root in the shadows
.
I don't want to go on like a root in the shadows,
hesitating, feeling forward, trembling with dream,
down down into the dank guts of the earth,
soaking it up and thinking, eating every day.
— Pablo Neruda, 'Walking Around'
"Oi. You piece of shit. Look at me."
For a split second, Dazai had the audacity to wonder how Chuuya could tell he was awake when nothing about his body language or heart monitor gave it away.
"Don't fucking ignore me, you prick," Chuuya continued, throat rough as if he was chewing stones. "You think I can't tell when you're conscious? After how long I've known you, I could consider it a survival instinct."
Ah. Of course, this was Chuuya.
Dazai opened his eyes to blindingly white ceiling tiles, blinked, opened them again to an equally bright shade of orange. The sweatpants were a surprise. The hat, while expected, was still quite disappointing to find.
"Chibi is too cruel, subjecting me to his tacky accessorising in a situation like this…"
Chuuya was not wearing his usual tailored apparel, sitting cross-legged in a cramped plastic seat that squeaked with his every breath. There was a noodle stain near the waistline and his thin t-shirt hung loosely around his collarbones. None of it matched his hat; Dazai suspected there was not a single scrap of clothing in the world that could redeem such a horrible thing. Nonetheless! It was worth mentioning that this outfit shone a particularly bad light on it.
It was hard to believe he was allowing other people to see him in such a state.
"Get fucked," said Chuuya flatly, after generously allowing Dazai to look his fill. His chair shrieked as he reached over to grab a cup of water.
Leaping on the opportunity, Dazai remarked, "You're too heavy to bunch up on the poor chair like that, you know — even though you're small enough to fit. It'll break under the strain."
Chuuya, tone like he was making a mental note and underlining it twice: "Piece of shit." Also Chuuya, holding the cup to his cheek, thin plastic trembling under his fingers. "Drink or die."
That silly tsundere. Dazai wondered, tone mild, "Too soon, isn't it? How insensitive," but accepted the cup anyway. His mouth felt sour and dry, thought notably not in the way it usually tasted after an attempt that required a stomach pump. Which this definitely had. "Did Chuuya brush my teeth?"
Chuuya's eyes shifted around, struggling to look at him. "A first for you, I bet. You have, like, seven cavities, by the way."
"Haaah, what's this, who knew you could be such a loyal dog! Do it more often please!"
"What? The only time I'm touching your teeth after this is when I'm knocking them out."
"Eh, so violent!" Dazai grinned into the cup, finishing his water promptly. "My smile is my most charming point! How could you target it?"
"Anything that would keep you from talking shit is definitely a priority," Chuuya sneered. He ripped the cup away from Dazai's mouth and threw it in a bin over his shoulder. He was certainly following the script well. Yet, despite how it might have looked, the petite mafia was clearly having trouble finding the groove in their conversation. But that was expected — he had to be tired. Considering when it all went down, Chuuya would have received the call sometime around four in the morning: right at the tail end of work. He wouldn't have bothered resting or showering before coming to his aide.
"Has my chibi protected me while I was sleeping?" Dazai poked at his knee. The sight of his scarred arm popping out of the blanket was a hard one to endure. "Like a good dwarf guarding Snow White. The angry one. Grumpy?"
A grunt. Chuuya swatted at his wandering hand. "Shut up. Yeah, I did. There's at least five organisations in this area alone that would jump at the chance to finish you off. If I wasn't here, you never would have woken up, and the nerds you hang out with would probably blame me for that. I don't have the time to squash another war under my thumb."
Guard dogs will do what guard dogs do. Chuuya was being so predictably routine right now that it was embarrassing to remember that this was what Dazai's ex-partner amounted to. He sighed dramatically, "You're losing your touch. I guess the uniform standards of the Port Mafia have changed since I defected, too?"
Perhaps not the wisest comment to make when already hospitalised: Chuuya seemed moments away from hitting him for daring to slander the Mafia name. In the end, he wisely ignore the bait, tugging self-consciously at the ratty material of his t-shirt. He begrudgingly explained, "I slept here. Ane-san brought my clothes. I didn't leave."
"I see. Did she come in?"
"No. She didn't bother asking for details either."
Dazai laughed. Yes, because Kouyou's mind would need to twist itself into knots wondering why her brother was called to a hospital on non-mafia related business. No doubt she was off somewhere with Hirotsu-san, drinking tea and feeling nostalgic. "Did you call in sick for me too, partner? You know Mori-san wouldn't like that."
"I don't even— what does the Boss have to do with this, shitty mackerel?" The red-head muttered, picking up a lock of hair hanging in front of his eyes and carefully tucking it away. He rubbed his fingertips together afterwards, a faint grimace on his face. "Whatever. You're awake. I'll call the nurse and we can get a move on. I hate it here."
"I am so looking forward to it," said Dazai. "I hope chibi will take the opportunity to wash his greasy hair as my fragile mental state is prodded and pitied by middle-aged women. I can smell you from here."
Chuuya unfolded his legs, standing with a low groan, knees cracking. So old. Really though, he should ease up on that ability of his before it ground his bones into dust. "You're smelling yourself, idiot. Don't cause trouble while I'm gone."
Genuinely curious, Dazai asked, "Or what?"
Or he'll hit him? Threaten to strangle him? Kick him off the bed?
Chuuya was a beast, so it stood to reason that any threat that came out of his mouth would involve violence; unfortunately, Dazai's most hated sensation in the world was one that Chuuya was uniquely gifted at dispensing. So pain would definitely follow, it's just a matter of how tired Chuuya was and how pitiful Dazai looked unwrapped on a smelly hospital bed, fresh from an entirely deliberate overdose, that determined what method he would choose.
A satisfied glint in his eyes, Chuuya told him, "Or I'll make you explain why I'm still your next-of-kin after four fucking years of nothing, you suicidal bastard."
As merciless as ever.
Chuuya's sentinel position by the door, expression blank as he suffered through a lecture on how to monitor Dazai's mental health, was a far cry from his reaction the first time this sort of thing happened. Or the second. Or third. In fact, it took double-digits for Chuuya to realise what creature he was working against.
His ex-partner had rather streamlined the process these days.
He appeared where he was needed, waiting for Dazai to wake up before taking him home. Sure, other stuff happened in-between, but that was the jist of it. By design, it made Chuuya into a most attractive prospect for an emergency contact and exactly why he was listed as Dazai's next-of-kin.
In an ideal world, perhaps Chuuya never would have looked twice at someone like Dazai Osamu. He could have carried on with his life unbothered by lazy partners who played mind games and insulted his taste in clothes. Instead, in this miserable reality, Chuuya was someone who changed his very essence to keep Dazai comfortable.
Head against the rumbling car window, Dazai stewed in his thoughts. At this rate, caught between Atsushi-kun, Akutagawa-kun, and now with Chuuya, he was racking up quite the emotional toll. It was exhausting having to confront the person he used to be and reconciling that with the person he wanted to be. It had better be worth the effort. Of course, Dazai wouldn't know until he went through with it, and there was merit to the struggle one endured on their way to the final destination. But at times, it truly tested Dazai's willpower.
Slightly unnerved by the quiet, Chuuya began drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
He'd driven his stupid bug-like car down to the hospital, aware that Dazai would be in no state to hold on securely if he brought his preferred motorbike. It's interior was as uniquely unlikable as its owner. Dazai ignored the drum-beat sound of his fingers. Then Chuuya cleared his throat, so he had to ignore that too. "Why are you sulking," Chuuya eventually asked, pressured into using actual words this time. He was scowling. "Oi, don't tell me you're thinking of throwing yourself out the car again."
"Don't be ridiculous. I know Chuuya activated the child-lock."
His eyebrow inched up. "Like you couldn't figure it out?"
Dazai fogged up the window with his breath, drawing a little stick person standing next to a significantly taller stick figure. After a moment of consideration, he drew a matching tiny hat. He idly complained, "Road burn hurts and I doubt a driver would kindly run over my skull as an act of mercy. I won't jump. Maybe the chibi should settle down, he is so paranoid these days that his tiny heart will collapse."
"My heart," was repeated with a vague air of discomfort. Chuuya's face communicated what his tone could not. "I'm not gonna argue with you, misfit. Just tell me where you live so I can throw you out and move on with the rest of my life."
It was a temptation that lesser men would take. That wouldn't do. "I can't tell you that. I live in the Agency dorms." Chuuya's nose wrinkled at the word 'dorm', because he was the kind of person who owned a wine closet. These days, at least. "That would endanger my coworkers. We should go to one of yours."
He barked out a mean kind of laugh. Completely unamused, Chuuya said, "I am not compromising a safehouse for you."
"Why not? I already know where all of them are."
"Not all of them."
"Yes, all of them. You're thinking about the house at Iwaki River, aren't you? Kashimura-kun's purchase? I found out about it last year."
"...I'm still not taking you to one of my safehouses. Quit it. Just tell me where to drop you off."
No, that wouldn't do at all. Dazai lifted his head from the window, turning to look at Chuuya's sharp profile. He kept his voice light. "I don't understand why I can't go to your penthouse in Hodogaya. A shower would be nice. It's not like you've moved, so I wouldn't be compromising anyone's safety."
Chuuya hit the brakes extra hard at the next red light, throwing Dazai forward in his seat and nearly causing him to smack his head against the dashboard.
The mafioso tore his eyes away from the road to glare at him, gearing up for a furious and non-negotiable rejection. "I still have clothes there, don't I?" Dazai interrupted. The other man froze. "Come on, Chuuya~ I need to wash up! Your place is closest! Surely you'll open your doors to me one last time? Pleeease?"
It took some time for Chuuya to mentally work through his anger. It was simple enough to let him. "I moved," was what he went with in the end, hoarse and dazed.
"You did not," Dazai said. Really. He could at least try.
"My place is monitored."
"Mori-san and Kouyou-san already know you're with me. You have nothing to lose."
Chuuya's ears were turning red. "I have everything to lose by associating with you."
"That's true," Dazai agreed, mild. "You can say no. I won't force you."
A driver behind them leaned on their car horn as a friendly reminder that they were still on the road. Chuuya jumped back to attention, accelerating forward with an urgency that implied he wanted to get out of the vehicle as soon as possible. Dazai waited for him to say something. But he didn't.
Clearly uncomfortable, Chuuya quickly nodded his agreement. He then refused to look away from the road for the rest of the ride. As this suited Dazai's purposes quite well, further convincing him of his duty, he allowed it, staring out the window himself, taking in the passing lights.
It was hard not to indulge in a quick nap; Dazai knew this route like the back of his hand, so there was nothing new to see. Chuuya also would not allow work to follow him home. Here, in this small car with an even smaller man, was as close to safe as any Yokohama ward could claim to be.
A stifling elevator ride later found them taking off their shoes together in the genkan of Chuuya's flagrantly expensive penthouse suite.
Chuuya finished first, lining his loafers up neatly before switching out for a pair of well-worn slippers. He stormed off quickly. Dazai looked around for a guest pair and promptly whined upon finding none. "Do you expect me to walk around your fancy apartment barefoot, Chuuya~?"
Reappearing from a bedroom with an armful of slippers, Chuuya dumped them on the floor. "They get in the way otherwise," He explained away his lack of hospitality. The experience worsened when Dazai attempted to put on a pair, only for it to be childishly kicked out of the way by the shorter man, who was gleefully spitting on every societal expectation for hosts that might have existed purely to amuse himself. Chuuya threw his head back and cackled at his growing frustration. After catching his breath, he said, "You need to wash up first. I don't want your filthy self contaminating my place."
"Hmm, sure. What do I do about what I'm wearing now?"
"Roll them up and stuff them in a bag. You could also throw them out a window. Hell, burn them for all I care, but you're not using my washing machine so forget about it." Chuuya efficiently closed the doors to those options before Dazai could think to bring them up. "Go now before you start attracting flies. I'll leave something for you to wear out."
Dazai, being a patient and gracious guest, made sure to show his gratitude appropriately. "Thank you so much for taking me in, my petite mafia!"
Well, most of the time he was. Since this was Chuuya, he attempted to pat his head to reward him for his good behaviour — narrowly dodging a kick that would have broken his arm.
The actual shower was a refreshing necessity.
While Dazai certainly had ulterior motives for appearing tonight, he was telling the truth about wanting to be clean. He overindulged in Chuuya's everlasting hot water, used way too much of his expensive shampoo, and squeezed out the entire contents of his conditioner down the drain. He finished by boiling himself alive in the bathtub for ten minutes.
Chuuya made a token attempt to cut him off before he could truly cook by hammering on the door. "Get the fuck out already, you selfish prick! Steaming like a fish in there! What the hell are you doing?"
"Alright, alright~ I'm just enjoying the luxury, there's nothing wrong with that!" Dazai called back, sinking deeper into the water. There was a blue box of therapeutic bath salts sitting on the nearby window sill. He emptied it into the tub and swirled the little grains around with his foot until they dissolved. "I'll be out in a second. You're a bad host, did you know? Kouyou-san would be disappointed in your performance!"
The door rattled on its hinges. The expected yelling did not follow. Quietly annoyed, Chuuya merely said, "She would not," with all the petulance of his teenage self and walked away.
Like that, Dazai managed to get away with another fifteen minutes before Chuuya came back again.
The next time he didn't bother with maintaining boundaries.
With the taut silence of someone way past the point of fury, Chuuya slammed the door open and bodily dragged Dazai out of the tub. Soaking wet and utterly bare, he was dumped on a shaggy rug and left to dry.
Luckily, Chuuya left a pile of linen close by. A towel and some folded black clothing. Chuuya kindly placed a hairbrush on top of it all. Dazai disregarded it to pick up the shirt. "Will this fit me?" He snapped the fabric around skeptically. "Wait, is this really mine? Did you keep my old clothes? For real?"
Chuuya's voice came from the bathroom. "With any luck, it won't fit at all and the collar will strangle you to death. It would spare me the trouble of doing it myself."
"Really? You're too kind, helping me to achieve my ideal suicide. If you actually want to help, you could find me a beautiful woman—"
A small cupboard was shut. Chuuya threw a bag at him from the bathroom doorway, visibly disappointed when Dazai smoothly caught it. He curled the side of his lip down. "Can you do me a favour and be anywhere but inside my apartment by the time I finish?"
He slammed the door shut without waiting for a response.
Humming, Dazai turned the bag around in his hand. It was compact and had no distinguishable marks on it. Most likely a repurposed make-up bag; Chuuya upgraded to a bigger one every year to accommodate his poor budgeting skills. It wouldn't make sense for this bag to be full of mascara and foundations, so Dazai shrugged and gave into his curiosity.
Finding it full of fresh bandages in exactly the brand Dazai preferred was… a sure sign of lunacy. Contagious, perhaps. He felt light-headed as he pulled out a new roll and started the uniform process of wrapping himself back up.
It could not be repeated enough: his Chuuya really was an idiot.
A waft of aromatic steam followed Chuuya out of the hallway. His wine-red hair dripped onto the towel around his shoulders, being carefully dabbed dry by the pedantic little man. He allowed himself to get lost in the task to the point where he startled himself with the sight of Dazai perched on his sofa. "You!" He barked in disbelief. "Didn't I tell you to piss off already?"
"You did," Dazai admitted. He couldn't just leave. "I must say, while your sofa's metallic insides provide fantastic lumbar support, I do not find it very comfortable. I have to declare it a disgrace on that reason alone. I couldn't sleep here if my life depended on it."
An imaginary list scrolled through Chuuya's head as he decided what point he wanted to shout into submission first. "If that's the case… Shouldn't I like it more? I want you to suffer."
"That puts us in a tricky spot," Dazai rubbed at his chin in thought. "You should try respecting my opinion first and see where that takes us."
"You're full of shit. You are not sleeping here," Chuuya crossed his arms in a huff. "And I want you to stop squatting on my couch like a disgusting frog. You'll break it."
"If I did break it, I would be improving the design, and you would owe me a favour in return."
"I would not? Anyway, that sofa isn't for sitting on, you greasy mummy. It's decorative." Hundreds of thousands of yen spent on a decorative sofa that wasn't even comfortable. Dazai let his thoughts on that shine through. Chuuya pinched his lips tight. "I don't wanna hear it."
Dazai made a low, long noise of doubt. "How much did you pay for the sofa, Chuuya?"
"It's none of your business! I didn't spend much. Relatively. I'm not on your shitty wage, remember? Like, it's definitely not the most expensive thing in here! It was probably no more than you spend annually on bandages because you're a useless vagabond. I'm not discussing my financial choices with you, what the fuck," Chuuya spat rapid-fire, face growing hotter and hotter until finally, he fled into the kitchen. "Didn't I tell you to leave? Why aren't you listening?"
"Why would I listen?"
"Good point, you are a waste of my breath." Clattering sounds came from his direction, drawing Dazai's attention like a moth to flame. He abandoned his perch to investigate.
At the stovetop, Chuuya appeared to be boiling water. There were three instant ramen packets sitting to the side. He was idly muttering, more to himself than anyone else, "I'll call security to grab you if you don't fuck off on your own volition anyway… Not that I couldn't do it… It would be a waste of my time though..."
He said, while preparing enough ramen for two. Dazai deserved awards and accolades for putting up with him.
"Do you have any crab?"
"Huh? I don't eat crab."
"Mmhm," He checked for himself. As he expected, there it was: four cans of fake crab. "Then I'll be taking this."
"Yes. Take it. Leave." Chuuya said slowly. He was so annoying. Dazai suffered through it bravely. Chuuya dished up two bowls of ramen (himself taking the larger portion, being most likely to finish it). Dazai immediately dumped three cans of crab into his broth, deigning to finish his meal as a treat for his little host.
Appetite sated for now, Chuuya leaned back in his seat, visibly winding down from the past day of excitement, eyelids drooping in a drowsy way that meant he was likely to crash soon. It was not going to happen while Dazai was present — he hadn't even faked calling a cab, making it clear that he had no intention of leaving for a while, which would force Chuuya to stay alert — but it did turn his volume down. That was always a good thing. It created a warm, sickening atmosphere of quiet contentment.
Chuuya collected their bowls and stacked them for washing. Watching his shoulders and back move as he rinsed dishes and filled the sink with water — trying not to zone out — Dazai calmly enacted the beginning stages of his plan. "In all seriousness, I owe you one, Chuuya."
Frustratingly, he was not listening. His focus was entirely on pulling off his leather gloves, finger-by-finger, slipping one off with the ease of clothing well-worn and buttery with age. The left glove went to the far side of the bench where it was not likely to get wet. The rare sight of his exposed hand almost derailed Dazai entirely. It was not often he saw them, and when he did they were usually slack and lifeless as Chuuya passed out in the middle of enemy territory. To see them healthy and nimbly plucking off the matching right glove was strangely arresting, in the sense that Chuuya, of course, was undeniably controlled in every little thing he did with his body.
The second glove was discarded with its partner. Chuuya pushed up his shirt-sleeves, dipping his arms into the soapy water. He began scrubbing. "Oi, did you say something earlier?" A fairly casual tone. It boded well.
"Did I?" Dazai blinked. "Ah. Yes, I was saying that I owe you one."
"...Why?" Cautious. To be expected.
"For collecting me from the hospital! You didn't have to come. We're on opposite sides now, I would have understood."
The wariness increased. Chuuya chanced a glance over his shoulder to read what he could of Dazai's intentions from his face. What he garnered from that only confused him. "Okay," He replied simply.
"Okay?" Dazai prompted, smiling.
His back was to him, but he was still fairly sure that Chuuya was wrinkling his nose. "If you didn't need me there," he said, sounding like he was in excruciating pain, "I wouldn't have been called. So. I was there. You don't owe me for that. I don't want to talk about it."
"It doesn't bother chibi to be called on like a mafia dog?" Dazai asked in the most innocent tone he could muster. Chuuya's tired contentment was sharply replaced by irritation — the air in the room soured. "I thought it would matter to you, especially since we hate each other."
There were a few things he could say to that. Considering the mood, Chuuya would go for something less confrontational than his instincts would normally default to.
Scrubbing harder at the pot, Chuuya, true to prediction, said, "Alright, fucker. Then it matters. You owe me one. Does that make you happy?"
"I'm never truly happy in this world. No, I wanted to use the favour to give you an opportunity though."
"Haaaah? If it's my favour, shouldn't I get to pick what it's for? Are you trying to cheat again, shitty mackerel?"
"I'm not cheating. I just wanted to suggest a way for me to repay you. You don't have to do it."
His hackles were certainly raised now. There weren't many dishes involved in their dinner, so Chuuya was already rinsing off the last bowl. It was a position he clearly resented; without the distraction of washing up, he was compelled to turn around and face Dazai during their, to him, baffling conversation. Already his nose and cheeks were growing red. "I'm not interested," Chuuya said right off the bat. Dazai blinked up at him. "Fuck. I need a drink to deal with that expression."
Whatever that meant!
"You shouldn't. One sniff of your gross wine and you'll probably pass out!" Dazai protested, well aware that his opinion would urge Chuuya in exactly the opposite direction.
An opened bottle of wine was pulled out from his bar fridge. It splashed over as Chuuya poured it into a wine glass, a spot of dark red hitting the inside of his wrist. Chuuya corked the bottle, sucked away the alcohol from his skin, and turned around. Anyone could tell that he was gearing himself up. "You have ideas," Chuuya said with a healthy amount of reluctance. "Go on, do what you love so much and talk."
"It's just a suggestion," Dazai reiterated. He cleared his throat. "I want to invite Chuuya to ask me questions." He expected a range of reactions. Laughter was, luckily, one of them, because that's precisely what Chuuya did. "I think it would be good for you! You can get answers from me!"
Another wheeze, then a suspicious squint. "Not interested. Suggest something else."
"Eh~ But I'm in a truthful mood! You should take advantage!"
"No."
"I insist~!"
Rolling his eyes, Chuuya briefly put his glass aside so he could boost himself onto his kitchen counter. Reclaiming the glass, his wrist moved in circles to swirl the icky wine around. Dazai resisted the trap he presented. Only a fool would believe Chuuya was as docile as he looked.
After two rotations and a pretend sip of wine, Chuuya sighed. He placed his drink at his hip carefully. "You're an annoying bastard. So you're taking questions now. Alright. I'll bite. You're clearly after a specific one so..." His voice was pointedly level. He hesitated, thinking of how to start. Dazai was curious to see if he would jump straight to the point or—
"Was that your first serious attempt in four years, or the only one that landed you in the hospital?"
Foolish to entertain that he would ease into it.
With some honesty, Dazai answered. "Wow, you are good. Yup! It was my first serious attempt that I could follow through on. I'm working in the light, you know. I need to be alive for that."
Plus, Kunikida-kun would never let Dazai hurt himself enough to skip out on paperwork.
Chuuya nodded. His expression was unreadable. "Then—"
"Ask another one."
"Jesus. No. I don't have another one."
"Are you sure?"
The defensiveness was back. "There's nothing else I need to know from you and nothing I want to hear," Chuuya snapped. It was a lie. Dazai was absolutely sure there was another question, and he would wait for it, if only because he wanted a better opening for his dramatic reveal than this paltry offering. Chuuya said, "I already know that the agency nerds didn't find you. They'd be here instead of me, if they had. I never would have been let in."
Now that was certainly true. Yosano-sensei would have picked a fight as soon as she saw him. No one would believe Chuuya's claim that he was called here; even if Ranpo-san could prove it, no one would allow him inside. Documents were easily doctored. He clapped, saying in sing-song, "Ah, Chibi is so smart. Pointing out the obvious as usual!"
Chuuya's nostrils flared in warning.
He quickly reeled in the teasing to avoid getting his throat crushed or something. Elbows on the island and chin resting on his entwined hands, Dazai pushed him along quite seriously, "Why don't you ask what's really on your mind, Chuuya? I told you I would answer, yet you're hesitating. Is it embarrassing? Do you hate it so much?"
More silent staring. Four years tightened Chuuya's tongue, it seems! Dazai decided to help him out. That was fine. Easy, even: better than anyone else in the world, he knew Chuuya inside and out. It was a fairly straight-forward task to close his eyes and work through his chibi partner's train of thought. His next question should be… "You probably want to know who found me, no? It was a stranger. I didn't know her. She called an ambulance for me."
If anything, that just made Chuuya angry. By his appearance he'd arrived at an unhappy conclusion. There was a firm set to his jaw. Whatever the reason, whether he was fed-up or catching onto Dazai's game (and dreading the kind of conclusion they'd eventually crash into), Chuuya drank again.
Dazai sighed, feeling hard done by. "Do I have to do all the work? Is that all chibi wanted to know?"
The red head was a cruel man who forced them to sit in tense silence as he finished his wine at a snail's pace. Only when he was pouring another glass did he finally speak. "You tell me, shitty Dazai," he was agitated. It occurred to Dazai at that moment that Chuuya might have been specifically aiming to get drunk for their conversation, rather than simply wetting his throat to sate his developing alcoholism. "You clearly have something you want to ask me and I am not gonna exhaust myself by guessing."
He blinked, taken aback. "Is that so? But Chuuya is the one with the questions, didn't we establish that—"
"No, we didn't do shit. As always, you decided that by yourself. The only thing I might have wanted to know was whether you made your attempt in public. I already suspected that and didn't need your input at all," He was getting progressively louder; Chuuya was an angry, mouthy drunk, "I guess I know what you wanted to happen when you did it. What I don't know is why you had yourself sent to the hospital for the sole purpose of getting me to pick you up when you have my fucking phone number."
He took a deep, ragged breath and drank half his substantial cup in one go. If Dazai had the means to, he would have winced, but as it happened he was sitting there feeling rather unsettled by Chuuya's accusation. Mostly because Chuuya was completely right; Dazai simply hadn't anticipated he would catch on so quickly. To make matters worse… he would drink more the angrier he was feeling, which was not only a recipe for disaster but a self-sustaining circuit loop. Dazai should get on top of it—
"What, nothing to say, shit-head? You've been running your mouth all night and now you're quiet?"
—but of course, Chuuya couldn't be saved. Mad like a lightweight bear who just received undeniable confirmation that was right; he would be insufferable until he passed out.
So: damage control. After all, Dazai did plan to have this conversation all along. While he did not plan to have it with a ticking time-bomb, when dealing with someone with a temperament that was liable to explode at the drop of a hat (sometimes that was literally all it took), you should really expect to have to cut the red wire at some point.
Still, the original idea was that he would tease Chuuya into a solemn mood and they could talk about things like adults, neatly pacing the way to a clean break. That perfect concept, that utopian future that was once within reach, now slipped through his fingers entirely. Since he didn't want to be crushed to death by Chuuya's volatile temper, he would have to start telling the truth. While never a pleasant experience for Dazai, to save himself the pain, he didn't hesitate to spill the beans. "You are right. I do have something that I want to ask you."
Imperiously, Chuuya waved his wine glass in his direction. "Well! Whenever you're ready, asshole!"
The former-mafioso exhaled loudly. It was time that he started fixing his past-self's mistakes. He nodded, resolute, and began to share what was on his mind. "I'll start with this: How do you feel about me?"
His first reaction was surprise. Then, a harsh expression shuttered across Chuuya's face. He snarled, "Excuse me?"
Dazai stood firm. "I want to know how you feel about me."
"I hate you," Chuuya said darkly. The sharp lines of his face cracked again, only briefly, but he swiftly rebuilt a mask of righteous anger. "Right now, I hate you more than ever."
"That's right," He felt secure in his actions, hearing it like that. "You hate me. Out of everybody in the world, you hate me the most. You promised to kill me. You think I am a wicked and terrible person who bleeds black blood. Am I wrong?"
"I thought your predictions were never wrong," Chuuya mocked him.
"True. You hate me because you know me well — it makes sense, when I put it like that, no? I also claim to know you well. I know your every thought, action, thrust, breath. I am the only person in the world who can recognise Chuuya in the midst of Corruption. No one could deny that. So it is true that we have a deep understanding of each other. But don't you wonder why you always save me when you despise me so much?"
There was a predatory tilt to Chuuya's head. His voice was ironed flat. "It's not because of our 'deep understanding of each other'?"
Cute. Dazai shook his head. "No. Understanding does not mean that we like each other. It does not mean that you would go out of your way to protect me and save me as often as you had. Back then, I was aware of my actions and justified them accordingly — as partners, as soukoku, it was a necessary evil. However, I am trying to be a better person now, and to do that I need to address what I've done to you." He paused. "What I'm doing to you still."
The rest of the wine was thrown back. Chuuya set the glass next to him, his eyes dark and hot with fury. "I am begging," he growled, "for you to get to the fucking point, Dazai."
It was oddly difficult to say it, but it needed to be done.
"I have conditioned Chuuya to look after me."
There! It was out there!
The rubber band was still pulling at his ribs, but he could confess that a weight was lifted off his shoulders. Meanwhile, Chuuya reeled back like Dazai had taken a swing at him. He looked confused, so Dazai elaborated. "I let the hospital call you to see if I was right. Seeing you when I woke up confirmed it. Your actions now can only make sense when you consider our history."
Chuuya repeated him dully. "Our...history?"
Yes. Their history.
The first attempt, Chuuya walked in on him swinging from the ceiling.
Before Dazai's last heartbeat could ring out into the world, Chuuya had already cut him down. Sitting on the floor together, his face scrunched up and red, Chuuya yelled at him until his voice withered, calling him selfish and stupid and demanding that he receive psychiatric help. Dazai had told him in no uncertain terms that he should mind his own business, and that irrational reactions like Chuuya's were part of the reason he found living so intolerable. He still remembered the wounded noise Chuuya made.
The second time was an accident again: he found Dazai washed up on the river bank, flat on his back, soaked to the bone. That was after Chuuya started living with Kouyou. In his mind, tenderness was an action that could heal another person. It hadn't gone over well. Dazai violently crushed the idea in Chuuya's head that he was an animal that could be domesticated.
For every attempt, Dazai carefully and methodically blocked out every plan of attack his partner could conceive. He basically rewired him into reacting exactly the way Dazai wanted him to. He was loyal, he was brutal in a fight, he could read Dazai's needs before Dazai even knew them himself. It was exactly how he'd conditioned Akutagawa-kun.
And since Akutagawa-kun had received an apology, then it followed that Chuuya deserved one, too.
Dazai explained this with a distant, lecturing tone. He was aware that revealing the truth to Chuuya could set off another emotional reaction; probability pointed towards another temper tantrum, but given the circumstances tears were also on the table, and Dazai desperately wanted to avoid that. To his credit, Chuuya listened attentively, mouth agape, his eyes strangely disengaged.
He concluded his explanation: "...and so, the purpose behind my plans tonight, was to release Chuuya from our relationship."
Sound left the room as soon as Dazai stopped speaking. Perhaps on a literal level: he was fairly confident that Chuuya had done something to the physics of their space. It was the only explanation for why Dazai could hear his uncontrollable heart pounding in his ears, why Chuuya finally shut his mouth but curiously began coiling up like a stomped-on snake.
He broke the stalemate between them by blinking very slowly. "You're… unburdening me." Emotion returned to Chuuya's voice as he spoke, although Dazai couldn't name what one it was. He tried to get away with a noncommittal hum. "From— you? That's what you wanted to say to me?" Dazai nodded seriously. "What… uh, what about the truce?"
"We won't be able to avoid working with each other." Double Black was a valuable card to have on hand. The city couldn't afford their partnership permanently dissolving. "I'm saying you're free of your sense of obligation to me. I tricked you into taking it on, that isn't fair or honest. I'm trying to live a different life, so... I'm releasing you from that."
"Okay. What in the… Tell me what that entails."
Poor thing. He was clearly struggling to process this. Dazai gave him a pitying look. "Like today. You don't have to come for me next time—"
The blood drained from Chuuya's face. He repeated, "Next time?"
"That's right! I'll make it someone else's problem. I think it's fair to assume our old mission strategies are safe, but in terms of my former… manipulations… I'm willing to pull back. In a way, my mark is all over you, can that be denied?"
His ex-partner groaned, now exasperated on top of his dizzy surprise. "You are really not the first person to say that to me."
And how miserable was that? Dazai felt impassioned by all the proof he was accumulating. "It's obvious that I'm bad for you. I have undue influence over your decisions. Chuuya, you let me into your house tonight! Isn't that a sign of how twisted I've made you? I'm an enemy. You should have tossed me onto the streets before letting me in."
"Oh, I absolutely should have kicked you to the curb. You are terrible for me," Chuuya stared at Dazai like he was puzzled by what he saw. "You've always been terrible for me. To me."
"Right. Does it surprise you? That I don't want to be that anymore?"
"It does. It surprises me that you're talking about your mistakes in the first place."
"I am picking up new techniques from the Agency. Communication is one of them." As opposed to torture and interrogation, that was.
Chuuya sat up straighter as he began to accept the new information. There was something ticking in his overworked little brain. He idly ran his finger along the stem of his empty wine glass. "So what you're communicating to me is that you're… regretful, about how you treated me. And that this morning was a test to see if I was still… What was the word you used? 'Conditioned'?"
"Mhm!"
"... to see if I was still conditioned to help you. Because that's what our partnership was to you. I was trained to care for your well-being."
Dazai nodded desperately. Was he getting it now? "I was despicable to you!"
Eyes focused on him, fingers fidgeting, Chuuya seemed to be warming up to the rotten truth of their partnership. Maybe he would admit that he always knew something was wrong about them, make the transition smoother.
"You're onto something, mackerel bastard," The red-head's lips curled into a mockery of a smile. "Yeah. You know what? I was wrong before. When I said that you hadn't changed. I can see it; you're different in a lot of ways."
"While that's certainly nice to hear, Chuuya, I admit it's not the point of the conversation."
"You know what hasn't changed though?" Chuuya continued right over him, and he was so casual about it that Dazai hardly had a second to clock that he was, in actual fact, picking up the wine glass in a clenched fist.
Alarms sounding, Dazai ducked behind the kitchen island just as the glass sailed towards him. It shattered against the back wall with actual vengeance.
Roaring, Chuuya followed that up with the launching of his silverware. "I nearly forgot how brain-dead stupid you can be! I can't believe you still talk like you're the only one in the room capable of intelligent thought!" Multiple cupboard doors slammed open. "You're the stupidest person in this conversation and you don't — even — know— it! Fuck you! Stop — fucking — dodging! Dipshit!"
Judging by the horrifically final sounds Chuuya's belongings made as they shattered against walls and embedded themselves deeply in his custom-ordered wooden furniture, it was currently relevant to Dazai's continued lifespan that he absolutely continued to dodge. His ears rang; as well as knives, Chuuya was throwing out insults. "Yeah, you are despicable! You're the worst thing that's ever happened to me! You're a waste of bandages and time and effort! But the last person I want to hear that from is you!"
A crystal tumbler rolled across the floor to Dazai's feet, chipped but otherwise whole. He snatched it up, clinging tightly as Chuuya howled and broke his things. He waited for a pause — Chuuya ran out of projectiles in his immediate vicinity as he started in on how "you always discredit everything I do!" — and poked his eyes over the counter.
Predictably, there was a mess all around Chuuya. The man himself also looked very unhinged and disturbingly close to tears, an expression he caught a glimpse of before the mafioso covered his face with his bare hands. There were ugly bruises across his knuckles. Well, it seemed inappropriate but this could be his one opportunity at retaliation: with no small amount of urgency, Dazai pitched the unshattered crystal tumbler at Chuuya while he could, ducking away again.
Of course, it did not connect. It was never going to. Chuuya had superior physical skills compared to an average person, and Dazai was not exactly great at pitching. Chuuya slapped the tumbler into the refrigerator. Somewhat hypocritically, he then screamed, "Do not throw my own glasses at me!"
Dazai licked his lips, hesitated, and called back, "I didn't! That was mine!"
"You goddamn—"
"I'm not lying! It's for whiskey, you don't drink that!"
"So that makes it yours?!"
Dazai risked another peek over the counter. Chuuya was holding a ladle, bent at a ninety degree angle. Their eye contact sent a shiver of danger down his spine. A second passed. Chuuya was not throwing the ladle. "It does," Dazai said warily, eyeing the potential weapon, "because you don't invite anyone else over. You only invite me. It's my glass for my alcohol. That makes it mine."
A shuddering breath. Ladle, unmoved. Chuuya, chest heaving. Progress.
"... So that means… I am allowed to throw it at you."
Chuuya dropped the ladle. It rocked the building as it connected with the floor. His eyes were rimmed with red. "I hate you. You know that. I also," He sucked in a wet breath, "I also think that you're a horrible person. I think you're cruel. For some reason I believe you have the same capacity for humanity as I do, and sometimes that isn't a good thing."
"I know that," Dazai murmured, ducking the misshapen blob of former-ladle that Chuuya proceeded to boot at him. "Goodness, you're touchy tonight."
"Shut up. I'm trying to say something!"
"Can you say it without trying to take my head off with flying objects?"
Chuuya's eyes went wild again. He threw his arms up, "This is exactly what I'm talking about! You're not nice! You love the sound of your voice too much! You think my shoes are tacky and you hate my hat and you blew up my fucking car! Who does that? I hate you so much it's all I can think about some days!" He slammed his hand down on the counter with frustration. "Believing for a second that you have the ability to force me into caring for someone like you, how goddamn narcissistic can you get?"
Oh, he was definitely drunk. None of that made any sense and Dazai was more lost than ever. "You said it yourself: you despise me. There's no way you would have willingly stayed by my side if it was a choice."
"You've lived this long and you still can't comprehend how emotions work, can you?" Shocked by that claim, Dazai choked on his next words. Chuuya's voice was rapidly approaching the shrieky register it tended towards when they truly got into it with each other. "It was a choice. Everything I do is a choice. You didn't brainwash me into respecting your boundaries, you dumb shit. I chose to adjust the way I approached you after a suicide attempt because I give a crap about you and I'm not an asshole. Fucking obviously!"
It was time to consider if maybe the situation was rapidly spiralling out of control.
His declaration filled the room with sticky heat; it was suddenly a struggle to breathe. "Chuuya is an angry person," Dazai muttered, rubbing at his aching, malfunctioning chest. It was a poor excuse. Chuuya's incredulous noise summed that up well. "If it's a natural response for an angry person to yell, then it would mean the opposite reaction is unnatural."
"Why would it mean that," Chuuya hissed. "Of course I am capable of hating you and caring about you at the same time. I've been doing it for eight years now, Dazai, I think I would know?"
A thought occurred to him.
More of a memory, actually, or rather a few of them.
It was of Dazai folding a coat, gently placing a hideous hat on top of it; of his fingers wrapped around a blackened wrist; of the first time he pulled Chuuya back from certain death, holding him there in his lap in the middle of a decimated field, waiting for back-up. Chuuya was sick once. His first flu. Dazai fed him reheated soup and complained about how useless and annoying his partner could be. He hated him then, and yet, objectively speaking, couldn't any of those actions count towards caring for someone?
"Perhaps it's..."
But something still was not adding up.
"No. It is definitely possible. What I can't accept is that you found anything worth caring about in me." Chuuya made a perplexed noise. Dazai held up a hand to halt any response. "I am not saying it out of self-depreciation. Everyone knows that I was not a person who could be cared about. I was not a person. Therefore, Chuuya is confused."
"That's what you think?"
Dazai could not contain his poisonous glare. "I am sure."
With a wounded sound, Chuuya staggered forward, glass crunching under his slippers. As Dazai was having this conversation crouched behind a kitchen island, with absolutely no intention of moving, the red-head had no choice but to squat down in order to make eye-contact. It was significantly easier to accomplish when their twenty centimetre height difference wasn't present.
Unfortunately, Chuuya was wearing a look of baffled pity. It was, for the record, extraordinarily difficult to accept pity from the most pathetic man in existence. "The kind of person you used to be was impossible to like," came the surprising sentence out of his mouth.
Dazai frowned. He was expecting more comforting words. "Oh."
"You were. To be honest, you still make it a challenge. I've spoken to you maybe five times in half a year and I had to chain-smoke a pack after every encounter just so I wouldn't punch a hole in the city. You drive me insane."
"I was worse when I was younger," The detective pointed out in an attempt to direct the conversation back to the point, and promptly regretted it when Chuuya's face softened.
"You were a demon. I could have never cared about you unless it was a decision I made. That's why I made it. That's why I continue to make it." He grabbed a fistful of Dazai's hair and yanked him down until their foreheads smacked together. It hurt. Dazai couldn't bear to blink. "Listen up, numbskull. I care about you. On purpose. It doesn't matter how you treat me or what kind of state you're in—as long as it's you, I'll be here. There's nothing you can do about it."
Dazai tried three times before he could respond. "It involves me, shouldn't I have a say in it?"
"Then you can," Chuuya conceded. His breath reeked of an unpleasant mix of miso and wine. "Just not the way you think. It's time you answer a question of mine."
"I will try."
His voice hardened. "No, Dazai. You'll do it."
"Yes, then. I'll answer."
Chuuya nudged their noses together to indicate he was pleased with that response. Why? Because he was a wild animal, through and through.
God, Dazai's eyes were burning. He humbly would admit that he had no idea what was happening anymore.
"You've called on me a lot of goddamn times. I know you justified it in your head as nothing more than calling your dog to heel, but surprise yourself with some honesty." Dazai was offended by the implication that he wasn't being uncharacteristically honest this entire conversation. "How did you feel when you needed me and I was there? Knowing that you only had to ask and I would show up every time?"
Blinking for the first time in a minute, Dazai tried to sort through his memories. How did it feel? Did it have to feel some way? It didn't. It was simply the way the world worked. Dazai never had any doubt in Chuuya's presence. There was no reason at all to worry that his loyalty was compromised. Is that what he wanted to hear — further testimony to Dazai's flawed imitation of humanity? That didn't seem right. "It didn't feel like anything," He confessed, "Chuuya always came. I was used to it."
"Yeah, I did. What if I didn't show up?"
No matter: Dazai definitely knew what to say to this one. He stared at Chuuya and said, "You would never ignore me."
They were close enough that he felt the heat in Chuuya's cheeks. The other man appeared flustered. "I— okay, I am asking hypothetically though?"
"It's too unrealistic," He insisted. "I don't actually have to manipulate you to be with me most of the time, you do realise that? You just show up. There is no possible way I could keep you from me. I have tried. Maybe if you were dead… But for some reason I doubt that would work."
"It probably wouldn't," Chuuya agreed, an odd smile on his face. They were, for once in their life, in explicit agreement with each other. Like a truce, the grip in his hair loosened, but that grounding weight of their foreheads pressed together remained. A brief moment of silence passed, giving them an opportunity to breathe. Yet, even that had an electric current. Dazai sat there and experienced a fight against his own racing heartbeat that wasn't usually necessary. "You've tried to keep me away?" Chuuya eventually asked, looking a little bemused by the idea. His anger had evidently burned through the alcohol in his blood, because he sounded completely sober. "How? With force?"
Dazai squinted at him, annoyed. "No, you win every fight you get into. I had to blow up your car. It didn't even stick. Here you are again! So this time, I thought I would try asking."
"You call this asking, you manner-less bastard? All you've done is accuse me of being brainwashed and infuriate me into destroying my kitchen."
"It has to be your idea," Dazai huffed. "If you don't think it's your idea, you don't tend to play along. I don't know if you've noticed, Chuuya, but you are a delinquent."
He got a nod that was more of a mutual grinding of their skulls. "Alright, try me," Chuuya leaned back to give him space. It was a bad move; Dazai had put all his weight on the other man and abruptly tipped over without him. He caught himself on Chuuya's thighs, cleared his throat, then resettled properly. Or tried to. The texture of Chuuya's old, thin sweatpants against his palms, the warmth of his skin burning through the fabric, very nearly derailed Dazai's attention entirely away from their conversation. "Go on. Ask."
Dazai observed the image presented of his hands on Chuuya's thighs, something ticking in his brain. "No. I don't wanna."
"How are you going to know if you don't ask? Isn't that the point of your shitty favour? Question time?"
"You sound like you're having fun for someone who freely smashed thousands of yen worth of glassware," He reminded him sourly. Hands. Thighs. Heartbeat. There was a connection to be found here. "Don't wanna ask. I already know, there is no point."
Chuuya snorted, "You thought you knew a lot of shit tonight, genius. Would it kill you to get confirmation?"
As a matter of fact, it just might give him an actual heart attack, thank you very much. He narrowed his eyes at the mafioso. "And what do you get out of this?"
The smug satisfaction that he was not the humiliated party for once?
Chuuya's grin morphed into a full-blown beam that frankly hurt to directly look at. Dazai redirected his eyes to his hands, staring, trying to figure out why they were buzzing — and jumped out of his bandages when Chuuya tangled their fingers together. He pulled at Dazai until they were looking at each other. Inexplicably, he said, "You'll figure it out soon, I bet."
Figure what out? Was he trying to be cool? This was hardly the right moment for it. At the moment Dazai's brilliant brain was struggling to understand why he felt like sweating through his clothes, and why Chuuya's bare hands against his didn't make him want to crawl out of his own skin. He had never regretted a plan more in his life. "You really want me to waste our time with that question?" Dazai frowned. He tested a tighter grip on Chuuya. Not… un-pleasant.
"Why not? You've never had an issue with wasting my time before."
Oh, that was true. Dazai inhaled sharply through his nose. "Then, Chuuya… My dog for life—"
He made a high-pitched noise of offense. "What the fuck? I'll kill you?"
"Hopefully," Dazai agreed solemnly. He readjusted the position of their hands. A warmth was spreading through him that he'd only experienced with one person. Specifically, that one time Odasaku had hugged him. The contact felt exactly like that. He had a sneaking suspicion that it would be a long time before he let go. "I'll ask. As a favour to you, since you're so desperate. Chuuya, can you do me a favour and stay out of my life?"
Looking extremely satisfied with himself, Chuuya promptly answered, "Not a chance, shitty Dazai."
Smug was really one word for it. Dazai nodded, then kept nodding, reddened face looking straight down in an effort to observe their hands and absolutely nothing else but that. Dazai did not hide. Anyway, he was right. He tried to loosen his fingers and found that it wasn't happening. At this rate, he would sit on this floor for hours before his body was satisfied. If that's what it came to—
"...Alright then. If Chuuya insists."
"I do."
—then who was Dazai, really, to argue with that?
