Work Text:
It was a bad fight. Not the worst they've ever had, not even close, but bad enough that Chuuya stormed out of the apartment leaving Dazai by himself.
Since moving in with his partner, Dazai has been alone only a handful of times. Chuuya always claims that he doesn't trust Dazai not to make a mess or break something if he's left to his own devices, but the truth of the matter is that leaving Dazai alone is simply a bad idea. Dangerous.
It took Chuuya approximately two hours to calm down enough to head home. Two hours of walking the streets of Yokohama. Two hours of trying to make sense of the stupid fight they had (because it was. It was so stupid looking back on it. Dazai said something flippant, Chuuya took offense, they argued, Dazai off-handedly said that maybe he should move out, Chuuya panicked and yelled at him and then ended up leaving first). Two hours before he realized he hadn't told Dazai he was coming back.
Dazai can say some stupid things. Mostly on purpose to get a rise out of someone, but there are the rare times that he says something he didn’t think would get the reaction it did. Like suggesting he should move out of the apartment he shares with Chuuya.
It was a joke. A rib. A way to lighten the mood that he had already accidentally soured by shit-talking the Port Mafia. Chuuya wasn't meant to take it seriously, Dazai didn't even mean it seriously. But he did.
'Who would want to stay with you anyways?!'
Chuuya had looked furious when he'd yelled that. The slamming of the front door that shook the walls was proof of his rage. Leaving answered his own question:
No one.
Because who would ever want to stay with Dazai? Be around him for longer than necessary?
Normally he would work to push someone away if they were starting to get too close. It would just be easier on all parties if they were to realize Dazai isn't worth the extra effort he takes before he were to inevitably ruin them. Normally that works well enough to keep acquaintances that don't hate his guts so he doesn't wallow in the empty loneliness always licking at his heels.
But there are those rare times when "normally" doesn't go to plan and he gets attached.
Getting close to someone else is pretty much Dazai personally signing their death warrant. If he doesn't manage to go first, they always leave him, more often than not through death.
After leaving that first time, Dazai never expected Chuuya to want to try again. To risk himself to get close to Dazai again. Dazai had already ruined him once, how could he possibly think this would ever work in his favor? But he couldn't bring himself to say no because Chuuya has never been a part of his normal.
He knew that nothing they built together would last, that it was only a matter of time before everything went to shit for a second time, but he eventually found himself trying to keep Chuuya. It wasn’t fair, in fact, it was a very selfish choice that Dazai made with no regard for Chuuya.
It was always lingering in the back of his mind when they laughed together. Always ate away at his soul when their lips met and their limbs tangled to a sweet tune neither had the privilege of hearing before. It was always there to remind him just how much it'll hurt when it's run its course.
Yet he let it run anyway.
It would seem all the way to the end already.
Chuuya wasn't coming back.
Dazai had been standing in the same place since Chuuya slammed the door shut behind him, one thought going through his mind at an increasingly rapid rate.
Chuuya left. He isn't coming back.
'He left. Chuuya left and he won't come back. He won't come back because no one ever does. Everyone leaves one way or another. It was only a matter of time. It took longer than I thought it would. I finally ran him out of my life. He left. I'm alone now. I'm alone. I'm alone. I'm alone.
I'm alonealonealonealonealonealonealonealonealo-'
"I'm alone."
Who knows how long it's been since the door shut, cutting off the sight of the only person who has ever understood him. Who knows how long he's been standing here, in the kitchen, staring at the front door. Long enough for his limbs to go numb though. Long enough for his brain to start working again. Long enough for him to finally realize there was blood dripping from his arms.
Dazai lifted his arms into his line of sight and, "oh." There wasn't just blood dripping from healing cuts, but there was also the drying substance caked under his blunt nails as well. "Oh." He repeated as he stared at his handiwork. It's not often that he scratches to the point of so much blood, it takes a lot of effort for his nails to break skin like this.
Despite himself, despite the cold numbness that had taken a hold of his heart, laughter bubbled up his chest. He should've known that the first thing he'd do once finally alone is to instinctually hurt himself.
It was ironic staring at his unbandaged arms with fresh blood flowing from them. Chuuya would throw a bitch fit if he were here to see blood splattering across his clean linoleum floors and marble countertop. But he's not.
He's not here.
Another laugh erupted from Dazai's throat. "He can't kick me out for making a mess if he left first."
The thought struck him out of nowhere that his blood is such a small mess. He should make a bigger one.
His unfocused eyes landed on the glass pan Chuuya insisted on having for the crab meals he would make for Dazai, and his laughter turned hysterical as he reached for the pan and threw it with all of his strength at the floor. The glass shattered into a million pieces upon contact, spreading around the entire kitchen space. There was no place around him untouched by either his blood or the glass shards.
But it wasn't big enough.
Everyone leaves him, but they usually have a reason for it. Like dying. But Dazai had only said something stupid this time. That's never pushed Chuuya away so far before. Dazai deserves a reason for being left alone, and making such a mess is his reason. Chuuya hates messes, especially in his apartment, so Dazai will ruin it all.
The next target his gaze landed on was the soft plush rocking chair in the living room. The two of them had curled up together on that chair most evenings.
With his laughter still continuing to the point of madness, Dazai grabbed the largest shard of glass scattered around him and stalked toward the chair. Without even a second of hesitation, he took the piece of glass and plunged it deep into the cushion, dragging it down with all his might enough to leave a jagged tear as long as his middle finger. He tugged harder when the piece got stuck in the fabric, but he accidentally pulled up and the momentum had the glass cut through his arm instead.
The pain jolted him out of the hazy fog in his brain. Looking down he was met with even more blood flowing freely from the slice in his arm. His right hand was also cut and bleeding from holding the glass piece so tightly. He was destroying Chuuya's things, bleeding, and alone.
Dazai's laughter abruptly stopped as he took in the state of himself and the apartment around him. That's when the tears started.
Fat tears rolled down his cheeks, hoarse sobs coming from his strained voice.
"I'm alone." He whispered, clutching the glass tighter. His eyes were too unfocused to watch the blood dripping down and landing on the carpet, but he could smell it. The familiar iron scent only made his tears fall faster.
He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to bleed onto Chuuya's things and destroy what little he has left of the man. He didn't want any of this.
"I don't want to be alone. Please." He sobbed. "Please. I'm sorry." Dropping the glass, Dazai wrapped his arms around his knees and shoved his face between them and his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."
“Jesus,” Chuuya whispered in horror when he finally got back home. As soon as it hit him that he had essentially up and abandoned his partner he rushed back but evidently, he took too long. Entering through the front door, the first thing he noticed was the silence. And then the smell of blood assaulted his nose.
“Dazai?” He called out, stepping over the shattered glass in the kitchen. He easily found the drying blood stains on the floor and counters which just made his chest constrict with panic. There’s no way of knowing for sure without finding Dazai if the blood is an accident as a result of the broken glass, or if it was self-inflicted, but there is a reason leaving Dazai by himself is dangerous.
Following the small trail of blood and broken glass, Chuuya quickly found himself in the living room. He had to stop himself from running toward the curled-up form surrounded by even more blood. “Hey, Dazai,” he said softly, slowly making his way across the room despite every single nerve buzzing with the need to check him over now.
"Hey, can you look at me?" Because he would rather die than force touch on Dazai right now. When he got no response, Chuuya nervously sat down on the ground in front of the man he could now tell was shaking. "I'm sorry. I never should have left like that." He whispered shakily. "We need to get you cleaned up, will you let me? Osamu?" Chuuya watched his partner for any slight movements. Any reaction. Any sign that he's still here.
It took a few moments of tense overbearing silence, but eventually, Dazai nodded slightly.
The joy Chuuya felt at this small accomplishment was immense and almost overwhelming. "I'm going to touch you now, and get you to the bathroom. Alright?"
With another small nod, Chuuya didn't waste any more time. He first reached out a single hand, keeping it low and in Dazai's lowered line of sight. The flinch he got wasn't as bad as it could've been, and Dazai never pulled away from the touch, so Chuuya continued. Next was his other hand folding around a bicep, and then he was slowly and gently pulling Dazai up off the floor. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to ask: What happened? Why do you do this to yourself? I wasn't gone for that long. Why didn't you call me? Or someone else? But he can't, it would be like pouring salt in an open wound, literally. So instead, Chuuya silently hauled a limp Dazai into their bathroom.
"Here," He muttered, setting Dazai on the closed toilet seat. "Osamu, I need to go get a rag to clean off the blood." Chuuya gently grabbed hold of Dazai's cheeks, forcing his gaze up to meet eyes. "They're in the hall closet. Will you be okay for a minute?" Dazai didn't say anything, he looked as if he weren't even present in the bathroom. "Osamu." Chuuya said again, a little more forcefully, earning him a slow blink of recognition. "One minute. Will you be okay?"
"Yeah..."
Chuuya hadn't been expecting a verbal response to his question. Shit, Dazai's voice sounds completely wrecked, as if he had been crying or screaming for hours, his answer dying off halfway through his saying it. "Don't move." He pressed a tender kiss to Dazai's forehead before hurrying out of the bathroom, leaving the door open enough that he could still see his partner sitting there like a corpse. Is he really like this because Chuuya left for a couple of hours? "I thought I was the one with abandonment shit." There has got to be more to it than that. Dazai doesn't lose control like this over something that happens often. Except... most of the time they both run away with the excuse of work calling. This had been the first time Chuuya left just to leave. "Fuck." He whispered, quickly grabbing a few old rags that should probably be pitched at this point anyway, and hurrying back into the bathroom.
It’s been a good while since Dazai has hurt himself like this. It’s not the worst, not even close, but the clear agitation in the scratch marks was telling enough that while the physical injuries may not be awful the scratches left on his mentality are even deeper. Some part, some large and overwhelmingly human part of Chuuya ached fiercely with the knowledge that he did this. The destroyed chair, the shattered pan, the blood, the scratches, it all had Chuuya as the catalyst.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he wants to say. ‘Don’t leave,’ He wants to get on his hands and knees and cry and beg for even a scrap of forgiveness for the pain he unwillingly caused. He wants to take that same piece of glass that carved into the couch just as it had fine alabaster skin and slice through his own. To feel even a fraction of the pain glassy eyes and bloodied limbs are reflecting.
But he can’t. Because he did this. Chuuya knows the fragility of Dazai’s emotional state, knows that even something small can cause large ripples. He knows this, and he’s not perfect at it, but Chuuya tries. Since coming back together, he’s matured, had time to think. And while Dazai still brings out that fiery competitive side that no one else knows how to stoke quite as well, Chuuya has learned how to tame the anger that would normally accompany it. Dazai puts up fronts, wears masks that he has never lived without, and he will always try to instigate before being vulnerable in any sense of the word, so Chuuya has had to adapt if they ever wanted to get anywhere with each other. He tries so hard; tries to see beyond the masks, understand the unspoken, read between the lines, and yet through all of his efforts Chuuya somehow missed that Dazai is just as lonely as he is. That the sense of betrayal and abandonment always thrumming through his veins flows parallel through Dazai’s. How could he ever beg Dazai to not leave him again when he’s the one who left first this time?
Chuuya isn’t one to be excessively ruled by his emotions; anger and rage when necessary, but vulnerable feelings, guilt, in his line of work will get you killed much faster than the speed of a bullet. But watching his partner barely react when he rubbed the wet cloth over his wounds in a way that would have to at least sting, bandages dyed red and coming off at the arms where they were haphazardly forced loose, eyes empty and expression closed off, the guilt was making itself known. Gnawing at his guts and climbing its way up his chest until it was burning in his throat, choking him. He had to blink against the sting at the back of his eyes, clenching his jaw to keep from letting the sting develop into something more. Because he can’t cry right now. The only one who deserves to sink into his emotions like that is currently sitting stone-faced on the closed toilet, barely reacting to anything happening around him. So no, if Dazai refuses to cry then Chuuya will not either.
Washing away the drying blood meant that Dazai’s scars were suddenly on full display, and Chuuya was once again hit with a sickening rolling sense of guilt. Pale white and raised proof of the pain his everyday life consists of. Most were horizontal and precise in their length and depth; but there were also those that were vertical, longer and deeper, more desperate. Chuuya remembers vividly, when they were 16, the time he had walked in on Dazai slicing through his radial artery; there was so much blood around them and he could only feel deep intense panic as Dazai’s cold eyes only reflected his disappointment that he were found too soon. Before then, Chuuya was always aware of Dazai’s more self-destructive tendencies and his suicidal ideations, but he had never seen how deeply routed those tendencies were. He doesn’t see Dazai’s scars often, no one does that’s what the bandages are there for, but seeing them since that realization buried itself in his mind has always made a large part of him curl into itself.
He hasn’t seen that same cold disappointment after a failed attempt since before Dazai left the Port Mafia (one of the more major reasons he is secretly glad that he got out when he did, because who knows when he would’ve succeeded), but that doesn’t mean it has completely disappeared. He still tries, he still harms, it’s just less obvious than the scars he’s stuck tracing with his eyes. Now, he may have new scars to add to the collection, although they won’t last forever.
Chuuya can’t help himself, almost in a trance as he takes the arm he is holding to clean off and places a tender kiss on the inside of his wrist. The shiver that makes it’s way through Dazai’s body at the act doesn’t escape Chuuya as he speaks. “I could never leave you, not really,” the words are pressed into the raised skin, his lips catching on the thin scars there. “No matter what I say or do, no matter how hard things get, I could never leave your side.” And isn’t that the dynamic they’ve always had? Chuuya chasing after Dazai until he can’t any longer. Dazai may leave him, has left him, but Chuuya could never make that same decision. It’s an impossibility for him. The only gravity he seems incapable of manipulating is the same one that keeps him tethered to Dazai.
No words were spoken as Dazai slowly, so very slowly, used his hand not in Chuuya’s grasp to reach down and cradle his face. Nothing was said to accompany the action, but his less vacant eyes said it all,
“I’m sorry for leaving you first. I’m sorry for forcing you away. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”
Chuuya didn’t say anything either as he leaned into the hand, kissing the open palm, but his silence filled the space,
“I understand. I don’t blame you. We’re okay. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…”
***
"What do you need?" Chuuya asked as he settled their softest blanket around Dazai's thin shoulders. He hasn't gotten much more out of Dazai as he finished cleaning the wounds and wrapping them in fresh bandages, and it was a silent walk to their bedroom as Chuuya carried him and placed in the center of the king sized bed. He wasn't expecting much of an answer to his question, already thinking through supplies he should grab before joining him under the duvet, but he wanted to give the chance for requests either way. Dazai should be allowed to freely ask for anything he needs, he deserves that much at least.
Chuuya was currently planning on grabbing a couple water bottles and some snacks in hopes he'd be able to get some food in Dazai's system (the man has barely eaten all day as it is), but his plans were dashed the moment a hesitant and rough with disuse voice finally spoke up.
He didn’t understand what Dazai was asking for at first, the words more muffled than anything, so Chuuya leaned closer. "What?" He asked genuinely, not wanting his partner to get embarrassed at having to repeat himself and clamming up.
A pale and bony hand grabbed the edge of Chuuya's shirt with deceptive strength. "You." Dazai rasped out. "I need you."
Despite the strong grip, Dazai's words were hesitant. He isn't stupid. No matter what Chuuya says, how much he tries to take the blame for Dazai's actions, or how much time he spends tenderly putting his shattered pieces back together, Dazai is not a stupid person. His actions, his overreactions, are his alone, and he can't pretend that Chuuya owes him any of the soft patience he's graced him with.
Asking for more than he's already received is pushing his luck. Because that's what it feels like: his luck is what's kept Chuuya close, it's what allowed him the chance to make up for past mistakes.
But at the same time, Chuuya did ask him what he needs. And while he should probably request food and water, especially after losing blood, there's only one thing that could possibly make him feel whole again right now. Despite not deserving his presence, his care, Dazai craves it like a man starved. Hence the hesitation.
Chuuya could say no. He could scoff and round on Dazai telling him that he's saved him from himself, again, what more could he possibly want from him. He could leave Dazai to lick his wounds in silence and alone. He could finally realize that Dazai isn't worth the effort he takes.
But he won't.
He would never, because Chuuya is too loyal, too caring, too human.
And he's proven right as Chuuya simply smiles, a soft tender little thing, and climbs into the bed beside Dazai.
"I can't read your mind, Osamu, but I know for a fact that whatever is going on up there right now is bullshit." Chuuya lightly flicked his forehead. "Choosing you isn't a chore for me. Choosing to stay isn't something I'm forcing myself to do. You need me, and that's okay because I'm willing to let you have me." He gently tugged Dazai down and into his arms. "I swear to you that you can't get rid of me that easily."
Dazai didn't say anything, he didn't have to. The warm liquid soaking into Chuuya's shirt said all he needed to.
"We'll get through this, we always do."
Because between petty arguments, betrayals, hurt, and love, they always get through it to see the other side. It's not easy, far from it, but when has anything ever been simple for them?
"We'll be okay, and get through this. Together." Chuuya nosed through Dazai's soft hair, kissing along the crown. He relished in the way his partner relaxed in his hold, hoping that his sleep will be dreamless for him tonight.
They have a lot to talk about, a lot to still learn about the other. Something like today is bound to continue occurring if they don't. But Chuuya isn't the only one who is willing to try. And if they try together? Well, nothing has ever beat them before as a team, why start now?