Work Text:
The first time it happened, it was purely for practical purposes. Randou could move his barriers at will, so in order for Dazai to be able to touch the ability, Chuuya had to anchor himself down and pin the wall in place. Pressing the barrier between their hands was simply the most logical way to accomplish this. And of course, once the barrier vanished between them, the force with which they were both pushing forward made Dazai’s fingers clasp together with Chuuya’s.
The contact only lasted a moment, anyway, before Chuuya was ripping himself away to punch Randou into the ground. Dazai in turn took his last shot at the old bastard, feeling a dark curl of satisfaction at the harsh snap of the former boss’ jaw as he threw all of his admittedly limited arm strength into the blow.
All that considered, it was ridiculous that Dazai could still feel the phantom heat of Chuuya’s fingers curling between his own. Even after punching a corpse in the mouth, a sensation which surely should have taken precedence, the feeling lingered like a brand across his skin. Chuuya’s hand had been oddly warm. Perhaps a side effect of the black flames of the god burning away inside him?
Perhaps Dazai had been burned by Arahabaki, just as Randou was.
Dazai watched as Randou died, buried in the floor of the warehouse, and he flexed his fingers in the cold air. They were still tingling.
He didn’t want it. Dazai was only curious if the pipsqueak’s hands were always that warm. There weren’t many chances to find out, now that Chuuya had joined the Port Mafia, especially since he was wearing those damn gloves everywhere.
Dazai did not want to hold Chuuya’s hand. The only reason he was thinking about it was experimental curiosity about the otherworldly thing possessing the hatrack.
He didn’t want it, so it would be fine. Dazai only lost things that he wanted, so as long as he didn’t want it, he couldn’t lose anything.
The first opportunity came unexpectedly, after the first time that Chuuya used Corruption. The screams of the enemy operatives had all been silenced, the warehouse transformed into a decimated battlefield littered with craters, gaping holes torn through so much of the structure that it was a wonder any of it was still standing. Dazai had to touch Chuuya in order to switch off the pipsqueak’s rage, and Chuuya had taken his gloves off to trigger the dark form of his ability, so. It was again, technically practical for Dazai to push his way through the destruction and grasp Chuuya’s hand, allowing No Longer Human to do its work.
Only practical, Dazai insisted internally as Chuuya’s eyes lost their bloodlust, as the unnatural red stains retreated from Chuuya’s skin. Chuuya slumped against Dazai’s taller frame, and the movement smeared blood across Dazai’s bandages. Most of it was from their enemies, but some of it was from the damage Corruption had done to Chuuya’s own body. Hmm. It wouldn’t do to use this too often, then. It would have to be a last resort. It would be bothersome if the slug got taken out by internal damage, at least before Dazai found his own release from life. Proper dogs didn’t die before their owners.
Chuuya’s hand spasmed in Dazai’s grasp, warm and alive. Ah, the runt had regained some awareness, then. Dazai kept perfectly still, one arm wrapped around Chuuya’s waist to keep the redhead pressed into his chest, the other hand still firmly holding onto Chuuya’s hand. They must have made an odd picture, standing amidst the wreckage together in a bloodied parody of a waltz.
“...It worked?” Chuuya muttered into Dazai’s black coat.
“Yes,” Dazai said, glancing around at the remnants of the enemy organization. Most of them hadn’t been left in full pieces. “Quite impressive, especially for someone of Chuuya’s size! Such a violent, microscopic ant, they couldn’t even see you coming.”
“Fuck off, you ass—” Chuuya cut himself off, and blinked at their intertwined hands. He squinted his blue, blue eyes up at Dazai suspiciously. “What...the fuck are you doing, you bastard?” he rasped. “Let go.”
“Ah ah, not yet,” Dazai sing-songed. “Don’t want to risk you using your ability again so soon, now do we? Relax, it was the closest thing I could grab onto. Unless you would have preferred I wait to get closer to you, and let you die while trying to avoid touching your hand? I thought I was the suicidal one, Chuuya. Have I compromised your virtue, just by daring to hold your little paw?”
Chuuya used his free hand to sock Dazai in the shoulder. It was so weak Dazai could barely feel it, and alright, that was a little concerning. Usually Chuuya’s punches broke bones, even without using For the Tainted Sorrow.
“It’s my fucking hand, not a paw!” Chuuya raged, throat still scraped raw.
Yes, but holding his paw sounded less intimate than holding his hand, so Dazai could justify it to himself easier.
“Stop calling me a goddamn dog, I told you, I won that bet!” Chuuya spit.
“You absolutely did not, but I suppose dogs have to be somewhat delusional in order to live with themselves,” Dazai sniffed dismissively. He was bantering on autopilot at this point, an oddly large portion of his mind devoted to the feeling of Chuuya’s skin pressed against his own. It was just as warm, maybe even warmer than he remembered. Was it because Chuuya had just used Corruption? He squeezed Chuuya’s hand absently. “Stop moving. I already called the extraction team, we just have to wait here. Ane-san will scold you if you get yourself hurt more, you know.”
“Ugh. Suit yourself, you weirdo,” Chuuya grumbled, leaning heavier into Dazai’s front. “Put me down already, your weakass stick arms are going to drop me before the team even gets here.”
“How rude,” Dazai said. “I don’t need any arm strength to hold up a tiny pipsqueak like you.”
Chuuya was losing consciousness again, but he still managed to mutter a weak “Get bent,” before he sank into oblivion.
Dazai lowered them both to the ground, settling them amidst the rubble with Chuuya’s head in his lap. He held onto Chuuya’s hand right up until he heard the extraction team approaching, and then dropped it before anyone saw, letting the Port Mafia medics take over for Chuuya’s care.
The runt had better be grateful when he woke up. Dazai even rescued his terrible hat from the wreckage.
If the warm ghost of Chuuya’s grip stayed wrapped around Dazai’s hand for several days longer than the last time, then, well. It was more data for the experiment.
And Dazai decided that the next time they used Corruption, he would wait until Chuuya was unconscious to hold his hand, since the pipsqueak was so prickly about it.
Three years later, Odasaku was dead, and Dazai couldn’t think of anything else. There was so much to be done if he was going to live up to Odasaku’s last wish. So he had to keep moving, even though Dazai’s head was simultaneously numb, yet screaming with every second that he was still alive. There was a veritable tempest inside him, but he couldn't die. Not now, not when he had promised Odasaku to change, to help instead of harm.
Dazai always wanted to die, but it had been a long time since just taking a breath and continuing to live was this painful. Death wasn’t the opposite of living, he knew it wasn’t, and yet it sounded like mercy in this moment.
No, not mercy. Death couldn’t be mercy, because Odasaku’s death was certainly not a mercy.
Ango’s treachery had been a pinprick of pain in comparison to this. To think, Dazai had considered killing Ango over such a small wound as that. It felt raw in the Lupin, listening to Ango leave, feeling the darkness of loss churn under his skin, but this new agony was something else entirely.
No matter. There were things to do. Ties to sever, if Dazai was ever going to be able to live in the light.
One of those ties was to be severed by a bomb under a car. Chuuya did love his possessions, so this should be enough to break any lingering attachment Chuuya might have to him. It was odd, really, that Chuuya was the one to stay in the darkness now, while Dazai tried to escape the mafia’s shadow. In many ways, Chuuya had more light in him than Dazai ever had.
Don’t kill the children, Chuuya had told him when they were fifteen. Protective to a fault, that one.
Save the orphans, Odasaku’s voice echoed now.
Ah, damn. Dazai stared blindly down at the bomb in his hands. It was shaking, a tremor in his grip that he couldn’t quite control. I’m really not human, am I.
The only redeemable parts of him were promises he made to much better people. Better people who were usually redheads, for some reason.
Ridiculously, Dazai’s last thought before setting the countdown to detonation was that this would be the end of his experiment with Chuuya’s hands. It was such a discrepant thought, inconsequential in the midst of his despair, that he almost could have laughed.
Odasaku was dead. Nothing else mattered.
The car exploded in a beautiful bloom of fire and burning metal, lighting up the night city.
Dazai left.
Four years passed, and then Dazai had to get information on Atsushi’s bounty. His calculations told him that he would meet Chuuya after being captured by the Port Mafia, and Dazai very pointedly did not let himself consider whether the hand-holding experiment could continue. That was not the goal of this mission, and Armed Detective Agency members did not try to hold hands with Port Mafia executives. Holding Chuuya’s hand would not protect people, or save orphans, so there could be no justifying it.
...Anyway, the letter Dazai sent to the upper echelons of the Port Mafia was one of the only things that was going to ensure Chuuya wouldn’t kill him. If he manipulated the situation to let himself hold Chuuya’s hand one more time, it might just be the final straw that pushed Chuuya to damn the consequences and kick him to death, and dying was not on Dazai’s agenda that day.
But oh, it was tempting to try it. Dazai’s hands flexed in their shackles the instant that Chuuya came stalking down the steps into the torture chamber, and he groaned in disgust to cover the jingle the chains made. “Gross. Ugh, gross!”
In some ways, Dazai changed in the past four years. He was slightly more self aware, for one thing. He could acknowledge to himself that yes, for whatever reason, he did want to hold Chuuya’s hand. It was practically a fixation at this point.
He also figured, on some level, that wanting it was exactly why he could not have it.
So he grit his teeth when Chuuya slammed him against the wall by the throat, and kept his hands in his pockets as a reminder to himself to behave.
Oh, how the turntables. Now it was Dazai hiding his hands away, instead of Chuuya. But in Dazai’s case, it was to remind himself that he was not human.
A man who was less human than a vessel for a god. Go figure.
The hand at his throat was warm even through the glove. It wasn’t enough, but Dazai ignored the want swirling through his fingertips and smiled mockingly, falling into the same old rhythm of banter with Chuuya. It was as easy as breathing, manipulating and leading with his words, pulling the rug out from under his old partner with every calculated sentence. Chuuya was still as predictable as ever. Furious with Dazai, but predictable. Chuuya would never risk his position in the Port Mafia, even at the cost of Dazai walking free.
Chuuya let him go, and the withdrawal of the hand around his throat really shouldn’t have felt like a loss. Dazai didn’t even like pain, and Chuuya’s grip had not been gentle.
Still, he could feel the warmth on his neck even after the bruises from Chuuya’s blows had faded. It had been a long four years since Chuuya had last touched him, he supposed. And as he had once remarked to Chuuya, just to hear him snarl, starving dogs would take whatever scraps they could get.
Before Chuuya left, stomping back up the steps like he had a grudge against the earth, he still did the little rich girl routine that used to make Dazai cackle like the maniac he was. Another scrap for the starving dog in Dazai’s chest. Despite himself, Dazai’s focus narrowed in on the gloved hand Chuuya pointed at him—“There will be no second chance!”—and Dazai actually forgot to laugh, watching that hand.
God, Dazai wanted to take those gloves off with his teeth. And then press Chuuya’s bare hand between his own, to see if it was still just as warm after all these years of suppressing Arahabaki’s full wrath. Hmm. There was something a little discordant between those desires. He should probably be a bit more worried about that.
Not the time. Job to do. He was doing this for Atsushi, and the agency.
Then the Guild arrived, and things began getting complicated very quickly. Dazai had known it was a possibility that Mori would send Chuuya, to help with retrieving Q. Chuuya was acting as a peace offering wrapped up in an angry ginger package in order to smooth the way to the agency cooperating with the Port Mafia. However, even though he knew this, internally Dazai wasn’t entirely prepared to revive their old partnership. It was too easy, too natural to slip back into sync with each other, moving as a unit. Once the Guild’s forces had been summarily disposed of, and they were entering the building to find Q, Chuuya told Dazai about how he had celebrated his exit from the Port Mafia, so Dazai quipped back about the bomb he had left under his car, and Chuuya burst out with “That was you?!”
Obviously it was him, Dazai thought to himself. Surely Chuuya knew already? The timing alone should have been enough of a giveaway.
Then Dazai raised Chuuya’s knife to Q’s throat, and waited for Chuuya to stop him. However, it would seem he had underestimated Chuuya’s protectiveness over his subordinates. Of course, Chuuya was thinking about the deaths caused by Q’s curse. He always remembered the deaths of those he was responsible for. Still…
Don’t kill the children.
Dazai was going to hold himself to that, even if Chuuya didn’t. And Q was a child, even if he was also a devil. Besides, Dazai of all people wasn’t in a position to judge about being a devil.
The knife came down and struck harmlessly into the roots binding Q.
Chuuya defeated the unearthly horror that was Lovecraft, because of course he did. Chuuya was a singularity in and of himself, and Dazai felt a surge of odd nostalgia watching the raging gravity beast tear apart the disgusting octopus. And then— what do you know, the bomb in the cast did come in handy, Dazai reflected as he clicked the detonator.
The dust cleared from Chuuya’s last blow to Lovecraft, and Chuuya stood in the midst of it all, surrounded by his own chaos. He laughed with a harsh, hysterical edge, utterly consumed by Arahabaki, and Dazai approached carefully, calculating a safe path through the craters. He couldn’t take Chuuya’s hand, not while Chuuya was preparing yet another graviton to toss harum-scarum across the already pitted landscape, so he grabbed his arm instead, and feeling the heat beneath Chuuya’s skin was almost worth the destruction.
Chuuya came back just long enough to curse Dazai, and demand to be taken to the extraction point, and then he was out, giving in to his exhaustion. Dazai’s arm burned where Chuuya had pressed his fist into it, in a strange echo of their camaraderie from days past.
Chuuya began to snore softly, and Dazai stared down at Chuuya’s loose fist where it laid on the ground.
...He really shouldn’t.
ADA members had no business holding hands with Port Mafia executives.
Dazai gathered up Chuuya’s things, folded his coat methodically, placed the gloves and that awful, awful hat on top, then wiped the blood off of Chuuya’s face with his own sleeve. The hatrack looked peaceful now, sleeping heavily, sprawled out on his back.
The job was done. Dazai should leave.
But his hands were right there, and Dazai was tired.
Dazai sighed, sat cross legged next to Chuuya’s head, and threaded their fingers together, revelling in the texture of his partner’s palm. So many calluses the pipsqueak had, even though he wore gloves all the time.
It was so warm.
Just for a little while, he told himself. He would allow himself this for a little while.
More things happened. Shibusawa and Fyodor happened, to be precise, and then Dazai was stabbed and poisoned, and though it had been in his plan, it was still a gamble. Now, with his last memory being the feeling of approaching death, Dazai felt himself leaving the comforting embrace of oblivion, and for once, he could not dredge up an ounce of regret at having survived. Chuuya was there, floating above Dazai, a singularity within a singularity, and even though this scenario was in line with Dazai’s predictions, there was still a bone-deep satisfaction that came with being right. To know that Chuuya would still put his life in Dazai’s hands, even after everything.
And if Dazai was internally gleeful that Chuuya had acted as the tiny, violent prince charming to his Snow White...well, no one else needed to know that.
Dazai reached up to cradle Chuuya’s cheek in his palm, and oh, it wasn’t the same as Chuuya’s hand, but this was nice too. The skin under his fingertips grew hotter the longer he held it, with the more awareness Chuuya gained. Interesting.
So perhaps it wasn’t Arahabaki that made Chuuya so warm. Maybe Chuuya was just like that.
Dazai’s jaw ached from Chuuya’s punch, and he could still feel the stinging of the stab wound in his back from Shibusawa’s knife, but he smiled anyway as they drifted down to land in the rubble of the shattered tower.
For the sake of practicality, Dazai thought as he threaded his hand into Chuuya’s hair to keep the redhead slumped over Dazai’s lap. It was necessary to protect Chuuya from the fog, of course. The two of them had to stay close together, at least until Atsushi and the others managed to defeat Shibusawa. They would win, Dazai was sure. He cast off the lingering worries in his mind, a bit irritated with his own attachment to the children. However much part of him was fussing over the danger, Dazai would not be of any use in the fight, and it would be a danger to everyone if Chuuya’s gift were to be let loose on Yokohama. So here he would stay.
Chuuya seemed even more worn down than usual after Corruption use, which was fair. He had just taken on hundreds of abilities made incarnate, after all. Chuuya only managed a few weak grumbles before he collapsed on top of Dazai, boneless.
Through a strained contortion of his neck, Chuuya had somehow managed to avoid falling face first into Dazai’s crotch, Dazai noted with a degree of amusement. It probably wasn’t for Dazai’s sake, but he was grateful anyhow, as that would have been painful; Chuuya’s head was quite heavy, as expected from someone as thick-skulled as him.
Dazai sighed, and settled his hand back into Chuuya’s hair. It was really quite soft under his fingers, a delight in and of itself. But it wasn’t quite what he was looking for. Unbidden, Dazai’s gaze tracked down Chuuya’s body to where his elbow was hooked up over Dazai’s thigh, the back of his gloveless hand pressed awkwardly into the ground.
...The pipsqueak would be cranky if he woke up to his knuckles all stiff from that position.
Actually, no. Screw it. There was no point trying to justify his urges to himself, not at this stage. If he wanted to hold his prince’s hand after being heroically rescued from death, then who could really blame him? Especially since no one had to know. With the rubble piled up around them like this, no one would be able to approach without Dazai hearing them first. And Chuuya would be out for a long time, if his exhaustion was any indicator.
Dazai reached out with the hand not nestled in Chuuya’s hair, and slowly pulled Chuuya’s arm closer, careful not to let it drag on the ground. Then he twined their fingers together with practiced ease, and let out a soft breath of relief. That was better.
“I fucking knew it!”
Dazai let out a very undignified squawk of surprise, and found himself staring flabbergasted into Chuuya’s very awake, furious blue eyes. The pipsqueak had surged upwards, now essentially sitting in Dazai’s lap, and Dazai was...not sure how to feel about that. Chuuya’s hand was in a vice grip around his own, and his other hand was fisted in Dazai’s coat lapels, oddly strong for a post-Corruption Chuuya. Shit.
“What—how are you still awake?” Dazai spluttered, shrinking back slightly. Maybe if he distracted Chuuya long enough, Chuuya would forget about this. Maybe, maybe—
“Sheer spite,” Chuuya spat. “Don’t try to distract me! You’ve been doing this since we were fifteen, haven’t you? I just never had the fucking proof, up until now!”
“Doing what?” Dazai said, playing dumb a little desperately. This was bad, he couldn’t leave Chuuya here alone in the fog, which meant he was stuck in this conversation. Would it be against Odasaku’s principles to knock someone out to avoid their questions? Probably. Fuck.
“Doing this!” Chuuya said, shaking their joined hands for emphasis. “Every time I’m passed out from Corruption! I thought I was going crazy at first, I couldn’t figure out why I kept waking up feeling like someone had been touching my hand, but then I remembered you being all weird after the first time I used it. You just stopped doing it when I was awake, you fucker!”
Dazai opened his mouth to try to refute it, but then he snapped his jaw closed again. It wasn’t exactly against his principles to gaslight someone, since he essentially had no principles of his own; all of the principles he ‘had’ were borrowed from other people. Even so, he was trying to be better, and Chuuya deserved the truth from him more than anyone.
“Yes,” Dazai said instead. “You’re right. I have been ‘ doing this’, as you so eloquently put it, every time you’ve used Corruption.”
Chuuya had the audacity to look surprised, like he hadn’t actually expected Dazai to admit it. He turned red, probably from fury. “ Why?” he demanded, using his grip on Dazai’s coat to pull him closer.
Well, that was the kicker. For all of Dazai’s analysis of the world in general, he had never looked too closely at this particular urge. It had taken him long enough to admit that it was something he wanted at all, and not just idle curiosity.
“...The first time wasn’t when you used Corruption, you know,” Dazai said, to make up for the fact that he didn’t have a proper answer.
Chuuya frowned. “Eh?”
“It was when we met,” Dazai said, pulling their hands up between them. It was easier to look at their fingers, inextricably woven together, than it was to look at Chuuya’s face. “When we broke through Rimbaud’s barrier.”
Recollection dawned across Chuuya’s face, followed rapidly by disbelief, and maybe a tinge of embarrassment. “That—that hardly counted as holding hands, that was a few seconds at most! And it was just so you could use No Longer Human!”
Chuuya still hadn’t pulled his hand away, Dazai noted idly. Hopefully he was taking the threat of the fog seriously enough that he wouldn’t try to storm off once the full truth made its way out of Dazai’s throat. There wasn’t any point in avoiding it now.
“Still,” Dazai murmured. “After that, I always wanted to hold your hand. Corruption was just the only time I could.”
Chuuya turned, somehow, even redder. “What. The. Fuck.”
Dazai braced himself.
“I fucking hate you, Dazai!”
“I know,” Dazai laughed, a little hollowly.
“Why would Corruption be the only time you could hold my hand?” Chuuya raged. “You could have just used your words like a regular goddamn person!”
Abruptly, Dazai’s brain caught up with his ears, and he realized that this was not going in the direction he expected. “Uh. Eh?”
“You could have just asked, you dumbass,” Chuuya huffed, glaring off to the side. Even his ears were red now. Oh, he was blushing. “Instead of being all weird about it.”
“...I didn’t think you would allow it,” Dazai said, for once entirely wrongfooted. Good god, was this what regular people felt like when dealing with Dazai? “Um. You would just let me?”
“I must be insane, but yes, for some reason, I would,” Chuuya said, looking at him sharply. “Why the fuck were you so certain I wouldn’t? It’s not like I’ve ever managed to avoid getting roped into your nonsense in the past.”
Dazai stared at him, and his head felt like it could float off his body, up into the sky like a balloon. Lightheaded, he was lightheaded. Was he breathing? “Everything worth wanting is lost the moment I obtain it,” he said, repeating his own words from years before. “I thought if I wanted you, I would lose you.”
Belatedly, he realized he forgot to insert ‘wanted to hold your hand’ in the place of ‘wanted you’. Ah. That was a great deal more revealing than he intended.
Chuuya released his lapels to bonk his fist over Dazai’s head. It was such a light blow that Dazai was almost concerned Chuuya was about to pass out for real, but Chuuya looked as stubbornly awake as before, and with a hard thud of his heart, he realized that Chuuya was just holding back so that he wouldn’t hurt him.
“Don’t go deciding that for yourself, moron,” Chuuya snapped. “You have been an asshole since the moment I met you. You manipulated me, you left me, you blew up my fucking car, but I’m still here, aren’t I?”
At that, Dazai could only blink dazedly at him. Chuuya let out a noise of impatience and tugged Dazai forward with a hand around the back of his neck, crushing their lips together.
Dazai’s hand jolted in Chuuya’s grasp, and his mouth opened in a gasp of surprise. Chuuya immediately took advantage, pressing forward until Dazai tumbled over onto his back—which, ow, he still had a stab wound—and licked his way into Dazai’s mouth, stealing the very air out of his lungs.
It was like having all of Chuuya’s warmth poured into him all at once. Everything was hot and burning, the press of Chuuya’s lips and tongue a fiery brand across Dazai’s skin. As ever, Chuuya was the brawn of Double Black, but this time his physical prowess was leaving Dazai’s brains well and truly scrambled. He could barely think, and the thoughts he did have were very limited to what? And since when? And fuck, this might actually be better than Chuuya’s hands .
Chuuya pulled back after what felt like an eternity, but still wasn’t long enough for Dazai to piece his scattered wits back together, and Dazai let out an utterly mortifying sound at the loss. His only consolation was that their hands were still pressed together, a little sweaty and gross now. Still worth it. Chuuya sat back on top of Dazai and looked down at him with an annoying degree of satisfaction, as he took in the heaving of Dazai’s chest and Dazai’s wide-eyed gaze. And fuck, Dazai’s cheeks were burning. He could tell by the look on Chuuya’s face that his blush was starkly visible across his skin.
Chuuya flicked his nose. “Oi, that had better be what you meant by that shitty confession, Osamu. If all this was just because you have some weirdass hand kink, I’m going to crush your hands into dust with a skyscraper. I did it to that dragon, I’ll fucking do it to you too.”
Despite himself, Dazai burst out laughing. He had known that Chuuya could take on the singularity, but he didn’t know how he was going to do it. “You hit a dragon with a skyscraper? Oh, of course you did. What an incredible prince charming you are, Chuuya!”
“Shut up and answer the question,” Chuuya hissed, leaning back down over Dazai. Before Dazai could predict his intentions, Chuuya buried his face in Dazai’s neck and bit down.
“ Ah! Didn’t you always say you weren’t a dog?” Dazai yelped, alternating between laughter—he was not giggling, let the record show that it was very manly laughter—and bitten back groans as Chuuya continued to gnaw his way up his throat. “ Agh, you—alright, alright! It’s not a hand kink! I think I'm just in love with you!”
“You’d fucking better be!” Chuuya growled into his skin. “The only thing worse than being in love with you would be if it was one sided. The shit you put me through, I swear to god.”
Dazai put a tentative arm around Chuuya’s shoulders, letting it settle more firmly when it wasn’t immediately shrugged off. “...I’m sorry about your car.”
Chuuya sank more fully on top of him with a sigh, wriggling a little to arrange their limbs better. “Whatever. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about Oda Sakunosuke. I know you loved him too.”
Ah. The other stab wound, the one that Dazai carried with him everywhere. He swallowed around the broken glass in his throat. “Not your fault,” he croaked.
“I know. I’m still sorry, though,” Chuuya muttered.
“...I went to visit him before all this,” Dazai admitted, staring up into the misty sky. “At the graveyard, and then the bar. Just in case I didn’t make it.”
Chuuya’s grip on his hand tightened. “Yeah?”
“I wanted to see you too,” Dazai said. “But I figured that if I didn’t, it would be more motivation to survive what Shibusawa and that demon Fyodor had planned. After all, I would only see you again if I lived.”
Chuuya nuzzled into his neck, and just this once, Dazai would refrain from making the comparison to a dog. Just because Chuuya would probably bite him again if he did. Not that that would be the worst thing...
“So the suicidal maniac is motivated to live, hmm?” Chuuya said, gentle enough that Dazai felt his stomach twist. More gentle than he deserved, assuredly.
“Motivated to try, at least,” Dazai said, stroking through the loose hair at the nape of Chuuya’s neck. “Is that enough?”
“That’s enough.”
This could only complicate matters, Dazai knew. That rat Fyodor was still out there, and the ceasefire between the ADA and the Port Mafia wouldn’t last forever. And goodness knows that a relationship between the two of them wouldn’t be simple at the best of times.
Still, those were problems that could be contemplated later. For now, they could lie together in the fog, hand in hand. Not letting go of each other.