss it. A lot.

Dazai only thinks about it for a second before entering the store.

He comes out with a bag full of road-friendly supplies and a new drive propelling him forward. To
say that balancing breakfast, coffee, and that is a challenge would be putting it friendly, but at last,
Dazai manages to arrive back at the hotel and let himself into their suite.

Chuuya's still sleeping, but all the noise Dazai makes seems to stir him awake, his long hair
standing up every which way when he emerges from under the sheets and blinks at him. "Hi."

"Hey stranger," Dazai says, shrugging off his coat. "I brought food."

"Ah, shit. Did we miss breakfast again?"

"We sure did."

"I'm sorr —" Chuuya trails off into a yawn as he stretches his arms over his head. "'m sorry..."

Dazai doesn't need apologies, not for this, and not from him, so he plops down across from him on
the bed and goes to unpack the bags. "Fear not, I have brought everything here."

"Mmm," Chuuya hums as he watches Dazai take out of the baguette, "so thoughtful."

"Don't get any ideas. I simply don't want you to be cranky all day because you didn't get fed in
time."

"For someone who claims to hate dogs, you take awful good care of me, huh."

"That's because Chuuya is a special dog."

"How so?"

Dazai meets his eyes as he takes a sip of his coffee and shrugs. "He just is."

It's cute. Chuuya's cheeks still flush despite how many dog jokes they've already been through over
their time together. Of course, even now, he plays it off by nodding towards the bags that Dazai left
next to the dresser. "What's in there?"

"Art supplies."

"Oh?"

"I left most of my things at home, and I figured with all the time we have, I could use it, right?"

The smile Chuuya offers him is sad. "I'm sorry you had to leave everything behind."

"I'm not." In the end, materialistic things are just that. Things. Time, however? People? This?
That's what matters. "I can always come back and get everything. I can always buy more in a shop.
And I wanted to be here." With you.

Chuuya accepts that with a nod before leaning back against the pillows as he works on his
baguette. "So, do you have anything special in mind? What you want to paint?"

"You," Dazai answers.

"Me?"

"Yes."

Chuuya lets out a nervous laugh and then braces his head against his hand, waggling his eyebrows.
"Draw me like one of your french girls, Osamu."

"If you want that." Dazai places his cup of coffee on the floor, so he can crawl over to where his
gorgeous, wonderful boyfriend is lying. "I'd have to do this, though," he murmurs, tugging at the
silk of Chuuya's robe. "And this." The material falls off Chuuya's body, revealing miles and miles
of skin and perfection.

"You're not even that kind of painter," Chuuya huffs, his breath hitching with each new movement.
"I saw your works."

"Did you now? What kind of painter am I then?"

"An abstract one?" It sounds like a question, and it sounds cute, and Dazai wants to kiss him until
he has memorized that sound by heart until he can recite it in his sleep. "I don't know," Chuuya
mutters half-heartedly, eye-lids drooping under Dazai's heavy gaze as he lies in front of him, utterly
naked. "I'm not the art expert in this relationship."

"I'll tell you," Dazai finally says, lips only inches shy of Chuuya's mouth. "I'm whatever painter I
want to be, and right now, I want to paint my life with you. This. Us."

"So you —" Chuuya swallows. "— will never forget it? Even when I'm gone?"

"Yeah. Even when you're gone."

Chuuya doesn't cry. Never about this, about his own fate and how unfair it is. He never does. He
just smiles, eyes shining with life and love and joy. "I've always wanted to be someone's muse."

Little does he know, in one way or another, he has always been Dazai's. From the moment they
first saw each other. Dazai sitting in a water fountain. Chuuya standing outside, brighter than any
color Dazai has ever seen in any painting palette. From that moment, Dazai has wanted to create
something like him, to feel something like he feels for him.

Dazai closes the distance and presses his lips against Chuuya's, who melts into the kiss like honey,
like pushing into Dazai and dragging him down on the bed is the most natural thing in the world.

His little muse.

Osaka, February 1994

A loud electro song booms through the speakers as Dazai makes his way through the thick crowd
of the club. When he spots the familiar rusty hair as well as the most handsome face in the entire
building, his chest falls with relief. Chuuya assured him he'd be fine, he'd just wait here with their
drinks — alcohol-free cocktails — but they're in a foreign city, and Dazai has developed a habit of
worrying. One, that he doesn't necessarily like, but appreciates because it reduces any kind of risks.

"Hey there, stranger," Dazai says, sidling up to him. "Have you seen my boyfriend?"
Chuuya turns to him with his brows playfully raised. "Boyfriend, huh? No, I don't think I have.
Help me out a bit?"

Dazai's smile widens. "He's a bit short — fun-sized, one might say." Chuuya snorts. "And he has
the most gorgeous hair," he continues dreamily, placing his hand over his chest. "I could spend
days driving my fingers through it."

"Oh?"

"Uh-uh. He also says fuck quite a lot. Short temper. Big heart." Dazai pokes Chuuya's chest. "Have
you seen him around?"

"Hmmm," Chuuya pretends to think as his fingers loop in Dazai's belt, tugging him closer ever so
slowly. "Don't remember anyone like that, but he sure is one lucky guy."

"Oh, are you going to be a bad boy and steal me away?"

"I just might if you keep talking like that." His other hand cupping Dazai's jaw, he guides him
down for a kiss, and Dazai can't help but smile into it. It's a gay club, and it feels nice, being able
to do this out in the open without having to worry about stares or rude comments. They just get to
be. Chuuya's also the first one to draw away, much to Dazai's dislike, but he holds on to his hand as
he gets up from the barstool. "Wanna dance?"

"I will step on your toes," Dazai warns.

"So will I. It doesn't matter."

Carrying his drink in one hand, Dazai in the other, Chuuya leads them towards the packed dance
floor before turning around to Dazai, his grin bright and inviting. His body naturally moves along
to the beat, and Dazai's pretty sure it looks a thousand times better than whatever he's doing. Not
that he's complaining. After all, he's the one who gets to watch Chuuya and drink in the sight of his
body in that top showing off his stomach and the obscenely tight leather pants, letting everything
around fade away except for this one guy, this one person.

After placing his drink on the closest surface, Chuuya approaches him. His arms loop around his
neck, giving them the perfect height and angle to kiss. So they do. Over and over again. Chuuya
starts moving more to the rhythm of whatever song's playing with the time, his hips grinding into
Dazai, but even if their kisses become much more heated, more breathy, and urgent, they never
waver.

Lights dance over Chuuya's features, illuminating his high cheekbones and razor-sharp jaw. Dazai
could drown in it.

"Do you know," he says, murmuring into his ear, "that you're the most beautiful person alive?"

Chuuya's eyes glimmer as he cocks his head. "Yeah? What happened to your boyfriend?"

"Found him."

"No way!"

"He's right here," Dazai says and steals another kiss — just because he can.

Takayama, Apil 1994

They're on the way home from a restaurant, bellies full and sated when a loud, pathetic whine
comes from one of the side streets and Chuuya halts in his tracks.

Dazai tugs at his hand. "It's probably just another stray."

There are lots of them here, big and small, young and old, dogs, cats, and even rats running around
and looking for something to eat — a pitiful sight.

Chuuya, with his big stupid heart, ignores him and follows the sound into a dark alley, home to a
pile of stinking trash cans and empty bottles. If Chuuya were in one of those awful horror movies
that they've started showing at the cinema, he'd probably die first, always running head-first into
the first sign of danger.

"Chuuya," Dazai says, and, of course, he follows because if chibi's going to die, then they're going
to get mauled by a nameless monster together.

"Here." Chuuya squats down in front of it — a gangly brown dog with black spots all over it,
looking not only like it hasn't eaten in several weeks but also like it came out of a fight. "I think it's
hurt," he hears Chuuya murmur before stretching out his hand. "Hey, bud. How you doing?"

"Chuuya," Dazai says again. "Be careful. You don't know what kind of infections that thing
carries." By the looks of it, a lot. It makes Dazai's stomach tighten. Chuuya's more prone to
infections, his immune system not as strong. And yet, here he is, offering his hands to stray dogs he
finds in the trash.

"It's not a thing. It's a puppy!" The dog regards him with big, wide trembling eyes before letting out
a sad whine and turning to lick one of his wounds. "Dazai," Chuuya says, his voice turning steady
and determined. The look he gives him is...

"No."

"Yes."

"Chuuya, we're in a different city. We live in a hotel that probably doesn't even allow pets. That —
the dog will probably die soon anyway. No."

"We could help," Chuuya says, and after a sniff, the dog lets him scratch his matted fur. "Just
because it's sick doesn't mean it's worthless. I mean," he shoots Dazai a look, "you're still with me
even though I'm dying, aren't you?"

Unfair.

It's fucking foul-play.

And yet, it strikes just right because Dazai grits his teeth and lets out a long sigh. "You're a
menace, Chuuya. A dirty-playing, cheating menace."

Chuuya smiles.

"You're not carrying it, though. Don't touch it."

"Whatever," Chuuya murmurs and rolls his eyes, though the grin lingering underneath is
unmistakable. "Let's find the nearest emergency veterinarian."

Dazai has never been a big fan of pets — they're stupid and mindless, doing nothing all day and
still getting rewarded for it — but for Chuuya, he picks up the dog and starts walking. The dog —
a girl, they conclude on the way to the central railway station, trembles and makes other wretched
noises, but at least, she's still conscious enough to realize that they're trying to help her, so she
eventually tucks her nose into Dazai's arm and remains quiet. For some reason, there's a long queue
in front of the information desk at midnight, so that takes almost an hour, and once they get the
address of the clinic, getting there takes hours, too.

At least, the veterinary office is mostly empty, so they quickly admit the dog. There's more
waiting. The young woman at the reception tells them they could come back in the morning, so
Chuuya and Dazai decide to take a nap in their hotel and buy a few necessary things since they are
apparently going to become dog owners very soon.

The things Dazai does for Chuuya, really.

Exactly that happens the next day, ten in the morning.

The dog had a few superficial flesh wounds that the doctor took care of, as well as more severe
malnourishment and a cough, but other than that, with proper care and feeding, she should be fine.
So now here they are, at a park with a dog.

"We could sell her," Dazai says. "Now that she looks a bit more put-together. Or give her to a
family."

Chuuya elbows him and leans down to scratch her neck as if a stupid dog could possibly
understand what the words mean. "No, we won't. We found her, so we get to keep her."

"So if you find another injured stray, will you keep it, too? And another? You want to sleep with a
hundred dogs in your bed, Chuuya?"

"You know, they'd be far less annoying than you."

"I highly doubt that. They stink —"

"We'll give her baths," Chuuya interjects, making kissy noises at the dog. Even if Dazai doesn't
like it, it looks cute, and he can't help but relax a little.

"They stink out of their mouths. Will you brush her teeth, too?"

"If that makes you shut up."

Dazai sighs. "So what's her name then?"

"I don't know. We need something good. Let's call her pup for now?"

"She's not a puppy anymore, though."

"That doesn't matter, Osamu. Dogs can be puppies as long as they want."

Osamu, huh? Chuuya's bringing out the big guns then. Dazai leans back his head, feeling the sun
rays on his skin. As a kid, he never imagined having a dog. Then again, he never pictured himself
being anything in the future because the plan was to find a way to end it before adulthood ever
arrived. While others dreamed of creating a family and getting their dream job, Dazai was carving
words into his skin because the only thing he ever saw was a bleak and endless hole waiting for
him, and death was better than that.
It wasn't endless.

There's no cure for depression, only methods, and therapies to alleviate the symptoms and, if you're
lucky, people that lend you their hand when everything seems pointless. Dazai had those people.
Not at first. His parents, especially his father, never asked why he spend days staring at the ceiling
or why he tried cutting open his veins; he only saw a lazy, bored child that made more trouble than
he was worth. His mother was more empathetic in that regard, but Dazai feels like she never got the
point either. Even now. Decades later.

The well sometimes has tiny cracks that allowed him to see through, and even though falling into it
only requires one wrong step, there's always a chance of climbing up again.

The dog barks at something, a frightened, terrified sound, before retreating more under the bench
they're sitting on, and Chuuya kneels down in front of her like a protective mother hen.

"What about gremlin?" Dazai suggests. "She does look somewhat hideous."

"Shut up. She's the prettiest girl in the whole wide world."

"Oh, I have one. Mistress since she's clearly about to steal my own boyfriend."

Chuuya huffs. "You are the one who's into dogs, Dazai. Not me."

"I am no such thing."

"You used to call me your dog all the time," Chuuya gives him a look, "and look who you're dating
now."

"Well, only the ginger ones."

"She has ginger spots, so your point?"

"They're brown, chibi. I knew you were stupid, but not color-blind."

"It's a side effect from the, you know, terminal illness." He gestures at his head, spinning his
fingers. "Rotting my brain."

Dazai's smile wanes. The one thing he learned about Chuuya during this entire road trip is that a)
he has a morbid sense of humor and b) he's entirely open about his illness — almost shockingly
unafraid. It's something Dazai would have expected from himself, but it's not his lungs that are
shutting down day by day, it's Chuuya's, and here they are.

It would be unfair to tell him to stop.

They're a team now.

"I thought it's only in your lungs, dumbass," Dazai murmurs, tilting his head.

"Also a side effect." Chuuya shakes his head with a shrug. "Just terrible that thing. Whatever will I
do?"

"Date someone smart."

"I think I'm actually doing that already..."

The dog lets out a quiet woof.

They both share a smile.

It's in the quiet dark of their room that night that Dazai hears him murmur, "I love you, you know."

Dazai could have died happily without ever hearing it. Chuuya didn't send him away when Dazai
showed up on the doorstep of his hotel room, confessing his love after years and years. Chuuya
said yes to this one final adventure. Chuuya remembers Dazai's coffee order and each word carved
into his skin.

It's enough.

More than enough.

But the words still take Dazai's breath. For so long, he dreamed of hearing them. For so long, these
words were only ever uttered in his own head.

"If I had known a dog would make you so happy," Dazai jokes because, of course, he has to make
it into a joke, "I would have gotten you one a long time ago."

Chuuya shares his laughter, though, and in the darkness reaches for him, for his hand, to intertwine
their fingers. "Yeah, how long ago?"

"When we were both fifteen, sitting in a water fountain." Before Chuuya had to give himself up to
protect his friends. Before Dazai went away to college and Chuuya was lost somewhere in the
system. Before they didn't see each other for five whole years. "I would have gotten you a puppy
and then kept both of you in my room."

Even if they both know, it would have never worked. Chuuya, in the end, would always do
everything to save his little band of misfits.

"I was scared of allowing myself to love you for a long time," Chuuya admits. Dazai's thoughts
still as he listens. "You and your whole world... it always seemed so far away from me. I didn't fit
in there. Well, I thought I didn't. I wanted to become something myself first, and then... only
then..."

Little does Chuuya knows that he's the sun. The center of his universe, and yet millions of light-
years away. Not the other way around.

"I only really knew after you had left."

"Absence makes your heart grow fonder, huh?" Dazai murmurs, his voice thick with all the regret
that he constantly keeps shoved away. They lost so much precious time, and for what?

"You could say that," Chuuya replies with a rough puff of laughter. "It also feels like a punch to the
face. I realized, and it was too late. You were already gone. And I was, let's just say, stubborn."

"Oh, wow. He becomes self-aware, at last!"

"Fuck off." Chuuya's hand slips out of his, just to smack him in the chest. "You know exactly you
weren't so not stubborn yourself."

Dazai sighs. "I know. Whenever it came to you, I didn't really think." How funny. All the
emotional control in the world, and it shatters like glass every time it's about Chuuya.

"How poetic," his not so polite boyfriend says.

"How tragic," Dazai adds.

"How good that we finally figured it out." With a yawn, Chuuya lets his hand rest on his chest,
then wiggles closer to throw his leg around him, too. "I love you," he mumbles, voice laced with
sleepiness. "And it only took me fifteen years to say it."

"I love you too, chibi."

It's the most honest thing Dazai has ever heard himself say.

After the gremlin dog — pup, Chuuya insists — they both agree that they will have to cut their
road trip a bit short. It's not as easy to travel with a canine, and, apparently, it would be better for
the dog as well — to settle somewhere instead of constantly changing places. Five other cities turn
to two, ones they would have passed on the way back to Yokohama, anyway.

Except Chuuya gets sick.

He catches a cold somewhere; it turns into pneumonia, and at that point, Dazai knows they have to
go home. Now.

Yokohama, April 1994

"I have a name for her," Chuuya murmurs, back in his bed under five different bedsheets because
he can't stop shivering.

Dazai, lying next to him, raises his brow. "Did you have a revelation in your dream or something?"

"No, I was reading this —" A coughing fit cuts him off for a few agonizing seconds before he
returns to Dazai. "— book when I was lying in the hospital... Let's call her Arahabki."

"...god of calamity?"

"She likes to destroy things," Chuuya explains with a weak smirk.

Indeed, as soon as she settled into her new home, the gremlin dog — or Arahabaki found a liking
in ruining every single object in her path. Shoes. Carpets. Pillows. Shirts. It's not as cute as it
sounds, and they will have to invest some time into teaching her proper manners before it escalates,
but for now, Chuuya has been enjoying seeing Dazai run around like a mad man and try to retrieve
his possessions from a dog that's both shy and devious.

They're both little devils if you ask Dazai.

"I mean, you're not wrong. Arahabaki. It's a bit long, no?"

Chuuya shoots him a glower. "As if you're too lazy to use your tongue. I know for a fact you
aren't!"

Dazai beams. "Chuuya, are you telling me I'm a good kisser ~?"

"I'm saying Arahabaki is a perfect name, and you shouldn't care anyway since you never wanted
her in the first place."

"I just mentioned people might find it long, not that you should give her a different name."
 Chuuya narrows his eyes at him before puffing out a breath. Dazai loves that even now, confined to
a bed, he's as fiery as ever. "Whatever. If people are lazy, they can call her Baki. That's short,
right?"

"Baki." Yes. "It is."

"Perfect. Baki it is."

Chapter End Notes

we're nearing the end ahhhhh

 1994-2000

A week after Chuuya and Dazai come back from their trip, Yosano visits them. When she first
heard the news about their plans, Chuuya chose not to tell her, not yet, but judging by the solemn
expression on her face and the "is everything okay?" she asks Dazai later, she must have her
suspicions. Getting back together with your ex-something and going on an impulsive adventure
with him isn't something you do without a good reason. So after a reunion dinner at Chuuya's
apartment, they sit her down and tell her about his COPD. Not only because Yosano's been friends
with Chuuya for ages now, but because she's a doctor herself, and he trusts her to be honest with
him about any questions and concerns that he might have.

Later that night, Yosano finds Dazai on the balcony, leaning against the railing. Years ago, he
would have looked down and wished to fall. Now, the only wish on his mind is to get a few more
years with Chuuya. A few more opportunities to fulfill bucket lists and promises, trade morning
kisses, and bicker over names for their dog.

She bumps shoulders with him as she settles down on his side. "How are you doing?"

"With the monstrosity that goes by the name Baki who keeps eating my shoes? It could be better.
I'm dealing with it, though."

"Sarcasm," Yosano says dryly. "It must be really bad then."

"I'm fine. And I'm not the one you should be looking after."

"I think I'm worried about the right people, Dazai." After a moment, he feels her palm land on his.
"You're finally with the love of your life, and he's dying. You don't have to be okay. You're
allowed to feel upset."

Dazai's hand clenches around hers, grasping at whatever comfort he can get. "Chuuya's not dead."
Yet, a voice in the back of his mind whispers. Yet. "And I'm not going to waste time crying when
he's right there. Alive. Breathing. I refuse to make it harder on both of us."

Yosano gives him one last squeeze before retreating. "I'll be there for you both the entire time. If
you feel the urge to drink, call me."

It's easier said than done. No addict that's already given up would call someone to stop them, but at
least the choice is always there. It's been there for the last twelve years. And the reminder doesn't
hurt.

Chuuya recovers from pneumonia after two weeks in bed — which he spends partially on the
phone with his employees because he's a stubborn, little guy who will yell if he doesn't get his way.
Dazai travels back to Tokyo to deal with his apartment and his gallery. As good as Tokyo was for
him and as many wounds as it healed, he's willing to let go of it now, to say goodbye. (He'd let go
just about anything to spend the time with Chuuya.) The good thing about painting is that he can do
it anywhere, now that he has successfully established himself in the art business. Once that's done,
he grabs coffee with Ango, then visits Odasaku's grave. He tells his friend about the last few
months. About Chuuya. About Baki.

It's probably not the story Oda would have written for him, but he thinks he'd have liked it anyway.

Dazai returns to Yokohama with plans. He goes to work.

"Where are we going?"

"Chibi, I'm not going to tell you even if you ask me a hundred times."

Chuuya tries to kick him, but with the blindfold on, he misses Dazai by a few inches and lets out an
obscure grumble instead. "Have I mentioned I hate surprises?"

"You will like this one."

At least, Dazai hopes so. It might be walking the edge between a good reaction and one that might
quickly turn into the same fight the two of them have been having for ages. Literally. Dazai's going
to make sure to use all of his words this time. No pressure. No expectations.

After another ten feet, Dazai stops Chuuya with his hands on his shoulders and says, "Okay, I'm
going to take off the blindfold now."

"Thank fucking god."

Smiling to himself, Dazai undoes the knot but remains behind Chuuya, his hand sliding down until
he's hugging his waist, chin on his shoulder.

"Dazai... what am I looking at?"

"My new house."

Silence.

"You bought a ho— you bought this house?" His tone isn't... angry. There is surprise in his huff of
laughter. Shock. Maybe even some amusement.

Because it's not just any house. They've been driving past it on the way to his garage for months —
Chuuya did for years — and every single time, Chuuya would stare at it dreamily with
metaphorical sparkles in his eyes. Once, he even told Dazai that he tried to find out more about it
because it looks too big to be a family house but too homey to be a work office. He never did,
though.

So that's why Dazai found out for him.

It's not exactly a home, not a typical one, at least, but the past office of a pair of architects. After a
lot of conversations and a very hefty sum, their child, a woman in her twenties, finally decided to
sell it to Dazai.

And here they are.

"It could be your house, too," Dazai murmurs against the rich warmth of his neck. "I'm not telling
you to move in with me. Or to do anything. All I'm saying is that if you want to, you could leave a
shirt there. Or your toothbrush. You could have the key. That's it."

A moment of pensive silence passes between them, everything stilling except for the two
heartbeats thundering in the same rhythm. Then Chuuya lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. "You
bought the house."

"Ah, are you suffering from memory loss?"

"Oh, shut it. Dazai, it's gigantic."

"My huge personality needs a lot of room?"

"But — the money —"

"I had some left to spare." Dazai shrugs. "If you ever decide to cohabitate with me, you're free to
pitch in."

"Cohabitate," Chuuya parrots with a snort. "You're so pretentious."

"Like I said. Big personality."

"Okay, I want to take a look," Chuuya announces and spins in his arms before smacking a kiss on
his lips with the smile of a giddy teenager. "Can we go in? Do you even know how many times I
passed it on the way to work? How many times I wondered what it looks like from the inside?"

Dazai guessed, yeah.

"I don't know. Did you?"

"Yeah! God, I'm so excited!"

The house is two stories high, though the ceilings are so far above it feels like four. It's covered in
quadratic windows and metallic balconies with a giant backyard surrounded by foliage. Most
importantly to Dazai, though, there's space — enough space to build a water fountain.

He considered asking his mother to buy the mansion he grew up in. After all, it's the place he first
met Chuuya. The place where they built a friendship. The place they had their first kiss. After a
while, he ditched the idea. Dazai wants something of their own for him and Chuuya. A place
where they can make new memories. A place that isn't tarnished with old wounds and a forgotten
childhood.

"God, it's like a maze," Chuuya murmurs as he takes in the corridor, the rooms arranged in an
uncommon but captivating way. "I love it."

"There's so much space I can use part of it as my new gallery," Dazai says, driving his fingers
along the bare walls. He can picture it. Hues of orange and azure-blue hanging there. A vibrancy
so bright it will fill every empty hole inside him.

"The garage is close, too," Chuuya notes, and their eyes meet. Dazai only winks at him. No
pressure.

"It sure is."

Chuuya shakes his head, but there's a lofty smile hiding under that hesitation. "Toothbrush. I'll
leave my toothbrush here, okay?"

Chuuya moves in a week later.

Baki loves the house, especially the backyard.

Dazai uses one of the dozen spare rooms as his painting cave. It's nearly empty aside from one desk
in the corner, but all the open space is filled with canvas after canvas. Some lying on the ground.
Others standing on aisles. Whenever Chuuya's at work, busy, Dazai spends his days there, losing
himself in the act of trying to recreate every detail, every freckle, every line on his face, no matter
how little. It's probably not the healthiest way to cope with his boyfriend being sick. Then again,
when has Dazai ever done something healthy?

It should have been him, is the thought that always ends up crossing his mind, colonizing it until
it's the only thing echoing through the empty chambers of his head. It should have been Dazai.
Dazai, who spent his entire childhood carving into his skin. Dazai who has tried to meet his end
time and time again and never succeeded. Dazai, who abused his liver. Dazai, who should have
ended up sick. Not Chuuya.

He tries to paint over that as well.

On days like these, Chuuya finds him in his cave and tries to drag him to bed. Sometimes they end
up fighting. Most of those fights end with their naked bodies writhing against each other, covered
in oil colors and ink, letting the art paint itself.

It's not always easy. They're everything but easy. But it's good. Painfully, achingly good.

Sometimes they visit the orphanage that Chuuya helped rebuilding. Well, Chuuya does so every
other week. Dazai joins. Not always, but often enough to have a few of the kids running up to him
and yell "Mr. Dazai!" like Santa Claus himself came to town. Their voices are always louder when
they see Chuuya, though.

He donates several of his paintings. He watches Chuuya play handyman and fix broken things
around the building. Dazai takes a picture of that bright smile on his face and remembers the
sweltering heat of his teenage summers as he hid in the corner of his backyard, watching Chuuya
fix rusty bikes and busted chairs.

Some things never change.

Except that this time, Dazai slips into bed with Chuuya instead of only dreaming about it. This
time, he gets to kiss Chuuya good night and give him a back massage after the long day, and this
time, there is an "I love you" whispered between the two of them, no longer a secret, but a well-
known truth.

Aside from painting, there is one other project on Dazai's list of things to do.

Building a fountain in their backyard.

The two of them needed a place of their own, a new beginning to make memories, but sometimes,
even new things can have something old, and that's what the fountain is. Whenever Dazai sees it,
his memories flashback to suffocatingly hot summers and two young boys sitting together in
silence, each holding their own array of secrets and burdens to carry. To two young guys that don't
know who the other is anymore but who are still willing to try to find out. To two men who have
lost each other over and over again and yet have found each other every time.

The remainder isn't always pretty, knowing that they could have had so much more time. Not many
things in life are, though, and Dazai finds solace in the fact that they still somehow made it work
despite it all.

Building the fountain takes four months.

When it's finally done, Dazai leads Chuuya out to see it, gets on one knee, and asks him to marry
him.

Chuuya says yes.

A long time ago, sometime before Yuan's addiction got the worst of her and before Dazai
succumbed to the rim of his bottle as well, the four of them – Chuuya, Dazai, Yosano, and Yuan –
used to go out. To restaurants. To nightclubs. To cinemas and day markets. One day, in the middle
of the summer, they went to a lake in Yokohama, spent the whole day there tanning, playing cards,
and swimming. Now when Dazai thinks back to that one day, it's hard to believe that it was one of
the worst years in his entire life because he felt so happy, so free for those few hours.

Fifteen years later, Dazai finds himself at the same lake, with the same people, and perhaps even
the same feeling revibrating through his bones. A piece of happiness cut out, untouchable by the
rest of the world.

"I'm not the damn werewolf, so stop –" Chuuya's voice gives out as a croaking, breathless
coughing fit overtakes his lungs, several long moments passing buy before he manages to return to
the weak glower on his face. "Stop looking at me like that!"

Yosano arches one brow. "Then why are you getting so defensive?"

"I'm not getting defensive. I'm just annoyed you guys always end up looking at me first."

"They probably just like looking at your face," Dazai tells him, digging his fingers into the skin of
Chuuya's ankles where they're lying in his lap.

They're placing a card game named werewolf. One of them is the big bad wolf that kills someone
in each round, and the five of them – Shirase's playing, too – are supposed to figure out who it is by
arguing. It's safe to say that it always ends up in a fight.

"That's just you, baby," Chuuya mutters, but his fingers find Dazai's, interlacing them.

Yuan snorts. "Yeah, no, it's totally you, Chuuya. You still can't lie for shit."

"I can lie!"

Dazai knows it's not Chuuya. "You know who can lie through their teeth?" he asks
conversationally.

Yuan shrugs. "You?"

"No, you."

"You are being pretty aggressive this round," Yosano points out. "Without any good reason either."

"Huh?! Just a minute ago, you were hammering down on Chuuya as well?!"

"Well, yeah, it's fun."

Next to him, Dazai hears Chuuya huff in offense. It totally is fun accusing him of being the
werewolf. The girls are right.

"So that's why I'm doing it," Yuan shoots back. "Don't go around stabbing me in the back now!"
"So dramatic, darling," Yosano cooes, then turns to look at Dazai and Chuuya with a brilliant
smile. "I'm voting Yuan."

"Seriously?"

“Die, best friend,” Chuuya says.

Dazai shrugs. "I'm with them."

Only Shirase remains, his brows tugged into a frankly adorable pout as he watches his mother get
betrayed by her dearest friends. "You're all wrong. It's not mommy!"

"You tell them, baby," Yuan mutters. "It's not me."

"Two against three," Dazai reminds her. "Card down."

Yuan does. It's not her.

Chuuya looks at Dazai with a look of surprise and – love. Love. "Huh. Dazai Osamu getting
something wrong. Who would've thought?"

Dazai narrows his eyes. "Is it you?"

"Good night," Chuuya only whispers with a smirk that could only be described as devilish and
alive, really, really alive.

Dazai ends up dead the next round. Chuuya is the werewolf. Yuan shouts I told you so about a
hundred times.

After the game, the girls and Shirase decide to go for a swim, leaving Dazai and Chuuya sprawled
out on their towels, sharing apple slices. Chuuya's gaze keeps wandering to the lake as they do, his
desire to swim, to do things, and be active as clear as the burning sun above them.

"Just say it," Dazai prompts after a minute of that loud silence.

"Fine. I want to join them."

It could be dangerous. The water is way colder than the sea, and Chuuya's prone to all kinds of
infections these days. Dazai shrugs. "Then do it."

"I don't want you to worry, though."

"I'm your fiancée. I'm always going to worry."

"No, your job should be to always love me, not worry constantly," Chuuya says. He doesn't
precisely sound annoyed. It's not that. They've just been through this same exact game way too
many times to not get exhausted of it at this point. Chuuya's always going to want to use his last
years being recklessly alive. Dazai's always going to want more with him. More than a few wild,
bone-rattling years.

"There is no word to word job description that a fiancée has. I can love and worry at the same
time."

Chuuya lets out a frustrated sigh. "What if it's my last time at the lake?"

He always does this. Dazai hates hearing these words. Last time. As if Chuuya isn't next to him,
living and breathing and laughing. As if there could ever be a – a last time.

"It's not going to be. We can come here tomorrow. And the day afterward."

"I don't want to just lie here and wait for death to get me," Chuuya says, ignoring him. "If we're at
the lake, then I should get to fucking swim in it, too."

Dazai wants to argue, list off all the arguments that speak against taking a swim in the cold lake,
but – Chuuya's a force of nature. You can't bottle wind in a glass jar and expect it to remain wind.
Life does not work this way. Pushing the worry and the logical facts aside, Dazai gets to his feet
and offers his hand to Chuuya. "Get up."

Chuuya's eyes light up. Wind and fire and lightning. "You're coming, too?" he asks breathlessly, as
he accepts Dazai's hand, lets him haul him to his feet, and never lets go.

"Actually, I have an even better idea." He slides his arms under Chuuya in one go and picks him
up, smiling when Chuuya lets loose a loud, unrestrained laugh. "How about some speed?"

Chuuya pumps one fist into the air. "Fuck yeah!"

And so Dazai does run full speed ahead towards an uncertain future, the love of his life in his arms,
joining their friends in the water.

He doesn't know that Chuuya is right about one thing. This will be the last time they ever visit the
lake.

It starts with another simple cold.

Normal colds don't last for weeks until you have to be hospitalized, though.

There he catches an infection that steals an entire month from them.

After that, Chuuya's bones start hurting. Walking, running, exercising — the things he loves with
every inch of his soul turn into pain for him. Of course, Chuuya never complains. He wears it all,
even the illness, with a stubborn smile that only ever wavers when nobody is looking.

Fourteen days later, Dazai's squeezing Chuuya's hand as they sit in his doctor's office and hear the
words, "We should talk about options to make you as comfortable as possible in the next few
months."

Months.

Months.

Dazai thought they'd still have years to look forward to.

Chuuya, never, not even once, lets any flicker of fear show on his face and nods. "I'd like to —" He
swallows for air, his breathing getting worse and worse with each day. "— stay at home if — if
that's possible."

"Of course. We have excellent palliative care teams that will help you with your medicine, oxygen,
and special services to teach you ways to relax —"

Dazai squeezes his hand.

Chuuya wordlessly squeezes back.

One day, Dazai opens the door of the laundry room and finds Yuan silently sobbing into her hands.
When she notices him, her breathing stutters and halts, and then she wipes at her eyes, rocking her
head.

It takes him a few moments to debate whether to leave and pretend he never saw anything. The
easiest option if he's being honest. Yuan is — she is Yuan. An integral part of Chuuya's life. A
person with her own demons. A good mother. 99% of the time a nuisance, but...

Someday, soon, she is going to be all that's left of him. Of Chuuya. Because she was there when
Dazai wasn't.

So he makes a decision. He closes the door, bathing them in darkness, and he stays as Yuan's tears
continue to fall like there is an endless ocean inside her that produces them.

Dazai doesn't offer any words of comfort. There aren't any. Yuan doesn't demand them. All he does
is get out the pack of tissues he carries around in his pocket and offers her one.

"Thanks," she murmurs before using it.

And that's it.

They cannot legally marry in Japan. For a while, Dazai thought about arranging a flight to
Denmark and get married there even if the certificate wouldn't be legitimate once they came back.
At least, it would be legal in one country. In one place. But Chuuya – a wedding, flights,
lodgings… all these things come with stress. That's the last thing Chuuya needs right now.

So they make the best out of what they have now.

They have money. Friends. A beautiful house. A dog.

Why would they need to fly somewhere else when everything they need is right here?

If someone had asked Chuuya whether he could ever imagine himself getting married someday,
the answer would have been a humorless "fuck no." Not because he didn't believe in the concept of
love — although growing up as he did, most of the myths and dreams about soulmates and true
loves were shattered before he even hit puberty. Not because he didn't crave it because he did. Not
because he knew he was gay, just like he knew that marrying another man wasn't even legal in his
country either.

It was simpler than this and perhaps more complicated because of it, too.

Chuuya, sort of, assumed that he'd find that one person. Friendships that hold a lifetime? Sure.
Fucking a stranger, a friend? Yeah. But actually spending his entire life with someone? And
wanting it, too? It wasn't what he imagined when he thought of his future.

(Granted, he never believed he'd get sick so soon either. Life is funny in that way. Unpredictable.
Always a surprise.)

Looking at himself in the vanity mirror of his room and sliding his hands over the white material of
his suit, Chuuya's still not sure if he's that kind of person. A domestic husband. A partner for a
lifetime. Maybe he'll never be, but there's one thing that he's sure of, and it's that he loves the
person he's about to marry. Dazai Osamu. The son of the people who gave him a job when his
fifteen-year-old self begged them to. The boy that grew into a friend over the years. The guy that
came back. The man that will be his husband.

"Getting nervous?"

Chuuya's gaze refocuses on the person who has entered the room. Yuan, wearing her pastel pink
hair in a braid around her head and a pastel blue dress that she picked herself.

"I'm not nervous."

"Uh-uh," Yuan clearly doesn't buy it as she walks towards him to grab his hand and inspect it with
narrowed eyes. Then she raises her brows in something akin to surprise. "Huh, steady as ever.
You're really not losing your shit? Maybe it's an eye of the storm kind of thing, you know.
Whatever it is, Chuuya, you can tell me. I'll drive the getaway car; you just have to sit in the back
with Shirase."

"Yuan," Chuuya says, stifling laughter. "No — getaways car. I'm fine. I — I really am."

Yuan lets out a sigh as she fidgets with the flower tucked into the breast pocket of his tuxedo.
"Whatever. All I'm doing is giving you options. Just in case."

"And I love — you for that," Chuuya tells her before looking back in the mirror. He has lost some
weight — most of it muscles. His cheekbones stand out more than they did in his twenties. His hair
is not as shiny and thick anymore. A sickly pallor clings to his skin no matter how much sun he
tries to get. It's not Chuuya's best, sure, but it's only about to get worse from now on, so it's as good
of a deal as he'll get with himself.

"You look handsome," Yuan says, placing her hands on his shoulder, squeezing. "Dazai should
consider himself one lucky bastard to get a catch like you, let alone marry you."

Chuuya rolls his eyes. "One might think that — that you two finally stopped barking at each other
like two — dogs after all this time."

"He's all right, I guess."

All right. That's good enough for Chuuya. Now that the doctors have confirmed a feeling he's had
in his chest for a while now — literally, he finds himself thinking of the future of his friends and
family, one that he isn't in more and more often. He'd be sad if Dazai and Yuan wouldn't have each
other after it happens. But maybe if they stick together… perhaps they will be fine.

"And you love him, right?"

Chuuya muffles the cough that seizes his lungs in his fist. (They're getting stronger now. Harder to
bear when it feels like someone is cutting open his vocal cords every time it happens. Harder to
recover.) "I do." He does love Dazai. He loves him more than he ever thought he could love
someone that wasn't family.

Yuan offers him a sunny smile. "That's the only thing that matters. As long as you're happy, I'll
survive dealing with the annoying beanpole at your side."

Chuuya smiles in reply.

"Anyways, something old," Yuan points at herself. "Something new." She tugs at the fly around
Chuuya's neck. "Something borrowed." Slipping a hairpin out of her hair, she slides it between his
strands. "And something blue. Here."

For a few moments, Chuuya blinks at the bracelet that she clips around his wrist, light-blue jewels
shining with silver, lost in the memories of oppressive heat and a full, cramped house. "Just like the
ones when we were kids."

"Just like the ones when we were kids," Yuan echoes with an unfamiliar tilt to her voice,
something trembling and sad. "We made these to make sure that we'd find each other again no
matter where we'd end up. You always found us. You found me. And now I'm giving it back to
you."

"Thank you, Yuan."

"No. Thank you. If it weren't for you..." She halts, offering him a nervous smile. "Let's just say life
wouldn't haven't been as pretty."

"That was all you. I just provided some mental support."

"Ah, fuck off. Just accept the compliment already!"

It is like that, bantering and laughing that Yuan helps Chuuya get up from the chair, linking their
arms together before they open the door of the room.

They walk down the hallway that leads to the living room.

Through the living room with the big glass doors and the backyard behind it.

Through the garden, past their friends and family and to Dazai.

To Dazai.

Because it's always been Dazai. And it will always be Dazai at the end of the road waiting for him.

Dazai who stands in front of the fountain, looking at him like the universe begins and ends with
Chuuya.

Dazai who shines brighter than any flower in the world.

Dazai.

His Dazai.

Yuan's hand tightens around him with each step towards that future, squeezing and steading
Chuuya when his pace wavers ever so slightly because his body doesn't care that it's his wedding
day.

"Here we are," Yuan whispers at the end of the makeshift aisle, leaning over to give Chuuya a kiss
on the cheek. "Good luck, Chuuya."

Chuuya's heart hammers as he watches her move to the side, already wiping at her eyes, before he
turns to Dazai and — it's a little bit like seeing him for the first time in years all over again.

Like that time in the garage when Chuuya was working. Back then, he had thought he'd never see
Dazai again. Part of him was angry. Another part of him was so miserable about it that he
completely pushed it away until he heard Dazai's "Hello?" and his world turned upside down.
It's like seeing Dazai at Oda's funeral and feeling like being caught in a storm of regret and
emotions and fear as twelve years of wasted time wash over him in horrible, devastating waves.

Chuuya lived. He was happy. He dated other people. He didn't sit in front of his window every
day, thinking about that one guy, that one person that always left in the end, but he did sit on his
bed, tracing fingers down his skin where Dazai used to touch him and thinking I loved him. I loved
him, and I let him go anyway. Chuuya could have gone to Tokyo himself; he could have written a
letter; he could have done a lot of things that he didn't do. Then he got his diagnosis, and… life
afterward wasn't the same anymore. Not really.

Seeing Dazai here, white suit, dark hair, a wobbly smile — it's experiencing all of these shocking
sensations all over again.

Grabbing Chuuya's hands to interlace their fingers as they come to stand across from each other,
Dazai mouths Hi.

Hi, Chuuya mouths back. You are beautiful.

So are you.

Kunikida is their wedding officiant. Apparently, Dazai kept in touch with him over the years.
Despite the man's bossy nature, it's not hard to see that all he ever wanted was the best for Dazai —
and Tsuitory Group back then. Chuuya instantly agreed when Dazai threw the suggestion into the
room.

"Dear friends and family, today we are gathered here to…."

Chuuya wants to listen, really he does, but his attention just keeps flitting to the man standing next
to him, to his beginning and to his end. What he does hear of Kunikida's speech sounds good,
though. He's pretty sure Yuan has been silently crying for ten minutes now.

"... have you two prepared personal vows?"

"I did," Dazai blurts out, making Chuuya's brows jump up. "I did. Can I say them?"

"Yes, Dazai," Kunikida says, voice straining with a smile. "You can."

"I… no." Dazai shakes his head, taking a deep breath. "For the longest time, I used to believe that
the world was supposed to be grey. That it was normal. That it was just the way, things were. I
accepted it. And then, as I was sitting in a fountain, a fifteen-year-old boy approached me, and for
the first time in my life, I saw the color red. I got out of the fountain, and…" Dazai's hand lifts to
Chuuya's face, thumb gently tracing the skin around his eyes… "I saw blue. I saw black. I saw
green. I saw violet. I never stopped seeing any of them after you. It was like you ripped off the
curtain and revealed a new, fascinating, devastatingly beautiful world behind it that I was never
able to understand before.

"Every day, you continue to show me new colors. You inspire me. You make me want to scream
at the sky with life. You bring out every goddamn emotion I ever had trouble feeling inside me."

The laughter that splits Chuuya's mouth is wobbly.

"So when I say that getting to spend the rest of my life with you is an honor. I mean it. It's the
biggest honor I ever had."

"Now you're just flattering me," Chuuya murmurs through the stinging of his eyes.
Smiling, Dazai shakes his head. "You are the earth, Chuuya. You are the moon. You are the sun
that shines on me every day."

A hiccuping sob comes from someone next to them, but Chuuya can't tear his eyes away from
Dazai, even if he wanted to — which he doesn't.

I love you, he mouths.

I love you, Dazai mouths back.

Kunikida turns to him wordlessly. Chuuya nods, biting his lip.

Words have never been his strength. He can't twist them in his favor and wrap people around their
finger-like Dazai does. But he can speak the truth, right? And in the end, this is what it's all about.
Being honest with each other.

"One of the — most important things yet — hardest things for me," Chuuya starts, "has always
been opening up — to other people. Truth is the most — expensive currency in the world… and
let's be honest, it wasn't — it wasn't always easy. It never really is. But you… you make paying
that — price so worth it." A flash of bruises whizzes past Chuuya's eyes. The ugly sound of Yuan
crying when she begged them not to make her go through withdrawal echoes through his ears. The
slam of a car door shakes his bones, closing a chapter. It's a dizzying feeling looking back at all
that, but Dazai once again steadies him, doesn't let him fall. "You make it — so worth it. Every day
I live with the knowledge — that I can tell you anything, that nothing — I do will make you —
turn away, that I could cut out my soul — and offer it to you, and you — you would always accept
me.

"You make me feel seen. Heard. You make me — feel safe. You make me feel warm — and
loved, and —" Chuuya's breath trembles. Why did he ever think that words would be enough to
describe that overwhelming, all-consuming warmth inside him? Filling up all the empty spaces?
Keeping him alive? "I've been running — for so, so long now. I was never sure — where. About
the — destination. Now I know — that I was — always running — towards you."

A few stray tears roll down Dazai's cheeks.

Kunikida clears his throat, quickly wiping at his eyes before he glances between the two of them to
make sure that this is the end of their vows. "Thank you… for this, Dazai and Chuuya. Now… I
see you've already joined hands." A burst of quiet, soft laughter runs through the crowd of their
friends and family. "Dazai Osamu, do you take Nakahara Chuuya to be your husband?"

"I do."

He does.

"Nakahara Chuuya, do you take Dazai Osamu to be your husband?"

Chuuya nods. "I do."

"Dazai, take this ring and place it on Chuuya's finger. Repeat after me…"

"Chuuya, I give you this ring as a symbol of the promise I made to you today."

"Chuuya, take this ring and place it on Dazai's finger. Repeat after me…"

"Dazai, I give you this ring as a symbol of the promise I made to you today."
"Having pledged your love and promise to one another today in front of all of your friends and
family and by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and husband.

"You may now kiss —"

Chuuya's eyes flutter shut the moment Dazai's lips crash down on him, like a comet of love, lust,
and devotion. Around them, the world goes on, but for one-hundredth of a second, time stops. Like
a song playing for the thousandth time. Like fireworks lighting up the forest. Like the first kiss
with tongue. Like inhaling smoke.

The promise to love each other echoes through the chamber of their ribcages, as in sickness, as in
health; as in life, and as in death.

The door falls closed with a soft thud behind them as Dazai stumbles into the room, Chuuya's
limbs wrapped around him heavy and firm as he carries his husband.

The wedding was beautiful. Intimate. Warm and sunny. Even Dazai's mother shed a few tears from
what he glimpsed when they walked down the aisle as newly appointed husbands. He has no right
to judge, though, not when he has lost enough tears on his own today.

"I am — a stone," Chuuya mumbles into his shirt, "and you are my stone husband."

Setting him down on the bed, Dazai laughs. "Is this your way of telling me you want to get high?"

"Nope, no — substance abuse for any — of us here." Chuuya lets himself fall backward, a long
sigh leaving him as Dazai starts to work on getting his slacks off. "I am so — exhausted. Are you
— this exhausted?"

No.

A little tired from all the social interaction and pent-up adrenaline? Sure. Not Chuuya's level of
tired, though. Dazai wasn't falling asleep at the table. Dazai's joints don't hurt from walking around
the house a few times. Dazai isn't too worn out to even lift a leg.

Dazai's smile doesn't waver, though. "Yeah, a little. It was fun, but let's never do that again."

Chuuya lets out a throaty chuckle. "Says the — artist who'll — have to do this — over and over
again."

"I became an artist to avoid exactly that."

"Well, tough luck, shith—" A cough cuts him off, deep and guttural and lasting for so long that by
the time Chuuya finally can breathe again properly, he looks like he has just run a marathon. Dazai
watches as Chuuya fights his own body, watches him turn on his side and curl up on himself.

Dazai's heart shatters.

He lies down next to Chuuya, his hand lifting to stroke a few loose strands out of his face. "Hey,
it's okay."

"It's not — okay," Chuuya whispers. "This is supposed — to be — our wedding night and —" A
strangled, frustrated voice rips out of the back of his throat, his eyes squeezing shut. "— and I —
I'm too — too exhausted — to do — anything."

"Who cares if it's our wedding night?" Dazai slides his arm around him until he can tug Chuuya
closer until he can kiss his husband's cheek, his nose, his jaw. "It's just a night, my love."

"It was — supposed to be — romantic…"

"And it is. I'm lying here with the love of my life. How is that not romantic, huh?"

"Stop being so — so — so nice." Chuuya's voice doesn't hold as much irritation and force like it
used to do. "Just admit that — it — sucks!"

"It sucks," Dazai murmurs with an amused grin, "and I still love it. Happy?"

"I hate — you," Chuuya whispers and kisses him, a feather-light, soft press of warm lips. Dazai's
favorite thing in the entire world.

He ends up stripping every piece of clothing off Chuuya until he can give him a pair of
comfortable pajamas before slipping into loose, soft sweaters himself. Then Dazai makes it his
mission to create a fortress of blankets and pillows on the floor, so they can lie down and pretend
that they are once again fifteen years old and hiding from the real world that's waiting for them
outside this room, this nest of rose-red hues, candles, and love.

Over the years, Chuuya has made it a habit to openly talk about his death. Dazai suspects it's an
attempt at preparing him for that day even though these conversations always happen in a strangely
morbid kind of way. Sometimes Chuuya asks him what he will wear to his funeral, and Dazai
struggles between turning it into a joke or being truthful. Other times, Chuuya starts talking about
the future — five years from now — and gives Dazai great words of wisdom, like "never use olive
oil as lube, Dazai," as if the thought alone of fucking someone else doesn't feel like swallowing
glass. Dazai would prefer not to ever hear the words death and Chuuya in the same sentence again,
knowing full-well that it's the only ending that Chuuya will ever have in this life.

Tonight, as the movie they put on runs on the screen, Chuuya turns to him, leaning his head against
Dazai's jaw, and asks, "What will you — will you do when I die?"

Dazai wants to scream, first of all. Instead, he forces himself to look at Chuuya. "I will die with
you."

"Not — funny."

"You started it."

"You can't — die," Chuuya tells him earnestly. "I mean it. Someone has to look — after Baki."

Dazai scowls. "Yuan can do that."

"But Baki has gotten — used to — you. She spent months — on the street — alone — and she will
lose me soon. She — she shouldn't lose — both of us at — the same time."

"Are you really putting your dog's feelings over mine?"

"No," Chuuya murmurs, nuzzling his cheek. Dazai's hands automatically tighten around his waist,
grabbing onto him like a lifeline. "I'm just reminding — you that your life — won't be over just —
because mine is. We're not — co-dependent. You can live — without me."

"We are, kind of, co-dependent."

"Osamu."
Dazai returns his gaze, a huff escaping him. "What do you want me to say?"

"That — you'll live."

"That's a shitty thing to ask from someone like me, slug." Because Dazai is going to want to die
with him. The thought of a life without Chuuya — he can never even think past that. It's impossible
to imagine. Dazai can try to prepare for it, sure, but in the end, it will hurt much more than that
anyway. There is no preparation for this. No amount of idle conversation will make him ready. So
when that awful day comes, Dazai will want to go with him. But he will feel guilty because of the
promise. And that's unfair.

"It's a perfectly — reasonable thing to ask — from you, idiot. Wouldn't you want me — to live if
you — suddenly died?"

Dazai makes a face. "No," he forces through his teeth. "I'd want you to die with me. Double
suicide, remember —?"

"Shut up. I — I know you're not — like that anymore."

He's right. Dazai might have been that selfish a long time ago, but now. He would want Chuuya to
live, to find some sort of happiness, peace. Even if the image of Chuuya with someone else tastes
like poison, the thought of Chuuya alone for the rest of his life is even worse.

"Fine, chibi. You win. I would want you to live."

"So, am I — really being — that unreasonable?"

"No," Dazai mutters.

A smile blooms on Chuuya's face, and he gives Dazai a short kiss. "So. What will — you do when
— I die?"

"With my life, or right... afterward?"

"Right — afterward."

"Chuuya, are you trying to coach me through your own death?"

"Yeah."

It's morbid. It's stupid. It's Chuuya.

"I will... probably be angry."

"Why? There's no one to blame for this." Chuuya's brows scrunch up. "Unless — you will be angry
at me?"

"I think being angry is easier first than feeling the pain. So I'll be angry. At myself. For losing so
much time with you. At you. For being so goddamn stubborn. At the doctors. For not having a cure
for this disease. At your lungs. At — at the people who will take you away. I'm going to try to rip
them to shreds."

Chuuya strokes a hand over his cheek, his smile getting softer but never vanishing. "No matter —
how much time we have — in the end, you always want more."

"We wasted too much of it."

They could have eight more years. Fifteen. More than this.

"Are you going — to fight god then? The being that's — responsible for time?"

"God doesn't exist."

If he did, they wouldn't be having this conversation.

"Not for you," Chuuya murmurs. "I personally — would like to pretend there — that there will be
someone — taking care of me later on."

Dazai can't deny him that, so he nods and steals a kiss from him.

"You shouldn't — cry," Chuuya tells him then, "but I think you will. The years have made — you
gentle, my love. You're a — softie now."

Dazai fights the urge to immediately argue, knowing that Chuuya's not entirely wrong. Of course,
he's become more attuned to his own feelings. Living with the love of your life, painting, and
visiting beautiful countries will do that to one person. The scars never fade, but they ease with
time.

"I've got that from you," Dazai eventually replies. "You and your big heart out of gold."

"Far from it," Chuuya huffs and leans his head against Dazai's chest.

"Actually," Dazai whispers back, "not at all."

That is how they spend their wedding night: lying on the floor, talking about something so
unimaginable yet inevitable, and sharing warm, gentle kisses.

They lie there and watch the sun rise somewhere far away in the sky out of their window.

Just the two of them.

Like it was always meant to be.

 2000-2016
Chapter Notes

Please check the updated tags for warnings for this chapter.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

On October 22nd, 2000, Chuuya announces that he's going to die.

He asks Dazai to lie down with him in their bed. A place that has been their little safe space for the
last six years. The place that they first called their home. The place where they spent entire nights
talking, watching black and white movies, making love, fucking, fighting, sleeping with their limbs
tangled, hands reaching out towards each other. This is the place that Chuuya chooses to spend his
last day at.

Not that Dazai believes him.

(Not that his mind lets him.)

"You can't just know that you're going to die," he tells Chuuya as he settles down behind him. His
arms wrap around Chuuya, pulling him closer until they're pressed against each other, leaving no
space save for Chuuya's cologne, heady and woodsy, and the sleepy, stubborn warmth found in
every place where their body parts are connected.

Dazai is holding on tight, refusing to let go for even a moment, even if his husband is full of shit
today.

"'f course, I can," Chuuya mumbles, lips pressing against the skin on Dazai's palms — leaving
small, dry kisses Dazai realizes. "It's called —intuition, asshole."

"You just want to cuddle me, don't you?" It's supposed to be a joke, but it comes out strung out and
raw, sounding more like a question than a teasing remark.

There it is: Dazai Osamu sounding unsure. The years have made him doubtful.

Chuuya's silent for a moment, then Dazai feels him nodding and sinking back into him, a breath so
long and heavy leaving his body that it must tire him out completely as it takes him several minutes
to respond. "Yeah."

"You could have just asked me, little idiot."

"Where would — be the fun in — that?"

"You're right. You're always so right, Chuuya." Dazai nuzzles his nose against the skin on
Chuuya's burning, cold neck. He's always been so hot — not just because he's the most beautiful
person in the world, but Chuuya's body temperature has always been several degrees hotter than
Dazai's. His personal living furnace, if you will. Dazai used to joke that it's because there was so
much anger and attitude stored in such a small person.

Feeling him cold now feels fundamentally wrong.

Chuuya lets out a dry cough. The cracked, raspy sound makes Dazai's heart bleed. He's been
having it for so long that it's surprising there are still lungs left in there. "Hey," Chuuya jerks all of
a sudden, his hands tightening around Dazai's. "Osamu. You still here?"

"Yes, baby." Dazai unwraps himself only to be able to brace himself on the mattress as he looks
over Chuuya, meets his wide, scared eyes, and reassures him that he's right here. "I'm here. I'm not
going anywhere."

Chuuya's lashes flutter against his skin. "You'll stay with me? The entire time?"

Dazai manages a jerky nod. "Until the very end."

"I - "Chuuya's breath stutters, and he has to take a long, shuddering breath. "I know I said — it's
okay, but I'm — scared." Chuuya holds onto Dazai as if his grip was strong enough, he'd be able to
stay here, to resist slipping away. Of all the people on earth, Dazai believes Chuuya could actually
do it. "I don't — wanna go — yet."

"You're still here, love. You'll be all right. Nothing is going to happen to you, okay?"

"I thought — you were supposed — to be a good — liar."

"It's because I'm not lying. You're okay. You're with me. I've got you."

"What if — it's not peaceful? What if I end — up in — hell?"

"Heaven would be stupid not to take someone as good as you."

"Y-yeah?" Chuuya's grip around Dazai's wrist softens, fingers relaxing.

"Yes. They would be idiotic to pass up the opportunity to have Nakahara Chuuya up there. You're
everything, my love."

"What — will it be like then?"

Dazai rests his head back against the pillow, pulling his husband tighter into his chest one last time.
"Do you remember our first trip to the beach with Baki?"

"I — I do. It was — a — good day."

Dazai's smile comes with the weight of a lifetime of memories. "It was. We didn't really have time
to go to the beach when we found her, so back home you begged me to go again for days, and
because of the amazing boyfriend that I am, I eventually caved, and we packed food and drinks for
the day, and we drove down to Miura." Breathing through that feeling in his chest — the one that
feels like it's going to swallow him whole if he allows it inside, Dazai presses his face closer to the
curve of Chuuya's neck. "That's how it's going to be, love.

"You'll lie on a blanket on a deserted beach and watch the sunset in the distance. I'll feed you
strawberries with cream and serve you alcohol-free champagne. Your beloved dog will run around
like crazy, acting like seeing the waves crash on the shore is the best fucking thing that ever
happened to her. You'll read your favorite book, and I… I'll watch over you the entire time. Take
shitty pictures that turn out great because nothing with you in it could ever be anything but. I'll
play with your hair, and you'll bitch… complain that I'm getting sand in there, but I'll know that
you secretly like it because somehow you always end up with your head in my lap.

"That feeling of peacefulness in your chest? That lightness? That breezy air inside you, making you
feel as light as a dandelion about to flow you? The cramps in your cheeks from grinning so hard all
the damn time? That happiness? It will be like that, Chuuya. Every damn day for the rest of
eternity."

Dazai squeezes him, exhaling a shaky breath that borders on a sob when he realizes what for the
rest of eternity means, what it means for Chuuya, what it means for Dazai without Chuuya, and
when he fervently tries to push it away for another while, for another few moments of not having
to face that future looming above him like a terrible and distant comet which is about to come
crashing down on planet earth.

"It will be the accumulation of your happiest moments, Chuuya. Drinking mulled wine, covered up
in warm blankets, and watching the first snow of the winter fall outside. Unpacking Christmas
presents. Having coffee and cigarettes with Yuan. Giving Baki her first bed, seeing her almost trip
over her own feet from how hard she's wagging her tail. Movie nights. Waking up to sunshine
streaming through the windows. Morning kisses even when you complain about having morning
breath. Walking down the aisle with all of your friends and family being happy for you. Playing
soccer with Shirase. Teaching the kids at the orphanage how to play softball. Grocery shopping…

"I… I think that is what it will be like. The sum of your happiest moments replaying over and over.
You'll relive them again and again until I come back to you." Dazai huffs out a watery laugh
against him. "Then there will be lots of stinky dogs, and you'll wake up in a pile each morning, and
I'll sleep on the couch because there will be no place on the bed for me because of all the damn
creatures. Doesn't that sound good?"

"..."

"Don't you think that's nice?" Dazai tries again. "Chuuya?"

Chuuya doesn't answer him.

Dazai has been preparing for this moment for the last six years, but now that it is here, his entire
body fills with crippling dread. Dazai wraps his arms around Chuuya tighter, shaking his head,
refusing to believe that this is it, that it — that he — just like that —

No.

No.

Not yet.

He wants another five minutes. Sixty seconds. Just another word from Chuuya. Another laugh.
Another yawn. Dazai wants to tell him one last "I love you." He wants more than this. More than
what they had. More than what they made for themselves.

Just

a tiny

little

bit

more time.

But Chuuya doesn't speak again. He doesn't take another breath. And Dazai doesn't even get to tell
him how much she loves him. He doesn't get to tell him how proud he's of him. How grateful he is
for what they had. He doesn't get to do any of it.

Dazai — he talked through Chuuya's death. He talked, and he didn't even get to hear Chuuya's last
words. He was talking, and Chuuya died. He laughed against his dead husband. He—

A sob rips out of Dazai. Air slams into his lungs. Dazai clings to Chuuya's body, pressing his face
against his skin as sobs rack his body with such force that it feels like he will never be able to
breathe properly again.

Just another word from Chuuya.

Just another minute.

Another second.

But their time is used up now.

And life goes on, even if Dazai wishes it didn't.

Atsushi feels something startingly wet slide down his cheek. Hastily, he wipes it away. A part of
him can't help but wonder whether Ryuu would be foolish enough to cry during a professional
interview. He wants to believe that his friend slash rival would be able to keep it together, but this
—

Atsushi feels like his emotions have been put through the wringer.

Dazai smiles softly. It's the saddest expression Atsushi has ever seen. "Death is a really abstract
concept, Atsushi-kun. You think you know what it will feel like, but when it actually happens to
you, it's nothing as you ever imagined. It took me a week to feel even remotely human. I wasn't
angry like I thought I would be — I was... nothing. An empty vessel. Chuuya died and life lost all
meaning. Food. Friends. Family. Work. Breathing. All of it felt hollow, so incredibly futile. I found
myself grinding to a halt sometimes, staring at nothing, as I took our dog out for a walk or listened
to Yosano make a laughable attempt at talking to me, and I simply couldn't find any will inside me
to continue. To live through another day. Through another hour. Through another minute with that
leeching hole inside my chest. The only thing I wanted was to follow Chuuya, but I had made him
a promise, and despite the fog all around me, I was still lucid enough to remember that promise. To
keep it.

"Once I found a shred of a lifetime wish and clumsily managed to hold onto it, the next challenge
began. Not giving in to the temptation of alcohol. That was hard, but the hardest thing, Atsushi-
kun, was by far sleeping."

Dazai closes his eyes, worn out, familiar pain visible in every line of his face.

"I dreamed of him. Every. Damn. Night. He was always alive in one way or another. Either he
never died, or he came back to me, or I finally found him. I was with him, I felt him in my dreams,
I got to touch him in them and — and every morning, I had to wake up and realize that he was
gone. That I'd never see him again. That it had just been a dream. An illusion. A wish so desperate
and out of reach. Every morning, I died all over again. So I stopped sleeping. I walked around like
a lifeless man for days before eventually passing out and falling into such a deep sleep that I didn't
even dream — or, at least, didn't remember them. One time, I went so long without any sleep that
Yosano had to threaten to check me into a mental hospital. I didn't want that, so I tried to find some
middle ground."
Dazai lets out a breath. "I still have dreams of Chuuya. Over the years, I have learned to appreciate
them. Sometimes I find myself forgetting small details. The exact color of his eyes. The feeling of
his hand in mine. The sound of his voice, even. And then I have a dream, and it comes to me all
over again. It's no exaggeration when I say that I would rather go through the pain of losing him a
million times than ever forget him."

That's what real love must feel like, Atsushi thinks. The kind of love that makes you go through the
most painful thing imaginable over and over again just so you'll keep your memories of someone.

"I wouldn't say it ever got easier. You just learn to live with it at some point, and then you blink,
and suddenly sixteen years have passed, and you've lived without the love of your life this entire
time, keeping his promise."

Atsushi's lips press together. "I'm so sorry, Dazai-san. I know it means nothing in the grand scheme
of things, but... I'm sorry."

"This is where my story ends, and yours starts."

"Mine," Atsushi says slowly. Dazai has hinted at this much, but he's still not sure where in the
world he fits in that — that empire of dirt Dazai just revealed to him.

"Don't you want to know why I picked you to do the interview?"

Of course, he wants to. It's been in the back of his mind the entire time, but Atsushi got so caught
up in Dazai and Chuuya's that he nearly forgot. "Why me, Dazai-san?"

Dazai's smile softens. "Where did you grow up, Atsushi-kun?"

"In Yokohama's orph—" Atsushi stops, blinking. Orphanage. Chuuya. "In the orphanage," he says
again, more slowly this time. "Is it the one you mentioned? The one Chuuya helped rebuild?"

"Indeed."

Oh.

"In one way or another, it was Chuuya who made sure that you would be sitting here today and
hearing this story. He knew more than anyone else that the system had many flaws, so he ensured
that the orphanage would be rebuilt into something good, a place with decent people and a big
backyard. He tried to go over there and check up on the kids even when he was so sick he could
barely stand on his feet."

Atsushi takes a moment to process that… that this man, Chuuya, had played a role in his own life.
In Ryuu's. In Gin's. In the other children's that they grew up with, and the ones who came before
them, the ones who came after. Then he frowns. "Why haven't we ever heard of him?" Did Dazai
use a fake name? Did Chuuya back then?

"Because he was too selfless," Dazai says with a shrug. "He didn't want recognition or praise for
what he was doing. He just wanted you to have a chance at a normal childhood. Something he
never got."

"We got that chance," Atsushi murmurs, the entirety of his childhood flashing in front of his mind
like an old camera roll unfolding. "I mean, of course, I sometimes thought that it was unfair that I
never got to meet my parents. I wished for more privacy, for my own room, and more candy than
we were allowed there, but... I had a family to grow up with. The people there loved me. They
raised me." He nods firmly, pressing out a grateful smile. "Chuuya succeeded. We got that chance."
Dazai's reply is far too simple for something so big. "Good. You deserve to know who the man
was that helped to shape your childhood. And the world deserves to know him, too."

The world will know.

Atsushi has no doubt that a story like this will blow up in the art community, if not across the
whole internet. Dazai Osamu, a man of a generation, talks about the one man that shaped his life in
the most simple ways that matter most.

The rest of the interview passes in a dazed blur. Atsushi remembers asking for more details on the
painting process, the techniques, and the paintings themselves. Something that was supposed to be
the main story, now pushed aside, although he's confident that no one will complain about that.

Dazai answers everything with grace and composure.

It's when Atsushi starts shoving his things into his bags that he pauses, an invisible string tugging
at his chest and alerting him of one mystery left unsaid. One secret left to give. "Dazai-san," he
says. "One last question."

"Yes?"

"Why now? Why wait to reveal the story today? You told me you finished your last piece several
months ago."

Why today of all days?

"Ah," Dazai presses out another tight smile. "Baki. She passed away three days ago."

Atsushi blinks, the world coming to a stop for a few oddly peaceful moments, even if the wind
continues to blow around them. Their dog. He wonders how that must feel for Dazai… to lose a
creature that symbolized his promise to Chuuya.

Across from him, Dazai's expression almost looks… freed. Light. Excited.

Atsushi's brows furrow. Could that mean that Dazai is going to…?

No.

No, right?

"Dazai-san, are you going to be okay?" he finds himself asking out loud. Screw being awkwardly
blunt. Sometimes there are things that matter more than etiquette and finesse.

"Don't worry, Atsushi-kun. I will be just fine."

Dazai's mother passes away two years after Chuuya. He buries her next to his father in Yokohama.

Yuan marries Kunikida.

Yuan gets a second child. Dazai is the third person who gets to hold the little girl.

Yosano's career thrives for many more years until she gets a sudden stroke and dies in her sleep
when she's fifty.
2003

The sound of burbling water gets interrupted by an energetic bark. Baki noses Dazai's leg,
demanding him to throw the stick again for the tenth time. She's ten years old and as enthusiastic as
ever — naturally. As to be expected from someone named after a god of calamity. Chuuya was
thinking in the right direction back then.

Smart chibi.

"I'm tired, Baki," Dazai huffs after another round of fetch. "How about you sit down, and I tell you
a story instead?"

Staring expectantly at him, she barks. Nope. Baki wants to play.

"I do not argue with four-legged friends. Story or nothing, Baki."

After another minute of silent pleading, Baki lets out a resigned woof and sits down in front of him,
nuzzling her snout against his shin.

Satisfied, Dazai smiles and motions to the water fountain. "See, it all started here...in 1974..."

Atsushi barely registers the ride home. One moment, he's entering the subway, finding an empty
seat next to the window; the next, he's standing in front of his door, feeling... empty.

It feels like he just finished a book — a book in which he got way too attached to the characters
and is now left with a world of impressions and feelings and absolutely no way to go back.

Dazai's story should have come with a warning, Atsushi thinks somewhat bitterly, even if that
would have probably made for a very different.

The door swings open, revealing Ryuu wearing a plain grey t-shirt, crossing his arms in front of his
chest with a blank stare, and Gin curiously peeking out from behind the door.

"Why are you just gaping at the door, Jinko? Come in."

"How'd it go?" Gin asks.

Atsushi smiles. This is his little family. His friends. His circle that will one day be included in a
story, maybe not as great and large as Dazai's, hopefully with way fewer tragedies, but a story
worth telling nonetheless. Despite their differences in opinions, their stupid rivalries, and the
occasional fights, Atsushi loves them. More than anything else in this world. "It was… interesting,
to say the least."

"What's that supposed to mean, huh?" Ryuu mutters as Atsushi shrugs out of his jacket, trying to
find words that could possibly do Dazai and Chuuya justice. "What did the old man tell you?"

"A tragedy in three acts."

Dazai sets down the glass with a dizzying warmth spreading through his chest in gentle, rolling
waves. As he makes himself comfortable, resting his cheek on the pillow and looking at the side of
the bed that had once been occupied by a short, tempered man with eyes the color of the sea in
France, he tries to remember what it was that Chuuya last said when they were lying here, and he
died in Dazai's arms.
 It was something normal, something so easy to overhear that Dazai never even registered it would
be the very last time he would ever hear Chuuya speak.

Dazai doesn't remember, and even though that fact burns like searing fire in his throat, he can't help
but smile and sink into the drowsy feeling of fog swallowing him. It doesn't matter anymore
because…

"I've been waiting for this," Dazai whispers into the darkness that falls over him when he closes his
eyes. "I'm coming home, Chuuya."

Two weeks later, one day before the release of the article with Dazai's story, Atsushi finds himself
in the dusty office of the orphanage. He asked the assistant director if he could have a look around,
and here he is now, searching for some evidence, some sort of trace of the man that was Chuuya.

Not only because Atsushi wants to feed his own curiosity, but because he's supposed to be present
at Dazai's memorial as he was one of the last people who talked to him, and right now, he needs to
reassure himself of something.

Dazai committed suicide the very next day after the interview. According to the police record, he
swallowed a lethal dose of sleeping pills with a few glasses of gin. He was found in his bed. The
same place that his husband died sixteen years ago.

Atsushi spent a good hour sobbing into Ryuu's chest after he heard the news, guilt, and regret
gnawing at him like an insatiable beast because he should have known. He should have known
what Dazai would do the moment Dazai told him that Baki had died and offered him a peaceful
smile in farewell. And he should have done something to stop it.

Then came the anger because it was unfair, so freaking unfair to place all that unwarranted weight
on Atsushi's shoulders.

The news that Dazai had been suffering from liver failure a few days later softened Atsushi's anger
into something gentle and confusing because, in the end, Dazai got what he always wanted, right?
To be with Chuuya again. To have that day at the beach over and over as it's the place where both
of their ashes were scattered.

After several minutes of awkward digging, Atsushi finds his relief in a framed photograph, barely
visible because it's hidden by a few dozen books in front of it. It shows a black and white picture of
a young man with long, curly hair and bangs. He's walking towards something in the distance, but
his torso is turned towards the camera. His eyes closed. Smiling. Brighter than the sun.

The End.

Chapter End Notes

... and here we are.

This fic was only supposed to be half of the size of what it is now, and I never planned
to be so sad lol but I am absolutely devastated and idk about you guys but I am going
to cry myself to sleep tonight lmao. I know it took me ages, but hey, we still made it.
Thank you to everyone who read this and who supported me, whether it was by
 leaving kudos or a nice comment. It means the world to me. Thank you <3

EDIT:this fic now has gorgeous art by mafachee lluvproof and circusfable <3

End Notes

find me on twitter and obviously i'd love to hear your thoughts i'm an attention whore if i
don't get any i shrivel up and die (but of course that's up to you please don't feel pressured)

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