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Chuuya knew it would come to this.
The man stared out through the window of the airplane he was seated in, running a hand through his hair. His other hand clutched a piece of paper. Crumpled and torn, it threatened to break apart between his fingers.
Of course, that didn’t matter. Chuuya already knew what the paper said. He’d read it over and over on the nights leading up to his departure, at first in disbelief, then in horror.
The night before, he’d balled up the paper and sent it pinging around the room️, finally landing back in his hands. He’d yelled in rage and slammed himself against the wall, sinking to the floor as if he were a rock, tossed away into the ocean.
With the orders he had been given, he might as well have been tossed away, just like a rock.
Wipe out the enemy. Leave no survivors.
That part, that part didn’t worry Chuuya. He could do that any time. Hell, he did that every day. But the last two words of the assignment made his heart stop in his chest.
Use Corruption.
Chuuya let go of the crumpled paper, letting it bounce to the floor and roll underneath the seat in front of him. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, knowing that the bags under his eyes had only gotten worse.
A voice entered his head, singsong and slightly whiny. Chuuya, it said, when did you last sleep?
Chuuya leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. I don’t know, shut up, you piece of-
It hit him, then, that the voice was his voice.
Dazai’s voice.
Chuuya threw his fist into the seat next to him, which was thankfully empty. “God damn it!” he yelled. The redhead was trembling, fingertips digging into his hair as he pitched his weight forward and back.
Again and again and again.
The sun outside the window was beginning to set, pinks and oranges dappling the clouds as the fiery star sank below the horizon. A cart of snacks clattered down the aisle between the many airplane seats, and stopped at Chuuya.
“Anything to eat or drink, sir?” The flight attendant’s smile was warm. Chuuya glanced over.
“A bottle of wine, please.” His panic-shot body felt too heavy, too hard to move. He needed to feel more alive.
And in the moment his lips met the side of his glass, the weight of everything - of his job, of his ability, of his panic, and especially, especially the weight of Dazai, still lingering in his head like a broken record - lifted off of him, and for once, he wasn’t the slightest bit bothered as he drifted into an impossibly deep, hazy sleep.
:::
The rest of the flight was uneventful - although Chuuya was asleep for most of it, the few times that he woke up, everything was normal. Not a hair out of place, at least in the case of everyone else. The short man had a vague perception of the fact that he looked drunk (to be fair, he was), but he didn’t exactly grasp how bad his appearance had gotten over the past few weeks until he looked into the airplane-bathroom mirror.
The bags under Chuuya’s eyes had deepened in shade from a light purple to a full-on purplish-black. His cheeks were the deep pink that came with consuming altogether too much alcohol, and his hat was nearly falling off his head. As he reached up to fix it, his hand wavered, finally settling on taking the hat off and combing through his tangled hair.
Bracing both hands on the tiny sink, Chuuya let his head drop between his shoulders. “Get up,” he mumbled. “Get up, Chuuya. You have a job to do. Get up.”
The plane landed just as Chuuya slipped back into his seat, taking another sip of wine as the wheels hit the hard asphalt. Stepping out of the plane, he dropped his small duffel bag and called himself an Uber.
He’d only packed enough things for one night.
He only needed enough things for one night.
Chuuya directed the Uber driver to the south courtyard of the bustling city, walking the rest of the way to his hotel. Shoes clacking in the marble entryway, he checked in and found his room.
That was when it really, truly hit Chuuya, like a sack of bricks to the stomach. All the nights of looking over his assignment, all the lost sleep, all the building panic that he’d buried inside him crashed into the mafioso like a waterfall. He slid against the wall where he’d been standing, hands knotting into his hair as his mind stuck itself onto one thought.
Corruption, but with no way out.
Corruption, but without Dazai to stop me.
His already shaking shoulders pitched up and down harder, hands covering his mouth and muffling his cries.
Corruption,
but I’m going to die.
Chuuya didn’t realize he was crying until the hotel room was swimming, tears overflowing from his eyes and falling in fat drops onto his clothes. He drew in a shaky breath, pulling out his phone.
The contact information was right there, on his screen, right there, but-
Chuuya bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood. It dripped from his mouth and landed on the hotel carpet. The coppery taste made Chuuya gag, knuckles swiping at the cut on his lip. He hazarded a glance at his phone screen again, finger pausing over the call button.
He dropped his phone onto the floor, craning his neck back against the wall. “’Course I can’t call him,” he mumbled, dragging a gloved hand over his face. “He fucking left me, and I think I can still call him asking for help?” Chuuya laughed darkly. “No, he doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. Dazai,” he spits the name like poison, throws it across the room like a knife, “doesn’t need me anymore.”
The words, although they were the truth, stung all the same. Echoing in his head - Dazai left you, Dazai doesn’t need you, Dazai threw you out like you were nothing - the thoughts wrapped around Chuuya, choking him until he gasped for air.
It took him a few moments to realize his phone was ringing.
Picking up the smooth square without thinking, Chuuya pressed the answer button and tried to make his voice sound half-put-together as he managed a “It’s Chuuya, what do you need.” The voice on the other end started talking almost immediately, and it took Chuuya a second to take in that they were asking him a question.
In that moment, he also realized that the voice belonged to one Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.
“Nakahara, where are you? I need to know for...strategy reasons.” Akutagawa coughed.
Chuuya pulled his knees to his chest. “I’m in the south, taking out a small American gang that recently migrated here. It’s…” He paused.
Say it, Chuuya. The sooner you say it the sooner you’ll accept it.
Don’t say it, Chuuya. If you say it then it’s real.
He took a deep breath. “It’s the last mission I’ll be going on. Mori-san ordered me to use Corruption.”
Akutagawa, coughing again, nearly choked. “He told you to use that? Without…” His voice trailed off.
Neither of them said Dazai’s name, but the weight of his absence hung on both of them.
A beeping snapped Chuuya back to attention; Akutagawa had hung up. He never was good at ending phone calls, Chuuya thought as he stood up.
Guess I’m not too good at it either.
:::
Akutagawa’s phone dialing bordered on frantic as he tapped the numbers onto the screen. He’d long since deleted Dazai’s contact information (Higuchi’s idea, not his) but he still knew the older man’s number by heart.
Partially because he swore to himself almost every day that he would never call the suicidal bastard’s number again.
But that night, clock ticking nine p.m., Akutagawa held the phone to his ear and hoped against all hope that Dazai would pick up the phone.
This isn’t for you, he told himself. This isn’t an attempt to have Dazai indebted to you. This isn’t you being desperate to talk to him.
This isn’t for you.
Finally, the phone stopped ringing. “Akutagawa.” Dazai’s voice crackled through the receiver. “You called me for a reason, I assume?” The tone of his voice was cheery with a dark undertone - the dark undertone Akutagawa knew so well.
Even after all this time, Dazai’s voice still froze him to the spot.
“Not me,” he finally said, leaning against the wall. “Nakahara is- er, Chuuya is in a situation that could compromise his well-being.”
Despite the formal way he spoke, Dazai knew there was more to Akutagawa’s words than what was right in front of him. “What kind of situation?” Dazai pried, phone pressed to his ear.
“A solo mission,” the other boy replied. “Mori ordered him to...”
All at once, Dazai’s brain tuned out Akutagawa’s voice as the meaning of the call crashed into Dazai like a truck. “He’s going to use Corruption, isn’t he.”
Akutagawa nodded as if Dazai could see him through the phone. “I have his location, I’ll text it to you, one second--”
“When’s the mission supposed to commence.” It was less of a question than a statement.
Akutagawa bit his lip, fighting the mixture of anger and fear that filled him at Dazai’s cold tone. “At 9:30 p.m.,” he said. “He’s supposed to be in the south.” Dazai looked at his watch. 9:04, it read.
Thank god. I have time, he thought.
Not even sparing Akutagawa a “goodbye”, Dazai hung up and rushed out the door. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was doing - wasn’t sure why, even after so much time, hearing that Chuuya was in trouble awakened some kind of panic in his chest. There was only one thing that he was sure of.
Chuuya was his partner.
And he wasn’t about to let his partner die.
:::
Dazai looked around, out of breath from running through the busy city. “Chuuya!” he yelled, leaning against a tree. “Chuuya, where are...you…”
Just then, he saw the smoke and dust rising from a building nearby. Filled with grim determination, he sprinted into the street. Car horns screamed as Dazai darted through traffic, staring up at the tall building. He watched with mounting horror as a figure plummeted from the clouds, smashing through the skyscraper and sending glass and debris flying.
The slapping of his shoes on the street was the only sound Dazai could hear, ears ringing from the explosion. Scrambling over the rubble, his heart dropped further in his chest every second he couldn’t see the redhead. Thoughts raced through his mind, curling around his throat with whispers of I should have protected him, should have taken him with me, should have done something.
Now, Chuuya’s…
…he’s going to die because of me…!
As if the thought had summoned the redhead, Dazai spotted Chuuya leaning against a collapsed piece of wall. Rushing forward, his hands touched Chuuya’s waist just as the other collapsed into his arms.
“Chuuya. I’m here, Chuuya, I’m right here.” The whispered words bordered on sobs as Dazai slid an arm under Chuuya’s knees and lifted him, suddenly aware of a series of things about the other man that caused Dazai’s breath to catch in his throat.
Chuuya was drenched in blood, and every weak cough he let loose caused more to drop from the corner of his mouth. His ribs dug into Dazai’s chest - had he been eating? sleeping? - and with that Dazai realized that it hardly took any effort to lift Chuuya at all.
The small mafioso had always been light, but never this light.
“Chuuya, oh god…”
Bruise-like marks ringed Chuuya’s eyes, his knuckles were bloody, his fiery hair was tangled, and when his eyelids fluttered open Dazai saw that the other man’s eyes were unfocused, clouded with pain.
It drove a spike through his chest to see Chuuya like this.
“D...Dazai…?” Chuuya’s voice was broken, breath coming in shallow gasps as he raised a hand to touch Dazai’s face. “It’s...really you, I...thought you….” Tears dripped from Chuuya’s eyes as Dazai laid him down in the shell of the destroyed building. Blood had begun to seep through Chuuya’s clothing, the man having abandoned the suit in favor of a t-shirt and faded black jeans.
“Shh, Chuuya. I’m here, right here, and I won’t leave. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Dazai murmured. His hands reached for Chuuya’s arm, noticing the deep lacerations that came with using Corruption for too long. Chuuya sucked in a breath, gritting his teeth against the pain.
“I’m gonna stitch up your cuts, alright? It’s going to hurt, so-” Dazai broke off to fold his tie and place it between Chuuya’s teeth. “Don’t bite your tongue off.” Pulling a needle and thread from his pocket, Dazai held Chuuya’s arm firmly and began sewing.
The moment the needle touched him, Chuuya screamed. His free hand grabbed Dazai’s shoulder, whimpering through the other man’s tie. His eyes, filled with tears, silently begged Dazai for mercy.
What Chuuya didn’t expect was for Dazai to be crying too.
“I’m sorry, Chuuya,” he whispered as he stitched the other man’s pale arm back together. “I come back after- what, weeks? Months? And the first thing I do is hurt you. Chuuya, I’m so sorry.”
By the time the first cut is fully sewn up, Chuuya is curled on the floor.
By the second, he’s letting out small whines of pain and clutching Dazai’s shirt so hard he just might break his already-bleeding hands.
By the third, Dazai’s stitches had become sloppier, and Chuuya’s cries have mounted into full-on sobs, shaking his fragile frame until the redhead can barely breathe.
“No...no more, Dazai…” Chuuya’s voice is shattered, every syllable that leaves his bloodied lips an effort. His hands grasp weakly at Dazai’s shirt, burying his face in the taller man’s chest.
Chuuya doesn’t know exactly when Dazai picks him back up, but he knows that the feeling of a bandaged arm under his knees and another encircling his torso feels nice, or at least bearable. He knows that the murmured words that spill from Dazai’s lips are for him, he knows that the hum of the city is almost soothing to his ears, and he knows that sitting in the back of a taxi with his head in Dazai’s lap and Dazai’s hands carding through his hair is comforting - it feels like home.
Dazai feels like home.
Chuuya doesn’t know exactly when he drifts off, but the sleep he enters is like blankets and brown sugar, like a thumb brushing over his lips, like mumbled apologies.
He doesn’t know when, but for once he just doesn’t care.
:::
Dazai pushed open the door to his apartment, Chuuya half-asleep in his arms. The redhead’s fingers, still coated in blood, gripped the fabric of Dazai’s shirt. Curling into the taller man, Chuuya was mumbling incoherently, grasping tighter to Dazai as he carried Chuuya towards the couch. Dazai set Chuuya down and darted out of the room to find some clean clothes for Chuuya to wear - the blood that soaked his shirt was beginning to dry, and Dazai still had to treat the other wounds Chuuya had gotten.
When Dazai returned, Chuuya had rolled over, and Dazai couldn’t help but notice just how prominent Chuuya’s ribs were, how the ridges of his spine stood out beneath Chuuya’s crimson-dyed shirt. Chuuya’s changed, Dazai thought, reaching to brush some of the half-conscious man’s hair out of his face. Slipping an arm under Chuuya’s back, Dazai picked the smaller man up again and walked to the bathroom, setting him down in the bath. Peeling the blood-soaked clothes off of Chuuya’s body, Dazai took in the bruises and wounds scattered across Chuuya’s chest and stomach.
Something twisted inside Dazai as Chuuya’s eyes opened, still unfocused. “You...came back….” Chuuya mumbled, breaking off to drag in a breath that sent spikes of pain through his lungs. “Thought you left...for good….”
Dazai gave a weak smile as he began to clean Chuuya’s wounds. “Silly Chuuya,” he said. “I could never leave you.” Dazai trailed off. Underneath his hands, Chuuya winced as the washcloth Dazai was using dragged over a deep tear in the flesh of his stomach.
The hiss of pain that Chuuya let out echoed in the bathroom, the shorter man suddenly aware of everything around him. It hit him that he was in Dazai’s bathroom, the tiled floor stained with blood. His blood. His hair, tangled, with Dazai’s hands combing through it. His skin, ripped and scarred, with Dazai’s hands running across it. A small sigh escaped Chuuya’s lips and he sank further into the bathtub.
After a while, Dazai reached to envelop Chuuya’s body with his own again. Although Chuuya gave a small whimper when Dazai picked him up, the warmth of the taller man’s body soothed Chuuya’s pain. Drowsily, the redhead realized that the relief he felt might be attributed to Dazai’s ability as well - if he focused hard, he could feel the subtle undercurrent of No Longer Human running across his skin. The feeling was… comforting, Chuuya thought. His hands tightened on Dazai’s shirt as he was laid down on a bed. His eyes fluttered open and shut, struggling to hold on to consciousness as Dazai pulled away.
Chuuya frowned at the loss of the other man’s warmth. The hands that were knotted in Dazai’s shirt moved to grab the sheets of the bed, fingers grasping at white silk. “Dazai…” he whispered, his voice shaking.
“I’m here, Chuuya.” Dazai’s thumb brushed Chuuya’s cheek, his other hand holding a bundle of fabric. “I’m here,” he repeated. Moving to wrap his arms around Chuuya’s waist and helping him sit up, he dressed the other man in a pair of clean underwear and a shirt that hung off of Chuuya’s frame.
He pulled Chuuya’s arms through the shirt, buttoning it up around the other man’s scarred chest. Draping the sheets over Chuuya’s form, he turned to the door.
A hand caught his sleeve, pulling him closer until his face was inches apart from Chuuya’s.
From here, Dazai could see the purplish-black marks under Chuuya’s eyes, the small twitch of his eyelashes against his cheeks. He could see Chuuya’s lips part to murmur two words.
“Osamu, stay….”
Chuuya’s hands moved to Dazai’s hair, tangling themselves in brown locks and pulling Dazai down, down, into the bed next to him. “Stay…” he repeated, voice still hoarse. “...please….”
Dazai wrapped his arms around Chuuya, the other man resting his head in the crook of Dazai’s neck.
The two stayed there until morning, limbs tangled and light from the sunrise outside Dazai’s window spilling across their sleeping forms. Chuuya, in the buttery yellow light, with Dazai’s lips pressed to his forehead as the brunet mumbled a “good morning”, couldn’t deny the truth that he had always known.
Dazai was his home, and he was Dazai’s, and they were meant to be together like two twin flames, casting two twin shadows.
And both of them knew it.