Take Me With You
The door of their shared apartment clicks a soft thud as eager footsteps hurry themselves towards Chuuya. Before he can even respond with a “welcome home”, Dazai’s hand had already sneaked around his petite waist. His free hand grabs the redhead’s hair lightly, facing and luring him closer until both of them are staring eye to eye. His bandaged eye, although not seen, gazes intently at Chuuya’s blue locks, before leaning in to a tender kiss.
No words or whatsoever, just one Dazai and a Chuuya completely losing sense of everything outside their display of affection. The redhead’s hands creep behind his partner, playing with the hem of his shirt as his coat is now disregarded somewhere on the floor. Dazai’s hands move to cup the latter’s cheeks, steadying his face before nibbling his lips in way of asking entrance. Chuuya concedes, parts his lips a little, enough for Dazai’s tongue to explore the insides of his mouth, tasting like expensive wine and himself.
It has been six months and neither Chuuya nor Dazai knows how they fell into this some kind of pattern. Sure, they still fight and taunt each other like always, but right now, they’re obviously clueless of where they’re standing at all. Are they rivals? No. Rivals might be at each other’s throats, but not literally. Rivals don’t scream each other’s name at pleasure too, nor cuddle against one another when they have a room of their own. Certainly, they’re something else. Lovers? Well sort of. Although it wasn’t said verbally, both of them has this kind of understanding.
Chuuya tips his head back slightly once Dazai breaks the kiss to fill his lungs with air. His eyes is closed, yet he feels as if he sees Dazai panting to catch his breath, Dazai, only Dazai, not anyone else. Everything about Dazai is alluring and maybe with every second he spends with him, he falls in love more and more with the bandaged freak; but that’s something he won’t dare admit even in the afterlife.
When the brunette’s no longer deprived of oxygen, he places soft kisses on Chuuya’s neck, licking under the strap of his black choker. He bites the point where the shoulder meets the neck, marking him in a delicate bury of teeth. He trails kisses then, from his collarbone to his jaw and up to his chapped lips once more. The kiss is slow and gentle, unlike other kisses they’d shared during heated courses and intimate displays. Lips meet lips in a familiar rhythm, their tongue dances along with every sway of Dazai’s bangs tickling the tip of his nose. Just chaste, too pure and too innocent that it’s almost hard to believe the brunette initiated it.
Chuuya’s hands run themselves higher, drawing nonsensical patters on the other’s back. The way his partner brushes his fingers past his skin is far too arousing that Dazai feels himself weighing on the redhead more and more. Chuuya’s legs go weak against the executive’s intoxicating lips and Dazai takes the opportunity to lean him against the floor. Every touch feels more like whispers of promised forever rather than simple drive of lust. More like silent confessions rather than harsh eagerness. And it’s more like their home. This feels like they’re home. Beside each other.
Dazai belonging to him.
Dazai kissing him.
Dazai wanting him.
When they break off the kiss, Chuuya opens his eyes only to see the other staring deepy, as if trying to look right through him. His right eye might be bandaged but Chuuya still feels the same intensity, and is that sadness he sees on the other’s locks? His face shows no emotion, but it’s Dazai. And Chuuya knows him more than he knows himself. Dazai breaks into a soft smile, one that screams fake if you ask the redhead.
“Is anything wrong?” He asks, dusting off his coat. Dazai moves to stand up from his previous position. Chuuya follows, curling his legs before doing the same. The other speaks no word as he spreads himself on the couch. There’s darkness in his eyes, akin to something he’s seen when Dazai went home drunk and crying one night after Mori summoned him. That moment is still as vivid as ever, and Chuuya remembers cuddling beside him all night preventing him to break apart. The same night he soothed him to sleep as he promised he’s there and he’s never gonna leave him alone, no matter how much he hates his guts. Maybe that’s when Dazai first admitted he’s in love with Chuuya.
He has never seen that sight again, until now.
Dazai looks…so sad. He looks like a human for the first time in years. Something breaks inside the shorter man. Does he really know Dazai as much as he think he does?
The executive flings open his arms wide, pulling Chuuya to sit down on his lap. He buries his head on orange strands, nuzzling his nose in comfort. Chuuya feels so safe. The silence continues for ages, cold wind blowing their bodies yet the arms wrapped around his torso is enough to counter the chill. “Odasaku’s gone.“ He offers no explanation, just simply closes his eyes and lets his chest fall on a steady rhythm. Chuuya heaves a sigh and kisses his temple softly.
He releases himself from Dazai’s grasp and goes directly to their kitchen. He makes coffee then, not too bitter as per Dazai’s taste. He walks back to the executive with a cup of coffee in his hand, only to see him making his way towards the redhead’s bedroom. A forlorn expression on his face. If this is any other day, he would’ve thought that bastard has his own room, why does he keep sleeping at his? but today is not just an ordinary day. He has to be by Dazai’s side, has to remind him that’s he’s always there, and no—he’s not going to leave. He has to, because even if he has a choice, he’d still choose him over anything else. Dazai is still a bastard though.
Even so, Chuuya opens the door and finds Dazai sprawled against the bedsheet. He smiles again, fake, so fake that he wants to punch off that shitty look on his face. Nevertheless, he places the cup on their table, joining Dazai on his own comfortable bed.
He snuggles closer to his partner, breathing against his chest in perfect harmony. Not wasting any moment, Dazai quickly girdles his arm around his partner. Removing his unfashionable hat—in accordance to him of course—with another hand, he showers his lean chest with soft kisses up to his neck. Chuuya’s hands are moving around his body and it takes everything in Dazai not to devour him right there and then.
No, he can’t. This will be the last time, he tells himself.
“I love you.” The brunette breathes out. He brushes Chuuya’s hair to the side and fully kisses him. Their lips fit each other so much, first thing they noticed when the redhead used corruption for the third time and Dazai used his mouth to nullify said ability. Since then, they just knew they belong to one another. No labels on their relationship or whatsoever, just the two of them loving each other inhumanly possible.
“I love y—”
“No, Chuuya. You don’t understand. I love you so much it’s making me crazy. I’ve never felt this way to anyone before and I doubt I ever will besides you. You’re the only person I and will ever love, Nakahara Chuuya. I can never love someone the way I love you and I–I’m so glad you’re mine. I’ll live and die for you.”
Tears stream down against the redhead’s face. Something he doesn’t notice at first drop and even the second, third, fourth, up to the last. Because right now, all he hears is Dazai. All he sees is Dazai. All he tastes is Dazai. All he feels is Dazai.
All he knows is Dazai.
Just the two of them sharing warmth under the white blanket, shielding them away from the cold the night brings.
“I’ll always love you.” Dazai ends with his lips on Chuuya’s forehead. A promise.
Chuuya tucks his head under his partner’s chin, smelling the faint yet unique scent of Dazai. He ignores the fact that although Dazai expresses his feelings a lot better than he can, he’s not the type to blabber all those things to him without any reason. Maybe it has something to do with Oda’s death? He doesn’t know. But what matters now is Dazai loves him and he loves him as much as well. There’s still wedding of their own to look forward to, so his vows can wait a little. He’ll tell Dazai how much he loves him; and together, they’ll spend forever in each other’s arms.
One day, Nakahara Chuuya will no longer be Nakahara. Something, he knows he won’t ever regret.
So in silent hum of the night and the monlight illuminating their figures, Chuuya succumbs to slumber.
Dazai Osamu leaves the Port Mafia an hour later, forsaking all his promises he knew he would break the moment he made them and a sleeping Chuuya—unaware of the missing warmth beside him.
Joining the Armed Detective Agency from a faraway country, Dazai supposes he has a good life now—away from scent and taste of iron, or tantalizing grins imprinted on his ex-mentor’s face. Away from screams of torture, from his subordinates fully consumed in darkness and maniacal laugh of suffering. Away from his weakness, a man in form of short 160 centimeters and blue eyes.
He’s learned to live a normal life, life in the side of light as per Odasaku’s last words were. The side that saves people, he remembers. It might not make a difference but at least, he’s not standing on corpses or crimson red anymore. Instead, he’s gifted with everyday smiles from people he has helped, oblivious of the number he killed back in the Port Mafia. He still hasn’t found a reason to live, so he searches and searches, even if it might sound impossible to the likes of him.
Well, he found it a long time ago, but he let it go, thinking that reason was too much and was undeserving of him.
And now, listening to Kunikida’s same old sermons brings a yawn out of him. Kunikida Doppo, his new partner, is reciting his weekly report in front—words echoing on the four corners of the room though they don’t reach him. Tormenting him is way more fun than listening to his blabberings after all. It’s too boring, Kunikida’s words are boring. The only thing interesting in this place is how he can make fun of them all he wants and get away with it just fine. No thrill, but at least, he’s found some people to protect and is following Oda’s words. This is enough, right?
This is his new home.
A home where people accepted him regardingless of his past, when there’s a lot of reasons not to.
Yet during times of sunsets and tranquil nights, he still finds himself cold and snuggling closer to his pillow, before getting disappointed that none of the things he has can fill his chest with warmth. In times, he even finds himself crying, and lips aching for one’s mouth that he used to know so much. A little more than usual, he holds his phone to his ear, desiring to dial his digits just to hear his voice one last time. He can’t though.
How are you, Chuuya?
I bet you’ve already moved on.
Well, Dazai can’t blame him. Surely, the shorter man loathes him so much now. Who wouldn’t though? When he just said all those cheesy lines only to leave first thing in the morning. As if Chuuya didn’t matter to him. As if he’s nothing but a toy he had fun playing with. As if they never happened at the first place. After all, those are the most logical conclusion, right? It isn’t surprising that the redhead will think of his love as nothing more than pretend. That Nakahara Chuuya is nothing more than a pawn to Dazai Osamu.
Which he isn’t. Because he is so much more. Because he loves Chuuya more than anyone else. Because Chuuya is his weakness and strength at the same time. Because Chuuya is his life. His reason to live.
Mori-sensei had already gotten rid of Odasaku, knowing full well that Dazai Osamu, in fact, treats the guy as his closest friend. In plan of driving him out of the Mafia, his former boss sets everything up, to which Dazai doesn’t notice until it’s too late. Then what about Chuuya? He might be powerful but what will Mori do to him if he learns that Dazai, of all people, holds some romantic feelings for the redhead? He’ll use him of course, which is why he left before that can even happen.
He doesn’t mind getting hurt, but Chuuya, he won’t let anyone hurt Chuuya. So the most conventional way of doing so, is leaving. After all, he can’t let Chuuya get hurt because of his love. He can’t let Chuuya suffer because of his existence.
He let him go, but it’s alright.
It hurts but he’ll be alright.
It’s not alright, but it will be.
It has been four years after all.
He wants to hear his voice so much, wants to feel him again so badly—and ask if they can try again when eveything’s over. When Mori’s gone and no hindrance can ever stop them from falling in love with each other. When the time comes that the both of them can finally be happy and whisper soothing worlds to lull the other to sleep—wrapped in his own body of bandages and scars—he’ll promise to never leave again. A promise he won’t break anymore. It’s not possible, but he’ll wait.
“Oi, are you listening?” Kunikida’s voice breaks his train of thoughts. He’d forgotten that he is, in fact, in a meeting with all staffs of his new found home, tackling about some important matter that everyone needs to hear. It completely slipped his mind though, as images of a certain redhead lingers around his mind a while ago.
The blonde glares daggers at him, even Fukuzawa is looking at him with hint of disapproval. He’s in trouble now but he can get away with it, of course. He flashes his most charming smile and says, “But this is sooooo boring, Kunikida-kun. Just like you.” He adds with faint mockery.
“Enough now.” The president of the armed detective agency dismisses them with a raise of his hand. Kunikida scowls before continuing his report. Everyone sighs then, returning to listen at the blonde’s words after thanking Dazai for a few seconds off. The brunette just let himself fall to his chair, another sound which irks the blonde more than ever. Though, with the threatening eyes of Fukuzawa-san glaring at the both of them, Kunikida knew when to shut up.
“Dazai.” Edogawa Ranpo calls him from behind. The great detective flashes him a grin, something which screams warning at first glance; but Dazai is unfazed. The shorter man sheers his glass bottle—some toy he finds amusing, to Dazai’s confusion—before staring at him when the words fall off his mouth. “Call him.”
Which is why after their supposed meeting, Dazai hurries back to his apartment; a dead and plain cold house, with no redhead around to pepper him with light kisses and hungry ones. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and lies at the king-sized bed, too wide for him alone. He has never looked at anyone since Chuuya, after all.
Considering he has never said anything about the redhead at anyone in the agency, Dazai supposes Ranpo figured out what was bothering the brunette on his own. Well, they may or may not have noticed his usual spacing out whenever the words short, blue, hat and wine are mentioned. Or how he’s never interested at anyone flinging themselves onto him, politely declining them by saying he has someone waiting for him at his home—a lie, obviously. Or maybe it’s just too damn apparent that he longs for someone not with him anymore, someone he shouldn’t be missing when he’s the one who threw their love and partnership away.
Someone he left alone in the darkness to bathe himself in light.
He flips his phone open and types his number, now strange to the way his fingers press the screen ever so lightly in a familiar pattern. He hears three rings and almost hangs up, when a voice, his voice, blooms through the confines of his room. Dazai notices the light shake of his hands.
Disappointingly, it sounds like a voice message—but Dazai’s silently grateful for he doesn’t know what to say at all. Should he start with “Hey it’s me, Dazai.” and follow with “I’m the traitor, do you still remember me?” Well, of course someone with a brain wouldn’t say that, but he still finds himself chuckling at his own humour.
The person on the end of the line speaks. “Hello, this is Nakahara Chuuya. I’m out on a mission right now so I can’t get to you.“ His voice resounds against his room. “I’ll be gone for a few days but I’ll call back when I return on Thursday. If this is Akutagawa, fuck off don’t go into my room and mess with my things again. The last time you did, you fucking left the door open you asshole.”
Dazai cracks into a soft a laughter. Seems like his subordinate adapted one of his everyday habits, a deed he used to do a lot back then. The brunette’s lips curve a little, it’s touching how Akutagawa and Chuuya have gotten closer during the four years he’s gone. Not that he blames them though. Maybe a lot of things had already changed. Such a shame he wasn’t there to see them grow.
“If this is Tachihara, for the last time I’m on a mission! I’m not in some kind of bar again drinking my ass off those heavenly liquors. Damn it! Mori-san sent me here, don’t fucking insist I’m just trying to get myself drunk. If this is Elise, sorry I can’t play with you right now, but when I get home I will. Well if this Kouyou-nee-san, sorry for not telling you I’m leaving for a few days. I didn’t get the chance to talk to you yesterday, but I’ll be back. If this is anybody else, wait for the tone and leave a message. I’ll call you back.” Chuuya says, in a way Dazai’s so familiar of.
So fond of.
Nakahara Chuuya sounds better without him, so who is he to ruin him all over again?
But that doesn’t stop him from missing his touch though.
Just as he’s about to hang up, the voice sounds once more after mere seconds of silence. Dazai almost drops his phone. Almost. “P.S. If this you bastard Mackerel, I still love you.” And he hears the beep.
The brunette doesn’t notice himself crying. Doesn’t notice the phone slipping away from his hold to the hard floor beneath him. Doesn’t feel his legs anymore and doesn’t see anything at all due to his blurry vision. The bandages around his torso are all wet now, tears drenching every part of it. He feels himself shaking wildly, clawing his fist enough to draw blood.
I still love you.
How can Chuuya hang onto him for so long?
Even after four years?
Dazai shakes his head roughly. No, no this can’t be. He can’t go back. He can’t hurt Chuuya again. Chuuya’s fine, Chuuya’s a lot better. And maybe just one more month will help him get rid of his feelings for Dazai. Chuuya should hate him, should curse his existence for leaving him without saying anything. He doesn’t deserve Chuuya, the redhead’s far too good for him.
He can’t break him again. He knows better.
So with that thought, he falls asleep. Cold and alone in the darkness of his room. The words I still love you followed by his own please stop loving me still ringing in his ears.
Four months later, he tries again.
It’s more of a gravitational pull rather than rational thinking. Or is there even rational thinking on the first place? He’s not so sure anymore. Dazai doesn’t give a damn and all he knows is that he yearns for someone else’s voice and it might be a bad idea but he’ll try anyway. He might break again and lose focus on his work just like what happened months ago, when he first called the redhead, but it’s okay. This time, it’s for goodbye. He doesn’t call to bring anything or anyone back, just a closure. Just for one last time. For the sake of his stammering heart, too stubborn to let go.
Four years and four months, surely he would have forgotten about him, right?
He doesn’t know what he’d say, but it takes five seconds when the other end of the line picks up. “Hello, this is Nakahara Chuuya.” The other starts.
Another voice message.
“Mori-san summoned me and I think he’s giving me another mission so I can’t talk with you right now. However, I’m certainly going to be back at Sunday so I’ll just call you then. If this is Q, damn it stop breaking into my room! My hats are not fucking toys, you got me? They’re my collection! Collection! And no, my wine isn’t bitter milk either. If this is Higuchi, stop pestering me into helping you with Akutagawa, that guy has no heart to begin with. Just give up.” Chuuya says as a matter of a fact.
I hope you’d given up on me too. Dazai wishes he can respond.
“If this is Kouyou-nee-san, sorry for not telling you again! Mori-san was in a bad mood earlier so I had to go immediately. I’ll drop by and talk to you next time, I promise! If this is anyone else, wait for the beep and leave a message. I’ll call you back.”
There is soft silence, until, “P.S. If this is you bastard Mackerel, I still love you.”
The tone sounds and Dazai recites his own number.
All things he’d said about closure and other damn lies he can’t keep up with anymore now off from his system. Now, all he thinks of is Chuuya, his orange hair and blue locks; and the way his name rolls off his tongue as if they’re meant to be.
Chuuya still loves him and he loves Chuuya more than ever. So what’s stopping them? Mori? No. It was never Mori. His cowardy is to blame. If he truly loves Chuuya, he’ll fight for him. He’ll save him. They’ll escape together and be happy in confines of their own affection. Because if he truly loves Chuuya, he’ll come back. And that’s why this time, he’s not going to let him go again.
To hell with being meant to be or not! Whatever happens, not even fate can drive him to give up on the redhead again. If Chuuya has waited this long, who is he to refuse? This time, he’ll make sure it will work out. He’ll give Chuuya the love he deserves. He’ll make him happy and make sure he pays for the four years the brunette had hurt him.
So Dazai smiles, a real one, waiting for Sunday to come.
Saturday night and Dazai doesn’t expect his phone to start blinking and vibrating, rummaging under his pillow at such an ungodly hour. 2:30 AM, he checks, as he rubs his eyes sleepily at the noisy piece of trash below him. He grips the small piece of device and flips it open, surprised at the words twinkling and maybe even mocking him at his groggy state. Chuuya’s name flashes at the screen.
Dazai’s heart skips a beat.
No more than a second later, he slides over the accept button.
“You bastard is this fucking you?! How dar—“ No doubt it is Chuuya. Same old angry Chuuya.
“Chuuya. Listen first I’m—“
“HOW FUCKING DARE YOU?!” The other breaks into sobs, resounding clearly at the end of the line. The sounds claw Dazai’s heart more than ever. It hurts, hurts him more than anything, hurts that he’s the reason the man he loves is breaking apart, hurts that no matter how much he wants to, he cannot be there to comfort him and tell him everything’s going to be okay.
It hurts that he cannot kiss his pain away.
“Chuuya, I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry for everything, really.”
“You’re not.” There is agitation on Chuuya’s voice and the brunette feels himself sinking down the Earth. He hates himself, hates himself for leaving, hates himself for making Chuuya suffer, hates himself for not telling the other to move on before disappearing to shadows.
Hates that Chuuya never unloved him, when he thought he would.
“If I had my way,” A hiccup. “I would’ve gotten over you.” Dazai notes the desperation on his voice. His phone is threatening to slip from his hold, but the little strength he has left is preventing the piece of technology from hitting the tiled floor. Dazai Osamu is crying, he’s crying that even after four years, he still misses Chuuya, no one but Chuuya.
He’s crying, realizing how much of a horrible person he is to hurt the only one who would never think of hurting him, the same way he did.
And that’s when he realizes, there’s still some human in him.
“Chuuya.” He whispers ever so softly. His lips are quivering in agony. He feels so empty, so hollow, so incomplete, without his partner by his side. It’s been four years but Chuuya’s name still hurts the same as it rolls off his mouth. Too familiar, as if he hadn’t avoided saying the other’s name since the night he left him.
“Please come back, Dazai. I want to go home.” Chuuya’s voice sounds so fragile.
Because Dazai is his home.
Because no house can ever give him the warmth he dreads, If Dazai is not inside.
Because a home is being wrapped in Dazai’s embrace.
Because home is wherever Dazai is.
A small smile plays on the detective’s mouth. Tears stream down his face in queue, happy—joyful even, to hear those words coming out from the man he loves more than anything. Maybe it’s time to go home. Maybe four years is enough already and the time has come for them to reunite. Maybe they weren’t even meant to stand on different sides. Just beside each other, partners. Always beside each other.
For twenty-two years, Dazai had never been wrong, not even once— but he realizes, the day he left Chuuya was the first time he had ever been.
The first mistake he’s ever done.
“Just so you know, bastard. I’ve tried going out with other people, but you just have to mess me up every time. Do you plan on making me alone for the rest my life?” The redhead’s words cut his thoughts.
“Same here, my cute little hat rack. You know I can never love anyone, if they’re not you.”
Chuuya curses, throws profanities at him while tears are still obviously escaping his eyes. His muffled voice just confirms Dazai’s suspicion and he wants nothing more than to hug his redhead and make love with him again. Only to show the other how much his love never changed after all those years.
“I’ll be home.” Dazai promises, and he’s never been this happy during those four years the redhead wasn’t by his side. “And P.S. I still love you too.” The former executive grins, maybe teasing Chuuya a little—but he’s too goddamn emotional right now to even retort in mockery.
Because Chuuya, for the first time in years, learns that when Dazai says he’ll be home, he will be.
“I’ll wait for you.” A promise.
Promises they will never break again.FIN