Text"Hey Chuuya," He says. "I must have been a really horrible kid, right? Why else would my parents kill themselves without taking me with them?"
Dazai watches Chuuya's face with careful consideration in the few moments after those words leave his lips, waiting, searching for anything, any sign of disgust, of anger, of–
all he gets is the image of Chuuya's lips parting in shock. He looks away before it can change. For all of his efforts to push Chuuya away, Dazai desperately wants Chuuya to love him, to like him, to be enamored and charmed by him. He doesn't want to see the way Chuuya looks when he realizes Dazai really is good for nothing after all.
"Well?" He asks, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. He fails. Please don't look at me like that. Dazai closes his eyes.
"Why would you even think that?" Chuuya's voice is hardened. It shakes as he speaks. "Why would you even say something like that about yourself?"
There it is. That anger. It should hurt, and it does, just a little bit. It stings. But it's also a rush of familiarity. It's just so Chuuya. Dazai huffs a laugh that sounds wetter than he'd like it to.
"It's true." He offers, half-heartedly.
"No it's not." Chuuya snaps, and Dazai indulges himself in opening his eyes and looking at him. Chuuya's face is twisted into an expression of hardened anger, and Dazai's heart twinges with a jolt of pain as he remembers just who it's directed at. "Who the fuck told you something like that?"
Dazai blinks, a bit confused.
"They didn't have to tell me, Chuuya." He says, like it's obvious. It should be. "I just knew."
"Dazai," Chuuya chokes out, and then, to Dazai's horror, he wipes at his eyes with his sleeve. "It's not true, okay? It's not."
Dazai stares at him.
"I'm sure you were a great kid." Chuuya tells him, choking out a laugh. "I'm sure you were smart and playful and I'm sure your parents loved you. So they killed themselves. That's on them, not you. And I…"
His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows roughly. Dazai watches him with the caution of a fox caught in a trap, wary and suspicious.
"I'm glad." Chuuya says, and Dazai is stunned. Completely and utterly so. "I'm glad they didn't take you with them. I'm glad you're still here, okay?"
Dazai is confused. Whatever feelings are swirling in the pit of his stomach, relief and horror and disgust at himself– they only grow stronger and more overwhelming. He wraps his arms around himself and digs his nails into his ribcage to distract himself from them.
"Why?" He croaks. "Why, Chuuya, why?"
Doesn't Chuuya hate him? Isn't their relationship strictly professional, aside from sex? They're not even friends, however much Dazai wants them to be. Dazai wants a lot of things, because he's selfish and greedy, just like Mori had said.
Chuuya shifts, looking uncomfortable, and Dazai winces. He's gone too far. He's crossed a line by asking. He shouldn't have pushed so much. But Chuuya just sighs and reaches a hand out, hesitantly, to cup Dazai's cheek.
Dazai feels his eyes widen, and his mouth drops open. The touch is tender, soft– reminiscent of when Chuuya had fucked him and it had felt more like making love. It sends a shock straight to his core, electric and confusing and altogether uncomfortable, though in a good way. He wants Chuuya to touch him like this more, always, and never stop.
"Chuuya–" He starts, and the words almost, almost tumble out of his mouth, an amalgamation of I want you and I love you and please don't leave me, but all that comes out is. "I'm sorry."
Deceit lingers like cigarette smoke, soft as a kiss against a sleeping lover's forehead.
Chuuya glances at him, bewildered. He doesn't look angry anymore, and it's a relief as much as it has guilt turning itself over in Dazai's stomach.
"What for?" Chuuya asks, and his voice isn't quite soft, just gentler than before. It does awful, horrible things to Dazai's already splintered chest. It makes him imagine a world of things that just aren't possible for him to have.
He could come out and say it now, say he's lying, this is all based on a lie, he's smart, he knows how to do calculus, he's acting– but Chuuya will leave him. And so soon after seeing Mori, who Dazai had never, ever wanted to see again, he's not ready to be alone. So he lies again.
"I made you uncomfortable." He says, giving a smile that he knows is too wobbly to come across as self-assured. "You don't have to answer that question."
Chuuya shifts again, averting his gaze.
"Fuck." He huffs out. "Look, okay– fuck, Dazai. I'm sorry."
It's Dazai's turn to be bewildered. Chuuya's hand hasn't left his face. His thumb strokes almost soothing circles on Dazai's cheekbone. Dazai can hardly hold himself back from pressing into the feeling, touch-starved and greedy for all forms of affection, anything he can get.
"I don't get it." Dazai says, blinking. "What do you mean?"
"I've…" Chuuya starts, still not meeting his gaze. "I've been really horrible to you, okay?"
Oh.
"Oh." Dazai says, thinking out loud. "I don't think you have, though."
"Well of course you don't!" Chuuya snaps, glaring at him, and then looks like he regrets it when Dazai can't help but curl into himself. "You have no self-preservation, you know? You shouldn't let me treat you like that. If I'm being mean, just say so. Okay?"
Dazai wrinkles his nose.
"I still don't understand." He says. Chuuya sighs, and pulls his hand away to rub at his forehead. Dazai's cheek feels cold in its absence. His own hand comes up to replace Chuuya's without his permission, feeling gently along where Chuuya had touched him.
"Look." Chuuya says. "I was really mean to you. I insulted you and told you I hated you and that you didn't mean anything to me because I couldn't handle the thought that none of it might be true. You're annoying! You get under my skin really fucking easily, but I also like you, and care about you, and…" Dazai watches with big eyes, his chest swelling with every word. "And if you'd let me, I'd really fucking like to be your friend."
And Dazai would. Dazai wants that so much, so, so much, and he feels like he's tripping over himself to understand why Chuuya would want that.
"Even after everything I just told you?" Dazai asks, his voice catching in his throat. "I don't get it, Chuuya."
Chuuya looks up at him again with those gorgeous blue eyes, swimming pools that Dazai would like to sink to the bottom of, drown himself in.
"You really think I'd blame you for something like that?" He asks. "Your parents killing themselves… That's on them, not you, Dazai. You had nothing to do with that."
Dazai sucks his lower lip into his mouth and bites at it until he feels the skin split.
"I don't remember anything about them." He admits. "Not really. All I remember is finding them. Like that. They were just hanging there, you know?" He laughs hoarsely, but there's no joy behind it.
Chuuya is watching him carefully, like he genuinely cares about what Dazai has to say, and it hurts, just a little bit. Dazai has to look away.
"Their necks were snapped." He whispers. "That's what happens when you hang yourself properly. You don't just suffocate, you know?"
Chuuya blinks at him.
"No, I didn't." He replies. "I didn't know that."
He looks like he doesn't know what to do with that information. Dazai sighs, his hand still pressed against his cheek, where Chuuya's had been just a few minutes ago.
"How old were you, Dazai?" Chuuya asks hesitantly, like he doesn't really want to know the answer. Dazai digs his nails into his cheek just enough to sting mildly.
"Eleven." He says. "I was eleven when I found my parents hanging from the ceiling. How fucked up is that?"
Dazai laughs again. It sounds raw and hurt, even to his own ears. He hates it. He wants to shut himself away from everyone and everything, wants to fall asleep forever and never wake up.
"Sometimes I really, really want to die." He whispers, shocking himself. Because it's not a joke, and it doesn't come off as one, either. "Just so I could see them again. Maybe then we could really be a family. You know?"
Chuuya grabs his hand, pulling it away from his face, and squeezes it tightly.
"Don't." He commands. "Don't ever do that." Dazai stares at him with eyes that he knows are blank, emotionless slates. Or at least, he hopes they are. Chuuya falters, and squeezes his hand again. "Please, Dazai. Don't do that to me, okay?"
Dazai watches him carefully for any sign of dishonesty, anything at all. He doesn't find one.
"Yeah." He murmurs, squeezing back. His mouth is dry, and there are indents in his lip from biting it so hard. "Okay, Chuuya."
Chuuya stares at him for a moment longer, biting his lip, and then gets to his feet. He pulls Dazai up, too. Dazai is shaky, wobbling like a newborn fawn, new to walking, breathing, new to living all over again.
"What are you doing?" He asks, not meeting Chuuya's gaze. He's embarrassed. He knows he looks horrible, ugly, a mess, a walking waste of breath. But all Chuuya says is,
"Let's dance."
Dazai jerks his head up to look at him, surprised. His lips part, cracked and dry.
"What?" He feels dumb, his head empty of thoughts except for those two words. Let's dance.
"You heard me." Chuuya says, pulling out his phone. "Let's dance. I'll put something on and we can just have at it."
Dazai's lips twitch up into a ghost of a smile.
"You know how to dance, Chuuya?" He asks. He can't keep the humor out of his voice.
"I lived in Paris for two years." Chuuya deadpans, raising an eyebrow. "Do you?"
Dazai shrugs.
"I grew up rich." He counters. "So yeah, I know how to dance."
"Bastard." Chuuya grumbles, but he looks like he's hiding a smile. It makes Dazai's heart flutter.
"You don't hate me, do you?" He finds himself asking, desperate. "Do you hate me, Chuuya?"
Chuuya blinks at him.
"I just told you I care about you." He says. "Are you stupid or something?"
He winces in regret after the words come out. It's okay, though, because Dazai can tell he doesn't mean it.
"A little bit," Dazai says. "When it comes to you."
Chuuya huffs a disbelieving laugh.
"What does that even mean?" He asks, pulling Dazai to the center of the room and then letting go of his hand. It would be so easy to just say it now.
I like you.
I love you.
Whatever you want it to.
Something like that, anything like that. It doesn't come out. Dazai can't manage to do anything but shrug. Chuuya doesn't even look at him, too busy scrolling through his phone to find a song.
It doesn't take long. Music filters into the air from the speaker of his phone, and he sets it onto Dazai's desk.
"Ready?" He asks, stretching a hand out. Dazai takes it, his heart pounding, looking at Chuuya in the dim sunlight that filters through the window over his desk, orange as it sets below the horizon.
He wants to say something stupid. Something like always, or I was born ready, but instead he settles for a simple "Of course."
Chuuya pulls him close, his grip firm, their bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces meant to be. Dazai hopes Chuuya can't tell how nervous he is. It's been years since he last danced, and longer since he actually enjoyed it. It's not strained. One of Chuuya's hands finds his waist, the other still holding his hand, and Dazai reciprocates.
J'attendrai
Le jour et la nuit, j'attendrai toujours
Ton retour
J'attendrai
Car l'oiseau qui s'enfuit vient chercher l'oubli
Dans son nid
It feels tender, slow dancing to a French love song in the setting sun, and Dazai falls harder, deeper, than he ever has before. Chuuya's hair looks like a flickering flame in the sunlight, and particles of dust float, golden, around them. All of Dazai's breath leaves his lungs when Chuuya's hand gently squeezes his waist as they rock back and forth.
Le temps passe et court
En battant tristement
Dans mon cœur plus lourd
Et pourtant, j'attendrai
Ton retour
"What are you thinking about?" Chuuya murmurs, and in that moment, Dazai has that one realization over and over again.
I'm in love with you.
He doesn't say it. It's too soon. Chuuya couldn't possibly feel the same way. His lips form words that won't come.
"Nothing." He whispers, instead. "Nothing at all."
"Good." Chuuya says, leading Dazai in a slow, gentle turn. "Don't think about anything."
Dazai lets himself smile softly and hopes Chuuya doesn't think too much of it.
"Trying to distract me, Chuuya?" He asks.
"Is it working?" Chuuya counters.
Les fleurs pâlissent
Le feu s'éteint
L'ombre se glisse
Dans le jardin
L'horloge tisse
Des sons très las
Je crois entendre ton pas
"Yes." Dazai says, breathless. Chuuya smiles at him, bright and beaming. It looks like heaven. It looks like a scene from a movie, and Chuuya is the star of it all.
"Good." He says again. "Just keep your eyes on me."
As if Dazai could ever take his eyes off of him. Chuuya is like sparks flying off of a campfire, like the glow at the end of a cigarette, like the ocean breeze in Dazai's hair as he stands on a wooden pier overlooking the sea. Dazai wants to breathe him in, keep Chuuya with him, by his side, forever. And ever.
He's wrong for wanting that.
Le vent m'apporte
Des bruits lointains
Guettant ma porte
J'écoute en vain
Helas, plus rien
Plus rien ne vient
Chuuya turns them again. Dazai feels fragile in his grasp, like cracked glass, a splintered window pane, threatening to shatter on impact if Chuuya drops him. He can only hope that Chuuya doesn't, that he won't.
They're dancing together now, but Dazai will be on his own soon enough. His own slow dance, with empty arms, turning and turning and turning in the dark emptiness– alone again.
For now, he takes what he can get. He takes Chuuya in his arms, he takes Chuuya's hands on him, his company, his tutelage. He takes it all like the horrid, greedy, life-leeching monster that he is. One day, soon, he'll bleed Chuuya dry of all his good graces. Until then, he'll let Chuuya hold him, dance with him. He'll let Chuuya have him however he wants.
J'attendrai
Le jour et la nuit, j'attendrai toujours
Ton retour
J'attendrai
Car l'oiseau qui s'enfuit vient chercher l'oubli
Dans son nid
"Chuuya." Dazai whispers. He knows it's a risk. They're not fucking, it's out of place, but even so– Chuuya hums in question, and Dazai takes a deep breath before continuing. "Kiss me?"
Chuuya stills, motionless. The rocking ceases, and with it, the dancing. The music continues, crackling in the background like it's an old record.
"You want me to?" Chuuya asks, like he's making sure. Dazai nods, and then, because he knows Chuuya prefers a verbal answer, he says,
"Please. I don't want to think anymore."
Chuuya stares at him quietly, and then he's fisting a gentle hand in the collar of Dazai's shirt and pulling him down into a kiss. It isn't rough, and it isn't forceful. It's like a soft summer breeze on a sunny day. Chuuya's lips are warm, and soft, and Dazai could kiss them for years and never tire of it. He wants that. It's too bad he can't have it. Like this, though, he can almost pretend. Pretend Chuuya likes him like that, pretend they're together, pretend their whole relationship isn't based around a lie.
Le temps passe et court
En battant tristement
Dans mon cœur plus lourd
Et pourtant, j'attendrai
Ton retour
It's languid, and Chuuya releases Dazai's hand to cup his cheek instead. Dazai could cry. He almost does. His eyes sting, so he squeezes them closed tighter and pretends that they don't. He pretends that everything is okay and that he's not falling to pieces in Chuuya's arms. He can't let Chuuya see him like that.
When they break apart, Dazai's head reels. It's now or never. Now or never.
"Chuuya, I–"
He's interrupted by a shrill ringing sound that emanates from Chuuya's phone. Chuuya blinks, surprised.
"Just a second." He says. Dazai watches him step away to take his phone. When he looks at the screen, Chuuya's eyes widen. He accepts the call and holds the phone up to his ear. "Mom?"
Oh. That can't be good. Chuuya's knuckles are white with how hard he's gripping his phone. Dazai isn't sure what to do, so he hovers, his hands clenched into fists.
"What happened?" Chuuya blurts out. "Are you okay? Do you need me?"
Dazai ponders, for a moment, what to do.
"Okay." Chuuya stumbles over the word. He looks frantic. Dazai wants to hold him and tell him it's okay, wants to comb Chuuya's hair away from his face with his fingers, wants more than anything to be there for him. "Okay. I'll come to see you. No, I'll– I'll be there, okay? I just need to figure some things out, but I'll be there."
When he hangs up, Chuuya's hands are trembling. He looks up at Dazai with round, frightened eyes, and says,
"My mom is sick."
Dazai only has one thought in mind.
"How can I help?"
Chuuya looks conflicted, still gripping his phone tightly. His eyes are unfocused and hazy. Dazai knows that look of panic all too well.
"I can't ask you to do that." Chuuya says. "It's too much. I…"
"Chuuya." Dazai makes his voice as stern as possible to get his point across. "Tell me what you need, and I'll get it done." Then, to sweeten the deal, "I owe you, okay? For tutoring me. Let me help you."
Chuuya hesitates for just a moment longer before seemingly breaking.
"I need a flight back to Paris." He whispers. "I can't afford it on my own. I barely make tuition here."
"Don't worry about it." Dazai says, pulling out his phone. In a short matter of time, he's booked two tickets to Paris Charles de Gaulle airport. "We'll leave in two days. I imagine you need some time to get things settled here, right?"
"Right." Chuuya affirms. His voice trembles. Then he blinks, confused. "We?"
"I'm coming with you." Dazai tells him.
"You–" Chuuya starts, and then trails off. "What? You don't have to do that."
"Chuuya, come on." Dazai says. "We're friends, right? What kind of friend would I be if I didn't support you right now?"
"Buying the ticket is already enough." Chuuya protests.
"Chuuya." Dazai steps forward and puts his hands on Chuuya's shoulders. "Do you really want to fly back to Paris alone?"
Chuuya is shaking under his fingertips.
"No." He whispers. "I really, really don't want to be alone right now."
Which is what Dazai had predicted.
"That's why I'm coming with you." Dazai says, and drops his hands from Chuuya's shoulders, giving a hesitant half-smile. "If I'm not getting rid of you, you're not getting rid of me either. I'll be stuck to your side like glue, okay?"
It hurts to lie to Chuuya so much, especially in this time of extreme fragility and need.
"Is there anything else you need?" Dazai asks. "Be honest. I'm here to help."
"My teachers." Chuuya says, his brow furrowing. "I know some of them won't let me skip work. I'll have to make it up when I come back, but… I don't know how long that'll take."
His hands are clenched into fists at his sides. He has a vice grip on his phone. Dazai nods. He can deal with that. He has his ways.
"I'll handle it." He says, and he means it. He knows he'll be able to get Chuuya out of it.
"You're doing too much." Chuuya whispers. "I can't possibly ask you to do that for me. How would you even manage?"
"I have my ways." Dazai says, flippantly. It'll hurt. It'll hurt him a lot. But Dazai is nothing if not stubborn, and he's got his mind set on this. He offers Chuuya another shaky smile. "Why don't you go back to your dorm and pack? I've got everything else handled here."
"Yeah." Chuuya says, and audibly swallows. He looks like he's blinking back tears. "Yeah, okay. I trust you."
He shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't. Dazai is a liar and a horrible, horrible person. If he can even be called that. A person. Dazai is suddenly struck with the manic urge to laugh. He holds it back, because it's not the time or place. He waits until Chuuya leaves, and then he begins to get ready.
He pulls out a silken, soft cream button up and a pair of black slacks and changes into them with a heavy heart and a black hole devouring his stomach and lungs. There's a lump in his throat that makes it hard to breathe, thick black tar bubbling in his lungs that threatens to drown him. He leaves the top three buttons of the shirt undone, and lets his belt be loose enough that it won't be a struggle to get off.
That thought leaves him with an awful, sick feeling curling in his gut. He swallows it down like cough syrup, unpleasant to taste and only mildly helpful. It's more of a distraction than anything else. The marks Chuuya had left are still dark, bruising his chest, red and purple, and he knows, knows that he won't like that. With shaky hands, he pulls out concealer and applies it as heavily as possible without it looking unnatural. Then he dons the coat again, checks himself in the bathroom mirror.
He looks sickly and pale, so he slaps and pinches his cheeks until there's a healthy looking flush on them. That's better. Then he sets off.
The whole way there he's on edge, jittery, and he has to force himself to calm down, to appear collected and unbothered. He can't allow himself any moments of weakness. This is for Chuuya. For Chuuya. He reminds himself over and over, this is for the greater good, it'll be over quick enough, and then he can forget about it and move on.
And maybe if he's lucky he'll blank out and not remember it at all, and maybe it won't hurt so bad then. And maybe he can distract himself with Chuuya after. Maybe Chuuya will kiss him again, hold him again, without knowing, languishing in ignorant bliss. He'll never have to know about this. Dazai isn't going to let him, because he knows Chuuya will blame himself, and he can't let that happen. He can't.
He'll keep it to himself and act unbothered and steady, and Chuuya won't notice anything amiss, because Dazai is good at acting. He is.
He reaches that dark mahogany door and knocks once, twice.
"Come in."
Dazai does. He pulls the door open and steps inside, the epitome of cool and collected, unbothered and unblemished, clean and not filthy, not like he's about to be, unruined, untouched.
"Ah, Dazai." Mori says from his place, seated at his desk, setting down the pen he's holding. "Change your mind so soon?"
Dazai nods, a fluid movement, not stiff or shaky or scared. He can't be vulnerable. He can't let himself show any emotion. Mori doesn't like that. That's okay, because Dazai is good at playing the part, good at acting thoughtless and malleable and good.
"Ah," Mori croons, a smirk stretching across his face. "You want something, don't you? You never come to me unless you want something. You're greedy like that, aren't you? So, tell me. What is it that you want this time?"
Dazai steps closer and shuts the door behind him, turning the lock.
"Chuuya's mother is sick." He announces, his voice dull, lifeless. Mori hums, urging him to continue without actually saying anything. "He needs some leeway regarding classes and work. His teachers won't give it to him."
Mori folds his hands and rests his chin on them.
"And you think I can do something about that?" He asks.
"I know you can." Dazai says.
"What makes you think you have anything that I want?" Mori asks, but he's predictable, and Dazai knows him too well. Mori's eyes are raking themselves hungrily across Dazai's frame, and Dazai has to suppress a shiver. Show no fear, no weakness.
"I know you can't resist me." Dazai says, unashamed. "It's why you kept me around for so long, right? Why you got me into this school on recommendation?"
"Come here." Mori orders, so Dazai does, plays the part of a perfect, obedient pet, a doll, usable and pretty. "You know me so well." Mori coos. "Any requests before we begin?"
"No marks." Dazai says, his heart thundering in his chest. "Not anywhere visible, at least."
"Of course." Mori purrs, grinning. "You wouldn't want your dear Chuuya knowing you've come crawling back to me, would you? How long do you think that will last?"
"He won't ever know." Dazai says firmly. "As long as you don't say anything, he'll never know."
Mori hums again, rising from his seat and stepping around his desk. He walks right up to Dazai and cups his jaw with a cold, chilling hand. Dazai closes his eyes.
"You've grown so much, Osamu." Mori croons. "I miss when you were small and cute."
"Any requests?" Dazai echoes, his eyes still shut.
"Hmm," Mori says. "The coat stays on. It looks good on you. Now then. Let's get started, shall we?"
"Just make it quick." Dazai whispers, bile welling up in his throat. When he opens his eyes, Mori's head is tilted to the side, a wide grin on his face.
"Now, why on earth would I do that?"
When it's over, Dazai pulls the wrecked pieces of himself back together. Mori had kept his word and not marked him at all, so he should be safe. Chuuya won't have to know at all, and he'll have all the leeway he needs. Dazai walks back to his dorm, his body heavy and dirty and ruined, and pretends he doesn't feel Fyodor's curious eyes on him when he enters.
"Dazai," Fyodor says, carefully, like he doesn't want to break him. He won't. You can't break something that's already broken. "Did something happen?"
Dazai offers him a smile that is a tad too shaky to be convincing.
"What are you talking about?" He asks, but he sounds like a shell of himself, even to his own ears, far away, distant. Everything aches. "I'm alright." He doesn't say he's fine. That's a dead giveaway. "I promise."
He promises, but it's an empty one. Fyodor looks at him like he sees right through him. Dazai knows he can tell something is wrong, but Fyodor also doesn't know what it is.
"You're limping." Fyodor points out, raising an eyebrow.
"I twisted my ankle." Dazai lies smoothly. "It's nothing to worry about. I'll ice it."
"You expect me to believe that?" Fyodor asks. "You lie to everyone. All the time."
Dazai doesn't dignify him with an answer.
"I'm going to shower." He says, and his voice catches in his throat, so he clears it. "I might be a while, so don't freak out and call an ambulance, or anything. I'm going to Paris with Chuuya in two days, so I'm not about to try to kill myself."
"Paris?" Fyodor echoes, looking impressed. "Whatever for?"
"Family emergency." Dazai says.
"And you're going with him because..?"
"Because he needs someone."
And Dazai selfishly, greedily, wants to be that someone, wants so badly to be needed.
Fyodor nods.
"I see." He says. Then he looks away, going back to reading one of Dazai's many books. "Enjoy your shower, Dazai."
He won't enjoy it, but Fyodor doesn't need to know any of that. Dazai will keep it to himself, close to his chest, because no one can know, ever. He won't let anyone see that part of himself.
He sees Chuuya the next day, quite obviously, and promptly forgets how to be a human being. His smile feels shaky and awkward on his face, strange, unusual. Another thing that happens is that Chuuya hugs him. It's not exactly out of the blue, but it has Dazai stiffening anyway, his hands coming up awkwardly, hesitantly, to rest on Chuuya's back.
"So suddenly?" He tries to joke. "Chuuya, you care about me?"
Chuuya has told him before, told him yesterday, that he cares, but Dazai is greedy, so he fishes for compliments and reassurance as much as possible. His hands tremble, he trembles. His eyes sting, and he has to blink to clear them. His smile stays put, wobbly and trembling along with the rest of him.
His shower last night had done little to get the feeling of Mori's hands off of him, but that's okay. It's okay, because it was all for Chuuya, and that makes it better. It's okay, because thinking of Chuuya had made it better. Pretending had made it better, even though it still hurt. He aches and aches and aches everywhere, but it's worse in his chest, hollow and gaping and empty, so empty.
"Shut up." Chuuya whispers, and Dazai's chest splinters a little more, all the love there leaking out, oozing from the cracks. It's okay, because Chuuya is holding him again. Dazai had predicted this far. Still, his hands shake, his fingers tremble, so he presses them firmer against Chuuya's back. "Thank you." Chuuya tells him.
"Whatever for?" Dazai croaks.
"For being here." Chuuya says, and his voice is wet, his head pressed against Dazai's chest. The words fill him up, warm, fill him until he's fuller and not so empty anymore. "For being with me. Even after I was so, so horrible to you–" Chuuya breaks off into a sob. "Thank you, Dazai."
Dazai shifts, a bit uncomfortable.
"You keep saying that." He murmurs. "You keep saying you were mean and awful to me, but I really don't think you were. Is that… is that bad? How would I know? If you were mean to me, I mean. I don't get it."
"For one," Chuuya tells him. "I broke the rules. Over and over again, and I blamed you every time, even though it was me who started it. I was a hypocrite. And… and the thing about the bandages, that was so… that was so fucked up, even though I didn't mean it. I could apologize over and over and I wouldn't blame you if you still didn't forgive me."
Dazai hesitates for a moment before he's able to find the words. Chuuya is still hugging him, tight and firm, pressed close against him.
"Can I tell you something?" Dazai asks. Chuuya pulls back just enough that Dazai can get a good look at his face.
"Anything." Chuuya answers. "Anything at all."
"You make me… full." Dazai says, and then blinks, frustrated with himself. Chuuya looks confused. "Like… Most of the time, I'm just empty. But when I'm with you…" Dazai struggles to get the words out. "I'm not. Empty. I'm not empty when I'm with you. So… you can be mean to me. If you need to, and I won't mind, because even if you're mean to me, you still make me feel full on the inside. It's better. It's better than before."
"Don't say that." Chuuya snaps. "What the fuck? Don't tell me it's okay when it's not. You… Do you even understand that you deserve good things?"
Dazai blinks at him, confused.
"Fuck." Chuuya breathes. His hair is messy and so, so orange, like a setting sun. "You… you're really messed up, you know? But you're also good. And you deserve good things, Dazai. You do."
It's not true. Dazai isn't good. He isn't sure why Chuuya thinks that. He must have tricked him into believing it. It doesn't matter, because Chuuya won't think that for much longer.
"You don't believe me." Chuuya whispers. He sounds choked up, like he's about to start crying. "Who hurt you so bad that you don't believe me when I say these kinds of things?"
Dazai doesn't want to think about that, doesn't want to answer, so he doesn't.
"Just now," He says, instead. "Just now, I felt empty. Like I was nothing. Like I was hollow. And then… then you came along, and I was full again, and it was like that when I met you, too, and it's… It's always like that with you."
Chuuya is looking at him with narrowed eyes, his eyebrows scrunched together in frustration, so Dazai tries, does his best to elaborate.
"You make me…" He swallows around the lump that has grown in his throat. He can say it. He can admit it, even if it's hard. "You make me more of a person than I've ever been before. Don't you get that?"
"What are you even saying?" Chuuya asks, letting go of him and stepping back, and just like that, the yawning, gaping hole in Dazai's chest is back. He can barely hold himself back from reaching out and clutching onto Chuuya again, like a child with their favorite blanket, desperate for warmth and comfort, because Chuuya is warm. "I don't understand you. Can't you explain it to me more?"
Dazai swallows again.
"It doesn't matter." He says, shrugging. He forces his mouth into a sad attempt at a smile. "Forget it, okay? If you don't get it, that's okay, too. This is enough for me."
If Chuuya doesn't understand, that's okay. When Chuuya touches him, Dazai can forget everything. He can forget about Mori, he can forget about his parents, the gaping hole they left, the sickly obsession with death that they had bred like lives squirming like maggots inside him. He's a shell of a person, a living, breathing corpse. He lets out a shaky breath and clenches his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms before releasing them.
"Are you packed?" He asks, softer. Chuuya's look of confusion vanishes, and he nods. "Good. What do you want to do while we wait?"
"Wait for what?" Chuuya asks.
"For tomorrow to come." Dazai says. "What do you want to do?"
"I don't know." Chuuya is being honest. Dazai can tell.
"You helped me when I didn't want to think." He says cautiously. "Will you let me return the favor?"
Chuuya snorts and rubs at his eyes with his sleeve to dry them.
"You want to dance again?" He asks.
"Not quite." Dazai replies. His lips are dry, so he licks them to get them wet. Then he puts on the most earnest expression he can manage. He doesn't have to try very hard. "Can I blow you?"
Chuuya blinks at him, stunned.
"Can you–" He breaks off in shock. "What?!"
"Can I blow you?" Dazai repeats, even though he knows Chuuya heard him. "Will you let me? Please?"
Selfishly, he's doing this for himself, too. He also wants to stop thinking. With Chuuya on him, touching him, all over him, he'll feel better, more whole. He'll be able to mold himself into whoever Chuuya wants him to be, like that.
"You fucking–" Chuuya snaps. "Come here already."
He yanks Dazai down into a bruising kiss, and it's easy to forget like that, easy to pretend that last night hadn't happened, easy to pretend that Chuuya is the only person who's ever touched him like that. So Dazai lets himself get lost in it, lets his hands come up to cup Chuuya's cheeks as their lips meld together. Chuuya is soft like silk, sweet like candy, and Dazai is all hard edges and bitterness like too many shots of espresso with no cream.
He's lucky. He's so, so lucky, lucky that Chuuya wants him like this if not any other way. He's lucky that Chuuya will touch him like this, like he's not shattered on the ground like broken pottery, like he can be put back together again.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
There's static in his brain that won't go away, an old car radio that whispers confessions he'll never be able to speak out loud. When they break apart the words threaten to spill out of his mouth like an overflowing fountain.
"I–" love you. He doesn't let himself say it. Instead, he says, "I want to make you feel good. Will you let me?"
"Yes." Chuuya breathes. "Yes. Just– come on."
He tugs Dazai to his bed and sits down on the mattress. Dazai wastes no time getting down on his knees. He's shaking still, out of his mind on adrenaline from the kiss, from Chuuya's touch. He unzips Chuuya's jeans with trembling fingers.
"Pull my hair." He murmurs, and shudders in relief when Chuuya's fingers thread into his hair, scratching at his scalp and then tugging. It stings, and it's good, a good pain, good enough that he doesn't picture Mori's hand in its place. It's better like this, when Chuuya does it.
He mouths at Chuuya's cock through his underwear like he's supposed to, pulling a groan from Chuuya's throat, and when he looks up, Chuuya is looking at him with an expression that is all fire and sparks, and it makes molten heat rush through Dazai like an electric shock. He pulls Chuuya's boxers down just enough that he can tug his cock out and give it a long, wet lick from the base to the tip.
Dazai looks up at Chuuya through his eyelashes as much as he can as he takes the head into his mouth and wraps a shaky hand around the base. He pulls out all the tricks he knows, digging his tongue into the slit and relishing in the needy groan Chuuya lets out, letting out a hum that turns into a whimper as Chuuya pulls at his hair again. Dazai hollows his cheeks and sucks, and Chuuya's hand tightens in his hair enough that it really begins to ache. Good.
It makes Dazai feel fuzzy, warm, not fully present. It distracts him from his other aches and pains, from that empty feeling he'd had before. He feels good like this, his mouth full of Chuuya's cock, and he hides his teeth behind his lips before sinking further down, letting go with his hand and letting his face settle all the way between Chuuya's legs. He doesn't gag. He'd had that trained out of him long ago.
He nuzzles against the smooth, shaven skin there and swallows once, twice, taking in Chuuya's sweet noises of pleasure, and then raises his head again, bobbing up and down, sucking occasionally, and always, always pressing with his tongue, digging it into the vein on the underside of Chuuya's cock. He's being good, doing something right.
"You're doing so well." Chuuya praises, and Dazai feels it hit him full force again, electrifying, nullifying any negative emotion he's ever felt. It's easy to forget like this. He pulls off to breathe when it gets to be a little too much, wrapping his hand around Chuuya and stroking firmly, flicking his wrist on each pass over the head, and Chuuya's breath hitches. "Just like that." He says.
Dazai feels warm and soft and like a liquid puddle of want and need and the urge to be good, do the right thing and make Chuuya forget about everything but this moment, but Dazai, as selfish as it is. He sinks back down, and Chuuya's free hand comes down to rub at his lips where they're stretched wet and swollen around his cock.
"Think you could fit one of these in there, too?" Chuuya asks breathily, and Dazai makes a needy noise of agreement. He doesn't know, but he can certainly try. Chuuya's finger prods at the corner of his mouth, slick with spit, and centimeter by centimeter, fits it in right along with his cock. The stretch is a bit painful, but it's good, so good, and Dazai makes another needy noise, hollowing his cheeks to suck again as his eyes begin to sting. "Good boy."
Dazai breathes in shakily through his nose and nuzzles down further, taking Chuuya's cock and finger deeper into his mouth and swallowing around them.
"Fucking–" Chuuya hisses. "I'm gonna come if you keep that up."
And Dazai wants that so, so desperately, so he swallows again, hastily, blinking up at Chuuya with wet eyes and greedily taking in everything he has to offer. Every shudder Chuuya's body gives as he inhales, breathes in and out, every small noise he lets out in pleasure, Dazai wants it all.
Chuuya slides his finger back out of Dazai's mouth even as Dazai whines around his cock in protest. He wipes it on his jeans and skates his thumb across Dazai's cheek, and suddenly Dazai's eyes are wet for an entirely new reason. He wants this forever. He sinks down all the way again, rolling his tongue against Chuuya's cock and swallowing again, and then pulls all the way off.
"Fuck my mouth." He says, his voice hoarse. Chuuya groans again.
"You can't say shit like that." He gripes, but then he's dragging Dazai closer by his hair and all but shoving him down on his cock and this– this is what Dazai wants. Chuuya jerks his hips up towards Dazai's face in steady rocking movements, harsh and rough in a way that has Dazai gripping at his jean-clad thighs to stabilize himself.
He exhales sharply through his nose and squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment before looking up at Chuuya again. Chuuya, who is biting his lip, his eyes closed tightly as he has his way with him, and it's all so fucking much, Dazai almost can't take it. He wants this. He needs this.
"Gonna–" Chuuya breaks off into a curse, and then he's pulling Dazai off of him by his hair so he can wrap a hand around his cock and jerk himself to completion. Dazai lets him, heaving for air, and opens his mouth wide just in time for Chuuya to reach his orgasm. Some of it lands in Dazai's mouth, but it mostly just covers Chuuya's hand and Dazai's cheekbones.
Chuuya stares down at him with heavy-lidded eyes and offers Dazai his fingers. Dazai takes them with no hesitation, sucking them clean and laving his tongue against them for just a moment longer until Chuuya pulls away and reaches to his desk to get a wipe to clean Dazai's face with. It's tender, and Dazai looks up at him with hazy eyes, feeling warm and fuzzy and spaced out.
"C'mere." Chuuya murmurs, tugging Dazai up and into his lap. Dazai goes easily, feeling weak and pliant, too stuck in his head to process what Chuuya is doing when he reaches down between Dazai's legs. When he realizes exactly what's happening, he grabs Chuuya's wrist.
"No," He says weakly. He can't meet Chuuya's eyes right away, but when he does, they're dark with concern.
"No?" Chuuya asks. He's frozen, not moving an inch, and Dazai is grateful, so, so grateful.
"No." He echoes, and his voice sounds faint and distant to his own ears. He feels good, he thinks. It's good like this. He thinks Chuuya might protest, though, and it worries him, because Dazai doesn't know how to explain himself if Chuuya asks him why.
"Okay," Chuuya agrees quietly, and the sickening relief that fills Dazai is almost too much. He sags against Chuuya like a deflated balloon, feeling not so hollow anymore. "Are you alright?" Chuuya asks.
It's then that Dazai realizes that Chuuya's free hand has come up to rub calming circles between his shoulder blades.
"No." He says again, before he can stop himself. He curls inward, feeling small, like a child lost in a grocery store. It feels good like this, he tells himself, and it had felt good before, too, when he was sucking Chuuya off, even though he never got hard, even though he doesn't want Chuuya to touch him like that.
"How can I help?" Chuuya murmurs. Their positioning is awkward. Dazai is so much taller than him that sitting on Chuuya's lap puts him at an unfair height difference. Dazai hunches forward so he can rest his head on Chuuya's shoulder and hopes, prays, that this isn't too much, that it won't make Chuuya hate him. He's been good, he'd done what he'd been told, made Chuuya feel good, too.
"I don't know," Dazai mumbles, turning his head so his face is pressed into Chuuya's neck. And then, "I'm sorry."
Chuuya makes a startled noise, and Dazai closes his eyes.
"What for?" Chuuya asks. "Why are you sorry?"
"I ruined the mood." Dazai says bitterly. Regret is a crushing force, bringing him out of that lovely haze and back to reality. He blinks several times to clear that fuzziness from his head. "This isn't at all attractive, so I'm sorry. I'll get off of you now."
He tries to pull away, but Chuuya tugs him back, presses him close to his chest. Dazai's hands come up to clutch at Chuuya's shirt hesitantly.
"Don't be stupid." Chuuya scoffs. "You didn't ruin anything. Did I… Did I do something wrong?"
Dazai's gut twists uncomfortably, like a towel being wrung out to dry.
"No," He says. His mouth feels like cotton, dry and shaped odd around the words he tries and fails to speak. "No, you… No, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm just… like this, sometimes. Sorry."
Chuuya squeezes him tightly, and it shocks the breath out of him.
"Stop apologizing." Chuuya scolds. "It's fine. I'm not gonna judge you for that kind of thing. You're allowed to say no."
Is he?
"I am?" Dazai doesn't mean to say it, but it comes out anyway. Chuuya stiffens against him.
"Of course you are." He snaps. "Why the fuck wouldn't you be?"
Dazai shifts uncomfortably. He doesn't know what to say to that.
"I don't know." He mumbles.
"I didn't force you to do anything you didn't want to, right?" Chuuya asks, his voice suddenly small.
"No." Dazai says firmly, surprising himself. "I wanted it. I wanted to make you feel good. Just because I don't want you to touch me right now doesn't mean you forced yourself on me. I liked it."
"You'd tell me, though, right?" Chuuya asks again. "If I did something you didn't like?"
Dazai has to think about it. Really, really think about it. It's true that he'd let Chuuya top him with little to no regard to how it would feel for him, but that had turned out just fine.
"I did it just now, didn't I?" Dazai counters. Chuuya just hums.
"Good point." He says. They sit in comfortable silence, Dazai's hands clenching and releasing in the fabric of Chuuya's shirt.
"I really am sorry." He mutters. "I was supposed to be comforting you, but instead it turned into… this."
"Forget about all that." Chuuya tells him. "You distracted me just fine. I feel better now. Tomorrow is a new day. We'll get to the airport on time and everything will be okay."
Dazai snorts.
"I'm supposed to be comforting you." He says again. "Why does it sound like you're the one comforting me all of a sudden?"
"Just let me." Chuuya says. "So what? Just let me comfort you, shitty Dazai."
Something warm builds in Dazai's chest, filling the hole that constantly sits there, flickering in and out gently like a flame on a candlewick.
"Yeah, okay." Dazai murmurs.
Let's just stay like this forever, he thinks. Let's slowdance to old French music until we die.
They catch a taxi to the airport early the next morning, Chuuya dozing on Dazai's shoulder the whole way there. It's nice, it's sweet, it's perfect. He wants it every day for the rest of his life.
"Hey, Chuuya," Dazai murmurs, quiet enough not to startle him. Chuuya lets out a sleepy, questioning noise. "When's your birthday?"
Chuuya snorts a bit.
"So suddenly?" He asks. "Why do you want to know?"
Dazai almost shrugs, but reconsiders when he remembers Chuuya's position.
"I was just wondering." Dazai says. "So I can get you a gift, or something."
"Oh." Chuuya yawns and stretches, and then flops limp on Dazai's shoulder again. "It's already passed, so you don't have to worry about it. April 29th."
Dazai feels himself go stiff under Chuuya's weight. April 29th. Which means that Chuuya hadn't told him. For whatever reason, he'd thought it was unimportant, or hadn't wanted Dazai to know, and that– that stings.
"Oh." Dazai breathes, and can't find it in himself to force a smile this time. "You didn't tell me."
Chuuya makes a sound of discontent, shifting on Dazai's shoulder.
"We weren't talking at the time." He says. "Your phone was off."
This time Dazai can smile. It feels shaky and not as well put together as usual, but that doesn't matter, because Chuuya isn't looking at his face right now.
"Right." He says. Selfishly, he'd ignored Chuuya on his birthday. Because he was upset about something so small, so insignificant as Chuuya's thoughts about his body. He's a horrible, terrible person. His smile wobbles in place, and his hands clench into fists on the car seat. He jolts in surprise when a hand wraps around his, unfurling his fingers and linking them together.
"Relax." Chuuya mumbles. "You're all stiff and uncomfortable. Be my pillow again."
And Dazai is left stupidly hurting, but he forces himself to relax all the same, because Chuuya is willingly being affectionate with him, and that means something. He lingers there for about thirty minutes as they drive through lamplit streets, and then Chuuya lifts his head and takes off his seatbelt as they pull into the airport.
"Need some help?" He asks, when Dazai struggles to get his suitcase out of the trunk of the car. Dazai isn't weak, but he still hasn't fully recovered from Mori, and his limbs feel like jelly, his head not altogether there. Dazai jerks it into a nod, so Chuuya hefts his suitcase out of the trunk and onto the ground.
It has wheels, so after lifting it onto the sidewalk, Dazai can move it just fine. He feels empty again. Empty and stupid and small. Chuuya seems to take it in stride, and they check in, go through security, and show their passports just fine.
It's only once they're seated on the plane that Chuuya actually does something about it.
"Alright, spill." He says, sounding irritable. Dazai winces, sinking further down in his seat. "What's up? Why do you look like you've been sucking on a lemon all morning?"
Dazai hesitates before speaking, because it's stupid.
"You didn't tell me about your birthday." He mumbles, eventually, not meeting Chuuya's gaze.
"And you're upset about it?" Chuuya asks. Dazai nods, feeling sullen. "Are you– are you pouting?"
Dazai glares at him, irrational anger welling up in his throat before he shoves it down.
"No." He snaps. "It's just… You said we were friends."
It feels childish, being bitter over something so small. But Chuuya laughs at him, and Dazai feels his throat tighten up all over again.
"You're pouting, oh my god." Chuuya gasps between bouts of laughter. As much as it stings, Dazai lets him laugh, because his mom is sick and he doesn't know when Chuuya will be able to laugh next. "It's just a birthday, Dazai. It's not that important."
"It is." Dazai insists. "It's your birthday. And you didn't tell me, and– and you said to tell you if you were being mean, so I am."
At that, Chuuya sobers up, and Dazai immediately regrets it. He shouldn't have said anything. He looks away and lets his hair fall into his eyes, not wanting to look at anything, and feeling oh so guilty.
"Sorry." He mumbles. "I didn't mean that. You're not being mean."
"No, it's okay." Chuuya reassures him. "You're right. I shouldn't have laughed at you. You just looked cute like that, that's all."
Cute. Something warm rushes through Dazai, lighting up his bloodstream with pleasant firelight. He jerks his head to look at Chuuya in shock.
"What?" He asks, his voice hollow in his surprise.
"I'm not saying it again." Chuuya scowls. "You'll never let me live it down."
Dazai can run with this. He can do it. He forces a wide grin and narrows his eyes.
"You think I'm cute?" He teases. "Chuuya likes me?"
"Quit that." Chuuya snaps, but his mouth twitches up in a ghost of a smile.
"Chuuya likes me!" Dazai sing-songs again, kicking his feet, lightly enough that he doesn't hit the seat in front of him. They haven't even taken off yet.
"I don't." Chuuya protests, but he lets a real smile show this time. When Dazai turns his head, Chuuya is looking at him softly. It's a good look on him, after two days of a furrowed brow and a perfect mouth pinched into a frown.
"What?" Dazai asks, grinning. His heart is pounding in his chest.
"Nothing." Chuuya murmurs. "It's good to have you back, that's all."
Dazai tilts his head.
"I never left." He says.
"Oh, shut up." Chuuya snorts. "You know what I meant."
"I really don't." Dazai insists, but he plays it off as a joke, because that's all Chuuya will see it as. And he can handle that. He can.
He thinks Chuuya is about to reply, but the intercom cuts in before he manages.
"Flight attendants, prepare for take-off please."
Dazai lets a smooth grin fall across his face.
"Can you handle a bit of turbulence?" He asks. "Or do you need me to hold your hand?"
"Is that your way of telling me you need me to hold yours?" Chuuya retorts, raising an eyebrow. He holds his hand out. When Dazai just stares at it, he wiggles his fingers. "Come on, asshole. Just take it already."
So Dazai does, linking their fingers together with glee.
"You got everything you wanted, huh?" Chuuya snorts. Then he grows quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything about my birthday. Like I said before, we weren't talking, and afterwards… Well. We were a little caught up in other things."
He looks a bit red as he says it, a blush riding high on his cheekbones, coloring them nicely.
"We were fucking." Dazai says, nodding. Chuuya reaches over to slap him with his free hand.
"Do I have to remind you that we are in a public setting?" He hisses.
"What, Chuuya?" Dazai teases. "You don't want to join the mile high club?"
"In your dreams." Chuuya says, looking away, out the window.
The plane begins to move, then, rumbling just slightly as it takes off down the runway, slowly but surely rising into the air.
"Enjoying the view?" Dazai asks, squeezing Chuuya's hand tightly to hide his shaking.
"It's nice. Look, Dazai," Chuuya turns to him with a soft smile, and Dazai's heart seizes in his chest. "We're flying."
"I–" love you. I love you. I love you. "Don't like heights all that much."
"No?" Chuuya asks. "Wait. Now that I think about it, have you ever been on a plane before?"
Dazai nods, humming.
"I used to go on work trips," He says, and his throat begins to close up. "With my parents."
"Oh." Chuuya's face softens into an expression of understanding. At least it isn't pity. It has Dazai's heart falling into the swirling pit of his stomach. "It'll be different when we get above the clouds."
"I know." Dazai says. "Didn't you hear me? I've been on a plane before. Take-off is just… bad."
Chuuya nods in agreement, and then goes silent, so Dazai takes it upon himself to squeeze his hand every few seconds, to a random rhythm he's just made up.
"Are you nervous?" He asks, hesitantly. Chuuya snorts.
"That's one word for it." He says, rubbing at his eyes tiredly with his free hand. "She's always been sick, you know? Bad immune system. Two years ago she was diagnosed with lymphoma."
Ah. Dazai nods, waiting patiently for Chuuya to continue. He takes his time, swallowing audibly before speaking again.
"We didn't know what was wrong right away." Chuuya says shakily. "She just– she started getting so thin, and frail, and she was in pain all of the time, and then… They finally figured it out. Stage three lymphoma."
He laughs hoarsely, putting his face in his free hand.
"What can you do, right? The odds were alright. Eighty out of a hundred people live five or more years after that diagnosis." Dazai listens patiently, taking it all in. This is about Chuuya, not him. "So they started treatment, and it's– it's really fucking expensive, okay? I almost didn't come back to Japan, even though I had a scholarship, because it isn't a full ride. I can barely afford tuition, and the room, but…" He laughs again. "She told me to just go, and that she'd never forgive me if I let my future go down the drain because of her."
Dazai doesn't say what he's thinking. He doesn't say that he's glad, he's glad that Chuuya left her, that he'd come to Japan, that he'd met Dazai, because that's selfish and a horrible way to think.
"She was getting better." Chuuya chokes out. "The treatment was working. That's what they said. That's why I agreed in the first place. I wouldn't have gone if she wasn't recovering. I wouldn't have left her alone."
"Is your dad not in the picture?" Dazai asks, albeit a bit hesitantly. He doesn't want to push. Chuuya just scoffs.
"That asshole?" He glares out the window. "No. He left when she first started getting sick. Couldn't handle it, I guess. So I stepped up. At least he sends money for the treatment. Other than that… I'm glad I don't have to see his ugly mug ever again."
"It must have been hard." Dazai murmurs. "Taking care of her like that."
At that, Chuuya's mouth twitches, like he's trying to fight a smile.
"It wasn't so bad," He says. "It was exhausting, sure, and I… I cried probably every night during that period, but she was so full of life even then. Even sick and in pain, she was always fucking smiling." His hand drops to his side and he gazes forlornly at the sky through the window. They've just risen above the clouds. "I think she knew how scared I was. I think she was scared, too."
"You talk like she's not around anymore." Dazai pushes. "You still talk, right?"
Chuuya smiles again.
"Almost every day." He replies. "She uses all these fucking emojis, all of the time. I'll ask her if she's doing okay and she just sends a fucking thumbs up. I love her, but god, would it kill her to elaborate a little more?"
He doesn't sound angry, just exasperated, and there's still a smile on his face.
"I didn't realize how much I missed her." He says, sobering up. "I really, really miss her, Dazai."
Dazai squeezes his hand again.
"You'll see her soon enough." He tries to come across as comforting, but he's not sure that it actually works. He's not good at this kind of thing. At being a person. "Thank you for telling me, Chuuya."
Chuuya makes an affirmative noise, but doesn't say anything else, so Dazai continues.
"Do you… want to talk about her more?" He asks, watching Chuuya's face carefully. Chuuya turns to face him, and his eyes are a bit shiny. "I'd like to hear about her."
Chuuya gives him a breathtaking smile that makes Dazai feel like he's suffocating in a field of clouds.
"I'd like that, too." Chuuya says. "I'd like that a lot."
He talks about his mother for the next hour and thirty minutes, and Dazai listens attentively to every single word.