Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dazai was a month? Freshly defected from the mafia. He didn’t want to leave, believe him, but more importantly than the mafia, he finally escaped from Mori. He was lucky to grow out of the old man’s preference but that didn’t mean he hadn’t found other ways to torture him.

Mori kept photos displayed in his office, not explicit to the ignorant eye, but to Dazai, whose eidetic memory was more often a curse than blessing those photos were blatant mnemonics.

Realizing he’s gotten lost in thought, the young man tosses on his side again.

Over this month, Dazai has been having severe stomach pain, to the point he throws up almost routinely. On top of that it’s almost as if his body is working against itself, Dazai, who’s always been a picky eater with a scarce appetite, has been severely hungry! And for food he has never wanted before! Food that’s he’s normally gag just thinking of.

he means sandwiches, especially on white bread, those are absolutely disgusting. Even the author agrees (yes I do, but you’re paying for the fourth wall you just broke.)

Dazai pouts at seemingly nothing, he’s probably just going insane after leaving the detrimental environment he got accustomed to.

“Hey I’m not going insane author!” (Get out of the italicized space, this is for flashbacks and asides by me not you!!!!)the author proceeds to throw the mummy back into the story despite knowing he will find another way to break the wall soon enough.

He gets up to go to the bathroom, the only other room in this dingy apartment. For some reason both of these rooms have one wall reinforced with bedrock, that says, completely capitalized, “Do not break”. Odd.

Back in the mafia he’d gone over all of Mori’s medical books. He knows that there is one condition that fits all his symptoms adding his lack of period(though normally irregular it’s a bit too late) and doesn’t include the unchecked ones. Dazai Osamu knows he’s most likely pregnant but will not allow his over-par brain to entertain the likely possibility.

After all, if, and only IF, he’s pregnant, he is severely unhealthy, underweight, and dehydrated, so it’s unlikely that the fetus would even survive the first trimester, and therefore getting attached would be counterproductive and damaging to his already fragile psyche.

Despite this, he finds himself spending the night eating soup from his rations and thinking up baby names with a nugget of hope. A nugget, nearly melted, or crushed?(is it gold or chicken or what?) when he realizes he’s given all the names the surname Nakahara. However he resolves to dream for now and pick up a test later this morning, as it’s witching hour.

His favorite name happens to be Nakahara Hiroki, specifically using the kanji variantion 仁希
Meaning essentially “unique humanity”. The perfect name for a child of Chuuya, he thinks. The most unique and interesting human he knows.

Chuuya’s such a perfect human, so vibrant, so determined. Unlike Dazai he actually has humanity, the ability to feel, to be kind.

And he got off topic again, in terms of names, a close second is Yuuki, while third holds Kira. He wishes he could use all three, but even if he had triplets(god he hopes not, sounds painful) , he already chose Huey, Dewey, and Louie.

Eventually he breaks out of his fixation to check the time on the begrimed clock as his cheap burner doesn’t include a display. And is greeted with an electronic and bright 5:27 am. Shit, he’s gotta run to get the test now then, before the civilians, crowds are too compromising. Port mafia has spies who stick with the common population over the days to find renegades like him and other loose ends.

He use to have authority and discretion over which grunt got a field trip that week before being handed the guerilla squadron.

Grabbing a coat and nearly opaque aviator shades he sprints through the door, barely remembering to close it behind him.

---

On the streets the shadows approach encroach on him. The umbra tickling him despite no wind to move the trees shadows. It felt like running through silk webs, a spider of pure abstrusity tailing him faster than his caught legs can persevere their viscid retardant.

The ground his feet hit is slick with rain he only just realized, recognized. He keeps running, blind with his shades and guache skating through puddles.

He notices a light, faint as it may be under his poor disguise, and a sign for a Konbini.

The desperate young man breaks into a dash, running towards the light like the North Star. For a moment the world loiters, lags as a frozen computer. His foot moves forward and both leave the ground, his lanky legs point up as he falls down. And as he crashes to the ground, when he hits the pavement, panic encapsulates his body, a baby he didn’t even know he wanted nor existed could be hurt, his baby who he made a list of names for. The one light he has in the moment even if just… false.

He cries for the first time since he was a toddler. Cries out pure tears he expected to be black like his blood, or maybe red like the blood of those he’s killed. He never expected something so pure to come from him. It seemed impossible that a beast, a monster without a heart could whine out the cries of a scared child.

He thinks this is the most he’s felt since meeting Chuuya, since that immediate love not reciprocated for long after. Love he doesn’t deserve.

Chuuya

If the test comes out positive he’ll try to convince him to leave, to live somewhere evanescent and secure. He thinks he will, he knows Chuuya well enough to know his care and longing for a people to call family. He doesn’t want to baby trap him, but he doesn’t want to hide it from him either.

He hopes Chuuya believes the test. He thinks he will. He’ll get extra for good measure.

Now arrived he runs in the Konbini, tears still streaming down his cheeks, headfirst into the future.

---

Chuuya and him had just darted through the sliding doors of a random Konbini, jabbing at each other as always. They had just completed a big mission. One that payed well, really well.

They decided to treat themselves, they grabbed Calpis and canned Melon soda, Glico pop and Anoanman Pero Pero, Ramune and awadama. They plucked frozen crab and fish bentos. Nearly buying out the whole store in their spree.

The employee looked at them with a patina of astonishment. They didn’t pay it much mind however as they walked by and left again “see you soon”, waved the employee after regaining their lucidity.

---

Back from the shop, he once again dashes through the door and bolts into the bathroom, the package already opened and test ready in hand.

(I don’t want to write about it but yes he urinates on the stick, big woop)

After peeing on the stick he just has to wait. Waiting is much harder than you would think, especially for such overactive brains. As a second ticks somehow nothing and everything fills the silence. Life feels so slow to a brain, a view so fast, and with a view so fast, his thoughts change to quick. (Imagine a stream filled with rocks or a race car driver racing a Honda civic… do you get it?) It’s painful almost, and Dazai passionately hates pain. Physical or mental, the turmoil is horrible.

That horrible encrusted clock tocked throughout the shitty apparently. The whole scene felt degrading and disgusting. Sitting on the rimy toilet of a dingy loft waiting for a stick to tell him his future.

He has no idea what he’ll do when he tells Chuuya, knock on his door and beg him to listen to a viper. Beg Chuuya to love him again, to come with him.

If he goes with Chuuya will they live in the light. Maybe they can find a place in Canada or France. They both know enough French to get by, enough to work.

The moment the test is finally set he stands. He takes a breath to attempt to prepare and collect himself. He grabs the counter, leaning his whole body weight on it as his legs are shaking. He picks up the stick.

Postitive

Chuuya woke up cold again, shivering without a body at his side. Months ago he went on mission in France, even countries apart he felt less cold than not knowing where his partner is. He always ran hot to Dazai’s corpse cold, but alone he’s somehow freezing.

Chuuya doesn’t even attempt comprehending it, akin with how he can’t comprehend Dazai leaving. Dazai. The name feels bitter on his tongue like those lemon drops Da-his partner inhales, He misses his partner immensely, something he loathes to admit. Dazai completed a missing part of him, a part he’d wager was missing ever before the lab, if there even was a time before.

A timid door knocking pulls him from his thoughts. Soft yet assertive yet unsure it sounds, like whoever’s there is forcing themself to let him hear so they don’t bolt before he can reach the doorway.

He sits up, rubbing at his nasion trying to relieve the congestion of his sinuses. The cold makes him wake up everyday feeling sick. The knocks continue slightly weaker, a dying resolve. In return, he crescendos his patters, hoping once they hear him awake they’ll decide not to turn back. Not that he knows why he cares.

In all honesty he shouldn’t, he’s being disturbed late at night and should really just let the nuisance leave, but a draw he felt not much before forced him.

He felt the draw towards many places; the cemetery, a certain two graves with a recognizable surname; the arcade, Road Fighter īīī; The junkyard, a specific inhabitable container; and the rather obscure Lupin bar. Despite this he only ever felt the draw to one person, the places like landmarks leading him to him.

He reaches the kitchen, feet hitting the biter floor. He sees the pan he used to make miso crab ramen earlier, two person portions, he couldn’t stomach it so it’s all in the fridge. He’ll probably try and eat finish it throughout the week. Another weaker knock.

He makes it to the anteroom, a single photo hung on the wall. A photo of him and; another knock shit, he opens the door, Dazai.

---

Dazai was at his front door, his partner who had been missing since last month showed up looking like a sopping cat on his doorstep. His big brown eyes looked regretful and scared and so tired. Chuuya thought he might vanish again if he doesn’t handle this right.

“Dazai?” He asked he felt tears blooming in his eyes, he can’t bring himself to be angry right now, he missed his partner so much.

“I’m so sorry Chuuya, I never should’ve come…” the slightly younger boy trails off as he meets Chuuya’s eyes. “I’m sorry but I thought, I thought you deserved to know, I” he looks down “I” up “I”.

“Just come in honey” Dazai looks apprehensive so he says a word he hardly does “please” the tears start streaming, tracks flowing down his face in an ugly bout of sobs. “Osamu” Dazai, finally looking him in the eyes, comes in leaving his muddy shoes in the genkan. They walk over to the couch at first sitting awkwardly apart before settling into something more akin to a cuddle.

“Honey?” He ask softly “yeah” is the mumbled response from his remorseful sounding partner. “What, what did you come here to tell me”. the brunette looks anxious then attempts to preemptively placate Chuuya “Please don’t worry Chuuya you don’t even have to be involved, it’s okay I get it just listen please.”

Chuuya nods never expecting what he heard next “Chuuya I’m pregnant with your child.”

---

“We’re 18! We were not prepared! Dazai what do you want to do? What can we do?” Inquiries rolling of his tongue at a lightning speed. Questions bounding around his brain like neutrons, never once asking if he was being lied to having warranted faith in his partner(something his partner struggles with).

“Maybe we could write a list?” And they do, they realize after adding ultrasound down the items, that Dazai has already decided to keep it and Chuuya has decided to stick around. Of course these are placebo decisions, they’ve both ignored Chuuya’s mafia position in favor of living in delusion.

“Do you have any name ideas?” The ginger ask thoughtfully, now fully snuggled against his partner. “Hiroki” he answers simply, no explanation, and Chuuya doesn’t need one, tears once again pouring down tracks tracked earlier. Chuuya knows the meaning without asking.

“I love it.” He says and he really truly does. Dazai, he hates himself for not seeing his humanity at first, and him a human harboring a god. Their child, not divine nor demon but human with the eccentricity of their parents.

---

The two teens snuggled the rest of evening deep in the night accompanied by the static of a space heater and hum of the vigorous wind beyond the windows.

Chuuya delicately grasped his partner, desperate to hold him but afraid to hurt him. Fragile could never describe the boy in his arms, not even in this state, his lithe build deceiving in nature against such a savage man. In this moment, this moment… however, Dazai was allowing vulnerability, trusting in Chuuya to love him. And Chuuya would not betray that.

He continues kneading through Dazai’s tangles, a task he started quite a bit ago. The man’s hair got mussed much while away. “You’re quite the cat Chibi” the man under his hands crooned playfully. “I think I’m more of a ferret, intelligent and kind” he replies indulgently, “no, male ferrets are much too large silly Chuuya, maybe a hamster?” A glint of mischief appears “or maybe you can be content being my dog.” He smirks.

“You asshole” he laughs, unserious in his profanity. He can’t be mad at Dazai, he doesn’t even have a tangible reason to, the joke lost its animosity years ago and became no more than an inside joke, esoteric and understandable for only them.

“Samu?” He thinks this will be the final question of the night, they’re both tired, any later Dazai won’t want to answer, and he won’t want to ask. So he hopes even if this question lingers he consults the resulting thoughts.

“Do you think we’ll escape?”

Dazai didn’t wake as he couldn’t sleep. He should sleep but insomnia’s compulsive and complementary to his state of living, has been since infancy.

He had nightmares as a child, even awake he’d hallucinate them through reality. Claws and spiders, blurry and dismembered figures took a toll on a dwindling impressionable mind.

The author is just projecting onto him. (…maybe) ha! Dazai was right as always. (You aren’t always right and I’m projecting because I’m tired and I kin you, you bandaged buffoon! Now get the fuck outta here!)

The author kicks Dazai’s bodacious booty two million light years back to Chuuya’s apartment

Dazai wakes? Next to Chuuya, he doesn’t remember sleeping… weird. The Chibi has such soft hair. Dazai indirectly mimicking a cat plays with that hair, the soft stands pliant in his hands. Chuuya has never used conditioner and yet his hair was always feathery soft. He may compare him to a dog but it’s true Chuuya has always reminded Dazai of a bird, a bird he unfortunately lead into a gilded cage.

As Dazai scrutinizes his actions, an event he will never admit to Chuuya, said soft-haired ginger starts to stir, pulling Dazai close in his sleep addled state.

Dazai decides to sleep a bit longer, his insomnia finally allowing him in Chuuya’s arms.

---

Chuuya is in between a dreamless sleep and a cynical dawn. His partner rest in his arms with a vulnerability he only is privy to now. His brown hair is mussed and tangled but downy all the same, as Chuuya fondles it; thick hairs fraying in his fingers due to malnourishment. His hair, the hair matted in Chuuya’s hands smells like oils and unscented soap, like the man next to him didn’t use shampoo. He probably didn’t, eczema be dammed he never seemed to care for bathing. Seemed to scorn the water pelting his skin in a shower and was too lazy to draw his own bath. Jumping into rivers on the daily makes such task feel redundant he assumes.

Despite himself Chuuya doesn’t consider such a flaw. He calls him mackerel for a reason and it isn’t just the dead fish eyes. It’s just now Chuuya realizes that those same fish eyes are staring up at him and Chuuya flushes deep cherry. “Son of a bitch!”.

“My apologies Chibi I didn’t mean to startle you.” But of course the bastard looks anything but apologetic as he giggles airily in Chuuya’s face.

“It’s fine Mackerel, but since you’re up now can we-“ “Snuggle more?” The bastard interrupts him, and Chuuya wants to refute saying they have to talk soon enough but he recounts that vulnerability in the mackerel’s eyes and relents.

“Fine but we’ll have to sometime today.” The makers seems to sober up at that, giving Chuuya a nod before rolling his lanky self into a ball at his side.

---

They don’t start the conversation till linner, not even wanting to separate enough to have made lunch. Even now the mackerel clings into him as he prepares the ramen.

He feels bad for Dazai taking hit after hit at that moment. He was mad but he now realizes his anger may have been misdirected and was fathered by his alcohol. He’s still bothered Dazai left, yes, even if only temporarily, but he can’t bring himself to blame him. Had the flags encouraged him to leave he would’ve done so immediately, he stayed to honor their memory as mafia members, they were so excited for him to become an executive.

He looks over his shoulder at the mackerel clung to him, guilt clear in those hazel eyes and kisses him. “I love you mackerel” he says hoping it soothes both their nerves.

The egg timer dings.

As Chuuya watched the man across from him absently jostle his food, he knew there were many reasons the conversation broke him. He knew Osamu wouldn’t want this to be real, and he knows why he doesn’t want this to be real. In the same breath he knew why Osamu couldn’t bear himself to rid himself of the clump of unformed cells that caused him this strife and dysphoria.

Chuuya knew this because Osamu had trusted him not just repeatedly but unfailingly over the years. Chuuya earned the trust of a man who trusts no one and would always be grateful for that being that the man is Osamu.

The times they spoke with real words, real emotions, real vulnerability, not sarcasm or insolence. We’re the times Osamu would trust Chuuya with his harshest fears as Chuuya would him.

Chuuya knew Dazai had always feared pregnancy, long before he accepted his gender. This was due to many factors that Osamu expressed over many years through short uncomfortable responses in their conversations. Those responses lead Chuuya to discover so many reasons with little substance to the stories behind them.

The first factor had to do with Osamu’s own mother, a kind woman Dazai had only known as a toddler as both she and Osamu’s younger brother- a child who lived barely a minute- died in childbirth. Miscarriages notoriously ran in the family but after the second trimester no one expected her to hemorrhage when her water broke.

With that, Osamu had despised his breast, binding them daily or till the bandages tore. Luckily Chuuya convinced him to get a surgery instead and bit before they left where they removed most of the tissue. Despite his dysphoria Osamu had no desire to take testosterone, not only from his trypanophobia but also his severe dislike of body hair. Dazai hated the hair in his hair and armpits enough but facial hair crossed the line apparently.

This to say Osamu already felt disproportionately feminine for a man and pregnancy would be deprecating to him.

Osamu had a second dysphoria pregnancy would unfortunately undoubtedly affect as well. Osamu has anorexia. Chuuya spares another glance at his partners uneaten plate. Osamu confided in Chuuya that his eating habits or lack there of were not purely another method of self harm. That Osamu was worried constantly about any change to his svelte physique. That on the streets, as he was before the port, he only made money by men who tipped on their complements made on his delicate body. That weight gave him a ‘womanly physique. Feminine curves that curled and clung to him.

Chuuya knows all of this and yet this ugly, selfish, loving, part of him wishes Osamu would want—“I want to keep it”. Osamu say’s with such determination and emotion, Chuuya short circuits.

A hand on his stomach, no belly yet in sight he states “I need to see if they have your eyes” tears rolling down his face as he can’t bring himself to smile yet he doesn’t feel a frown.

It’s out of character for him yet perfectly inline. Dazai mastered the art of surprise as enigmatic as he is. And Chuuya knows this well, because Chuuya knows him well. And, well, Chuuya has to kiss his anxious little face.

Their lips meet and the soy sauce taste is evident yet neither care, too imbued in the moment, the warmth they felt in each other blanketing them. The kiss wasn’t chaste nor escalating “‘cause the authors ace” Dazai mumbles so lightly even Chuuya doesn’t hear. No the kiss didn’t lead to R-rated acts but a snuggle puddle on the sofa, the short redhead swiftly asleep and atop his boyfriend.

Strawberry blonde hair tickled Dazai’s face. He tried to blow it away with his nose but it was to course, laying on him like the certain slug it belonged to.

Looking into Chuuya’s sleeping face scrunched up a bit like a cute cat, he wished he could get some of that peace. Insomnia’s a bitch, especially if you were practically born with it like Dazai (and the author) Stop projecting on me Author-San!! (Never) the author throws Dazai out a window and he flies back to the couch from through the tv.

It was agony as a kid. He was already sickly with his mom’s autoimmune disorder and depression; the insomnia stole the last of his joy. He remembers the shit it caused even years later because even if it mellowed out it still haunts his nights…

 

A child sits, clutching their nightgown like a vice, covers discarded after they turned to snakes. The light was on and still they could only see twisted spirits. Spiders crawled down the walls, forming nonsensical formations and crawled under their skin when they reached them. A clown stood in the corner with flesh melting off him, arms bent in unnatural degrees leaving bone poking out.

The kid couldn’t scream lest their father come. He didn’t appreciate weakness nor disturbance.

So the kid cried silently, chewing their long hair till it was littered with split ends. They let the bugs under their skin, and the monsters watch them awake. Not sleeping till exhaustion forced their body down.

 

Dazai is no longer this child of course. Crying more than a tear is near impossible for him, and his personality is a shit amalgamation of his favorite people. He lost his humanity years ago… and yet, he looks down at his abdomen, maybe he can get it back. He just hopes this kid gets none of his problems.