A glimpse of what's beneath
.
There is a strange sort of peace in coming home late after a successful mission.
This part of Yokohama is quiet; there are few people on the barely lit street, and most of them are tired too. They don't pay attention to the two figures dragging their feet next to each other that can barely conceal their yawns. Only a cat stares at them from its spot under a parked car, eyes glinting in the darkness.
That's probably the reason Kunikida doesn't recoil when Dazai takes his hand almost cautiously, somewhat expecting his partner to not consider this moment private enough to accept the gesture.
But Kunikida's fingers curl around his and squeeze tightly, the frown between his eyebrows smoothing out the tiniest bit. Dazai smiles, pleased with this silent reciprocity; for a minute he closes his eyes, lets Kunikida lead the way.
At least until his partner mutters streetlamp, which doesn't necessarily mean Dazai is about to walk into one, but makes him look around and confirm Kunikida is still there, taking his hand and glancing at him with a half amused, half perplexed raised eyebrow.
Dazai's smile grows wider.
It's in these moments when he allows himself to think about Odasaku, to reach for the matchbox in his pocket and silently thank his friend for pointing out the path he doesn't really believe he'll ever get used to. Even in his last moments his friend was right, infuriatingly so: the Armed Detective Agency is not enough to even begin to fill the void in his chest, and small boy in him feels like crying out of helplessness because he's scared Odasaku was right and nothing will ever be.
But there is still something Odasaku didn't talk about. Being on the side that saves people may not be the reason Dazai so desperately seeks, but it– it gives him strength to keep searching, in a way he never imagined when he left the Port Mafia.
And then there's Kunikida. With an ideal that is as naïve as it is dangerous, his love for tidiness and order and his peculiar way of caring through reprimands.
An entirely different matter.
Kunikida lets go of Dazai's hand when they reach his house, opens the door and gestures for Dazai to step in first.
"Such a gentleman," Dazai teases, kicking his shoes off. One of Kunikida's hits his calf as the door closes behind them, but then his arms sneak around Dazai's waist from behind and bring him close and the warm embrace when Dazai finds his back pressed against his partner's chest makes him forget what he was about to say next.
"And here I thought you would stay quiet all night."
Dazai brings his hand to his chest, turns his head to look at Kunikida's worn out expression over his shoulder.
"I'm never too tired to make your life livelier," he declares solemnly, tone serious.
Kunikida huffs against his lips. "How considerate."
Dazai smiles, turns around in his partner's arms to face him and place his hands on Kunikida's shoulders as their lips meet. He may never admit it, but getting somewhere nobody sees them melting against each other and not having other worries in mind is one of the main reasons he wants to solve cases as quickly and efficiently as possible these days.
"Oh, by the way, Kunikida-kun," Dazai mutters, drawing back. "I'll shower first."
"Like hell," Kunikida grumbles, but doesn't stop Dazai from breaking free from his embrace. "You take forever to get rid of your bandages and then mummify yourself again."
Dazai raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth, feigning pain. "Me? How can you say such things? You use up all the hot water!"
"Well, it's my house," Kunikida reasons.
Dazai turns around, steps further into the hall, stops. "We could also take a bath together."
He is both glad and upset he can't see Kunikida's expression, but he does hear the sharp intake of air behind him.
A whole minute passes with the two of them silent; Dazai wants to break it, even if it means laughing his suggestion off and pretending he didn't just fail to make it sound casual, but Kunikida regains his voice first:
"Don't you mind?"
Dazai shrugs, still not turning around. At least he knows his partner doesn't get the wrong idea from his words; they already had a conversation about intimacy and what he's willing to do and where the limits are.
(It's not like Kunikida, the very embodiment of respect and correctness, would even think about ignoring those boundaries.)
But truth is Dazai minds, a lot more than he probably should. While he has never felt particularly self-conscious about his body, there is a reason he would rather be called a bandage-wasting device than give anyone the chance to pity him. He doesn't want Kunikida to look at him with sympathy, like the majority of the few people who have ever seen the skin he hides so carefully.
Then again, Kunikida isn't like the majority of people. And Dazai has been mulling over this for long enough to be sure the potential pros outweigh the cons. And Kunikida might look at him in many different ways afterwards, but knowing there won't be pity is certainly soothing.
"Do you?" he eventually replies. His arm swings back blindly and finds an unexpected comfort when Kunikida's hand catches his wrist; he doesn't find any resistance as he leads the way to the bathroom.
.
As he watches the growing pile of bandages at Dazai's feet, slightly blurry due to the steam and the glasses he's left on the sink, Kunikida wonders, not for the first time, whether his partner's actual ability is turning into a mummy every full moon or something.
Already submerged to his shoulders, his eyes drift to Dazai's slim form. It's not the first time he's naked in front of Kunikida, but actually seeing his body is different. Although he's facing the bathtub, Dazai seems more focused on getting rid of the bandages; Kunikida suspects it's not casual, but he's more fascinated by the growing patches of skin peeking from beneath the fabric.
Dazai's skin there is painfully pale after years without seeing the sunlight; Kunikida's fingers curl underwater out of impatience and curiosity for wanting to know if it's as smooth as it looks. A frown makes its way between his eyebrows, though, as more bandages are removed.
It wasn't like he had imagined something completely different from what he sees, but it still tightens his stomach.
When the last bandage falls to the floor Dazai looks at him, a small smile Kunikida can't decipher on his lips. It could be shyness, regret, apprehension, relief, all of them or none– there are too many things Dazai still keeps to himself. But he walks to the bathtub, steps deliberately slow and silent under his naked body, gets in and kicks Kunikida's legs until he pulls them up against his chest.
"Not pretty, huh?" he comments, sitting down in front of Kunikida.
Kunikida doesn't know how to answer. Partly because Dazai is right –his porcelain skin shouldn't be marred by all those marks–, but also because he is truly speechless right now; he knows this is important to Dazai and he is still trying to process his partner trusts him enough to share what feels like a secret.
"I think I don't want to ask about it," is what he eventually replies. Dazai doesn't move, but Kunikida can swear his shoulders are so tense they are about to snap. "Can I touch you?" he can't help but blurt out, though.
Dazai raises his eyebrows in honest surprise, tilts his head to the side. No gesture can conceal the faint blush painting his cheeks, though.
"Sure," he mumbles, blinking his confusion away. He does this sometimes and Kunikida is afraid one of these days his heart will forget to keep beating at the sight. He hopes his hair covers his red ears. "If you want to."
After breathing deeply, Kunikida stretches his arms and legs, pulls at Dazai's wrists to bring him close. Without the bandages he can feel the relief of former cuts under his fingers, but he doesn't comment on it.
"I learnt to try to commit suicide by less obvious methods too late," Dazai explains once he's comfortable between Kunikida's legs, shuddering when Kunikida runs his index along a scar on the base of his neck. "Though that one is actually from a fight with Chuuya."
Kunikida frowns. "I thought you were partners."
"That doesn't mean we were friends. I set his wardrobe on fire, so he got really angry," Dazai recalls. "I was trying to do him a favour; his fashion sense really threatened to ruin his reputation. And mine too, since we had an awful lot of missions together back then," he whines.
Kunikida tries not to laugh; he hides his smile in Dazai's hair. He probably shouldn't empathise with a serial murderer, but dealing with Dazai is an experience that transcends good and evil.
"You break every law of probability by just being alive," he huffs; there is more fondness than expected in his tone.
"Unfortunately. Fell down the stairs," Dazai adds when Kunikida's hand comes to rest on his thigh.
Kunikida didn't ask.
He doesn't ask about the dark patches on Dazai's abdomen, either, or about what looks like the imprint of fingers around his throat; yet Dazai mutters an explanation for each anyway, alternating them with kisses as his muscles begin to relax under Kunikida's curious fingers. He either hurt himself –be it purposefully or on accident– or was injured by the enemy during his time in the Port Mafia to get those marks, and it makes Kunikida sad hearing him admit he doesn't remember the story behind some of them.
There are too many scars. There have been too many wounds.
Kunikida's fingers drum on Dazai's back when the expected explanation doesn't come. He doesn't need it to figure out how those particular scars came to be, but why Dazai refuses to talk about it right after explaining how he broke half his skeleton when he jumped off a bridge certainly makes him curious.
"Relationships stop being fun when people know everything about each other!" Dazai states after a long silence.
Kunikida doesn't reply; instead he keeps caressing his partner's skin. Whatever memory there is behind that feigned cheerfulness is not his business as long as Dazai doesn't want it to.
The light massage, or perhaps the hot water, slowly lulls Dazai to sleep; he leans his head on Kunikida's shoulder, voice less sharp and words slurring together before subsiding as his breathing slows down. His fingers are loosely curled around Kunikida's elbow, eyelashes eventually stilling their brush against his partner's clavicle.
It's easily the most intimate act Kunikida has ever been part of, and he's scared of even breathing too loudly so not to break the moment. It's not even remotely sexual, and there is no but because Dazai's bare skin against his, this bath and his partner's willingness to let him not only watch, but also touch pieces of his past, is much more than he would have ever dared ask for.
When the water starts getting cold Kunikida wakes Dazai up so they actually bathe before catching a cold. Afterwards, upon seeing Dazai is dozing off even standing, Kunikida helps his partner wrap himself in bandages, lends him an old set of clothes and allows him to cling to his arm when they practically fall face first on the bed.
"That was nice," Dazai whispers in the darkness.
"Hm?"
"Nothing. Tomorrow you make breakfast."
Kunikida snorts, but either Dazai has already fallen asleep (not likely) or he's pretending he is (highly probable). His messy hair falls over his eyes, but the small smile Kunikida has seen before in the bathroom dances on his lips again, and its meaning is suddenly ridiculously clear.
He kisses his partner's forehead, closes his eyes and tries to make himself as comfortable as he can without disturbing Dazai, who is still grabbing his arm.
"Good night, Kunikida-kun."
A sigh escapes Kunikida's lips.
Trust, huh?
He doesn't know why Dazai trusts him so much, isn't sure why he trusts that walking disaster so much, but he's glad they do.