Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nakahara Chuuya is many things, but he is not, absolutely fucking not, one Dazai Osamu’s lover.

The whole of Japan however, now thinks otherwise.

“So, what do you think about all this snow?” The sad excuse of a T.V. reporter asks, and Dazai casually gives her an answer that clearly is not one that anybody, especially Chuuya, expects.

Why is he in this situation again?

Well. It is a cold snowy day, the drop in temperature Chuuya uses as an excuse to spend his money carelessly on a brand new bottle of expensive wine.

When he exits the liquor store, all intent on finishing the whole bottle on his own in his home, he hears gunshots. Then he hears explosions and the sound of innocent bystanders squealing because oh my god there is an explosion for crying out loud, and then from the rush of people he spots Dazai.

Chuuya turns away, wine cradled in his arms because the people keeps on bumping his shoulders because he is easy to miss because he is so short, and it really proves to be a tiring effort not to just kill them all. He turns away and walks briskly because he just had spotted Dazai and spotting Dazai automatically means trouble. Chuuya is more than a hundred percent sure that the gunshots and explosion were caused by his infuriating partner. He is right.

Because Chuuya is down on his luck, Dazai spots him. Chuuya tries to fly away, manipulating gravity like he always does, but Dazai is fast and just before Chuuya could float away his arm has been held captive.

“What the fuck?” He exclaims, and Dazai only laughs at him before he pulls him, forces Chuuya to join the running spree away from a certain gang that Dazai has just bombed.

He tries to break free, many times, but Dazai’s grip only grows tighter and tighter with every attempt and eventually, Chuuya gives up.

“We’ll try to lose them in the crowd!” Dazai announces with a bright smile on his face, it is as if his idea matches the significance of discovering that the sun does not in fact revolve around the earth.

“What do you mean ‘we?’” Chuuya struggles again but Dazai ignores him completely as they join the crowd of people, ready to binge on the winter season sale despite the heavy onslaught of snow. A strong gust of wind passes by, and Chuuya feels his hat fly away. But before another curse word flees his mouth because he could not just let go of the wine he just bought, Dazai turns, jumps, and harshly places his beloved hat back on his head that he wobbles.

“If I lose my hat I’ll kill you!” Chuuya threatens.

And then they are running again, squeezing past the flurry of Japanese men and women and children. Somewhere, somehow, Dazai’s grip on his wrist melts into their fingers intertwining. Chuuya does not notice it at all, and he has no idea that it is why the grin on Dazai’s face only stretches further, almost reaching his ears.

He notices this only when they cross the street and is stopped by a huge camera and a female reporter with a microphone.

She asks, “What do you think about all this snow?”

Chuuya opens his mouth to say ‘what do fuck do you think about all this fucking snow?’ But Dazai, as always, beats him to it.

And Dazai says, “There’s something special in the air about being with your loved one when it’s snowing, so I like it!” 

That is supposed to be Chuuya’s cue to jab Dazai on the ribs, but instead he covers his face with a gloved hand, the bottle of wine almost slips and almost falls but Dazai catches it with his other free hand. He hears a giggle, and Chuuya knows that it is not the end of it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He whispers, hisses, bites at Dazai but the voice of the reporter slices through.

“You are partners!” The reporter squeals in delight, and Dazai tugs Chuuya closer to him, fingers still are laced together, tighter because Chuuya tries to pull away again.

“Yes we are!” Dazai’s voice is high pitched Chuuya makes a mental note to slit Dazai’s throat. “We are, you can say, partners in love.”

Somewhere, Kouyou-nee chokes on her tea. 

“It’s crime! Partners in crime you imbecile! We are literally partners in crime! We—” Chuuya exclaims with wide eyes and furrowed brows. He stands on his tiptoes, flushed face close to Dazai that their noses almost touches. Chuuya forgets for a second that there is still a camera continuously recording them and when he remembers, he covers his face again then steps on Dazai’s toes with the inch of heel under his shoe. “Goddamnit!” 

“Oh look! He’s all red!” She points out, and Dazai agrees.

“I know!” He joins her, much to Chuuya’s annoyance and complete embarrassment. He steps on Dazai’s toes again, this time grinding in his heel on Dazai’s leather shoes. When Dazai continues to gush and embarrass him, Chuuya kicks Dazai’s shin. But Dazai only adds fuel to Chuuya’s cute little flame, “And look! He wears a hat! Isn’t it adorable?”

“Oh my fucking god!” Chuuya closes his eyes shut and continues to attack Dazai with his best efforts as he pulls said adorable hat further down his face until it reaches his brows.

The sound of people yelling followed by gruff commanding voices becomes music to Chuuya’s ears. Dazai turns his head, the squeeze on Chuuya’s hand means that he’s on alert.

“Aaand that’s our cue to leave!”

“But—” The reporter tries to insist but Chuuya’s hand leaves his face in favor of putting a finger against the reporter’s glossed lips and he finds it too sticky. Ugh!

“Don’t!” Chuuya shouts. “Not. Another. Word. Or I swear I’ll—”

“We hope to meet you again sometime!” Dazai cuts him off and he bends down, occupying the whole camera shot with his stupid grin still plastered on his face. For a wanted man being chased currently by a gang that is surely to be wiped off the surface of Japan in no less than an hour, Dazai proudly exposes himself on T.V. “The next time you see us, Chuuya’s my wife!”

“Oi! You bastard!”

There’s a single gunshot that has the people running around and before the reporter can say anything else, Dazai sends a wink towards the camera before promptly pulling Chuuya away. 

The last thing that audio captures is Chuuya demanding to be let go, Dazai’s singsong refusal, and the sound of another explosion after Dazai throws a grenade.

#

Chapter Text

Everything Chuuya wears is tight.

Far too tight.

No, Dazai’s not just talking about Chuuya’s dark toned mission clothes. He is not just talking about that damning waistcoat that hugs Chuuya’s upper body like a maiden’s corset, defining Chuuya’s sinful curves far too much that it could harness the envy of all the women Dazai has slept with (but for good reason).

Dazai is talking about everything that Chuuya wears, including the white turtle neck top and skinny (too fucking skinny) faded jeans that Chuuya has chosen to wear because, as Chuuya has said and Dazai quotes, ‘we’re just gonna go get some fucking groceries simple clothes would suffice no stupid Dazai I’m not fucking wearing my black coat are you freakin’ blind it still has blood stains and it won’t go well with my outfit.’

Oh, but those are not just simple fucking clothes, Dazai wants to tell Chuuya as he trails diligently behind his partner who is now inspecting frozen seafood, a pack in each of his small hands as he mulls over which looks fresher.

Because, Dazai continues his thoughts, if those are simple clothes then the pair of pricks standing five feet behind you wouldn’t be looking at your ass like that.

“Chuuya~!” Dazai coos a little bit louder than normal it manages to earn him the sight of a flinching Chuuya. It also alerts everyone around that Chuuya is with someone. He’s with me. Dazai positions himself behind his partner, completely covering Chuuya’s backside, fully blocking the view of the men behind them (thank god Chuuya’s small), and then rests his chin on Chuuya’s left shoulder while he keeps his own hands inside the pockets of his pants. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, idiot?”

“Well, judging by how long you’ve been staring at frozen food it would be safe to assume that you really are giving so much thought on how you are going to confess your undying love for me tonight—”

“Fuck off.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes and a puff of breath leaves his mouth as he settles for the frozen packed seafood in his right hand. He places it gently inside the red shopping basket hooked in his arm, dangling right below his elbow. It’s the first item on his list and the first item on his basket. Then Chuuya turns sharply and walks away. Dazai’s face falls forward from the sudden absence of support but he catches himself midway and follows Chuuya gingerly.

But not before sending the pair of pricks a nasty glare because their eyes shamelessly follow Chuuya’s form (specifically Chuuya’s firm ass) until Chuuya disappears in aisle 13.

“As I was saying,” Dazai stands by Chuuya’s side and bends down so he could peer at Chuuya’s face but he is met by the other’s palm, a fair warning that he is about to be pushed away with a force that is definitely anchored by Chuuya’s ability.

Dazai flies all the way to the end of the aisle and then past the aisle, the two pricks from before jerks in surprise as they see him hit the wall and bounce off it. There’s the sound of cracking but they’re not from Dazai’s body. It’s the wall. From where he falls, Dazai sees Chuuya put pasta in the basket.

Hah. As if that is enough to get rid of Dazai. The only way to get rid of Dazai is by clawing through his flesh and then ripping his heart out, and if you are much of a dare devil and an uncivilized carnivore you would eat it fresh.

He stands up, dusts his shoulders, and then prances back by Chuuya’s side with a gleeful hum and without much injury.

“As I was saying—”

“Not fucking interested.”

Chuuya turns his back at him and they proceed to get more stuff in Chuuya’s mental list of groceries, with Dazai occasionally putting unnecessary items (like new yellow rubber ducks to accompany him while bathing because Chuuya refuses to go with him each and every time unless Chuuya’s drunk, and a garden sprinkler because it’s on sale though they don’t have a garden because they live in an apartment, six stories high).

And Dazai continues to lazily trail behind Chuuya, admiring his partner’s swaying hips and sexy back and sexy legs, all the while generously throwing off dangerous glares towards the people that dare try to share the sight of a cute Chuuya grocery shopping as if he does not kill for a living.

“Chuuya! The mushrooms are on sale!”

“We don’t need them.”

“I’m taking ten.”

“Dazai, no!” He throws them in. Chuuya sighs in defeat. “You better fucking eat this.”

He salutes his yes. Chuuya walks away with Dazai following closely, and Dazai admires the curve of Chuuya’s neck down to his shoulders.

Chuuya’s clothes hug him too much it is as if they are in love with Chuuya’s body.

It’s not like Dazai can blame the clothes though.

There are quite a many times that Dazai wishes he can be one of Chuuya’s tightly fitted shirts even for just one day.

He wonders if humans can be reincarnated into shirts.

He'd kill himself now if that's the case.

“I’d tap that.”

What now?

Dazai’s ears twitch when he hears such an ominous sounding voice, and he turns his head slightly to the side. He sees two men standing not too far away from where Chuuya is, a smug look on their faces, a malicious glint in their ugly eyes, and Dazai really couldn’t care less about them if not for the way they are ogling at Chuuya’s whole body.

And Dazai really would have been satisfied with just sending them threatening glares like he did on other people, like he did on the two pricks by the seafood section, but these two sons of bitches have crossed the line.

I’d tap that they said, and the next thing Dazai hears is “pretty face too. But he’ll look better on my bed, naked.”

Then,

“Ya’ think he’s flexible?”

Then,

“Bet he can put his ankles behind his head.”

Then,

“Bet you’d look better naked on the street, dead.” It’s his own voice who says it, and he really cannot remember when his legs have moved, away from where he is peacefully standing guard of Chuuya as Chuuya remains painfully oblivious to his surroundings, to the eyes that he attracts, to the men and women who wants to glue their bodies on his side.

The men step back as he catches them by surprise. He appears in front of them in just a blink of an eye and his face is dangerously close but not close enough for their breaths to mingle. Dazai has no intention of breathing in the same air. He catches a whiff of the smell of cigarettes though.

“Wh-what— Who the fuck are you?” One of the assholes demands, recovering from the surprise and suddenly gaining attitude, thinking he could take on Dazai because Dazai does not look like someone who could break a bone.

Until the fake smile on his face disappears and molds in a thin line. Until the fake sparkle in his eyes turns into a morbid haze. Until he pokes the asshole’s stomach with something sharp one wrong move and the asshole’s dead.

“You little shit—” The asshole’s shitty companion tries to shove him away but he freezes him with one look and he digs his corkscrew further into the stomach of the man standing in front of him.

“I don’t appreciate you looking at my partner like that, much less imagining his ankles behind his head, on your bed, like he’s some cheap whore.” Dazai’s voice lowers. “So either you shut up now or I shut you up for good.”

There is silence. The grocery is livened by the wheels of pushcarts and quick steps of stray children being chased by their parents, and the beeping of the cash register and clinking of coins, spare change, and practiced expression of gratitude by the cashiers to paying customers. But just in between them, there is silence. An invisible barrier secludes them from the world outside and Dazai’s threat thumps loudly in the form of rapid heartbeats by the men in his mercy.

“What do you say, gentlemen?” Dazai prods and slowly, with tears pooling from the corner of their eyes, with labored breaths and beads of sweat on their forehead and nose, they nod.

It’s good enough for Dazai’s smile to come back. It’s good enough for Dazai to withdraw and step back, let them breath properly again. Their eyes are now trained on the floor with no intentions of looking anywhere. It’s good enough for—

“Dazai!”

He turns around when he hears Chuuya call him, and he sees Chuuya carrying five bags of groceries in one hand, the other resting on his waist as he looks at Dazai with impatience.

“I’m coming, honey!” Dazai answers and Chuuya sputters at the pet name.

“Don’t fucking call me that!” Chuuya demands and Dazai laughs, pushing the corkscrew back in his jacket’s sleeve. He hears the men sigh in relief but he takes that comfort away with another sinister warning. They nod their heads again, and Dazai takes off.

“What was that?” Chuuya asks him and Dazai clasps his hands, the sparkles in his eyes are back as he answers the question.

“I made new friends!”

“Right.”

“Aww, is Chuuya jealous?”

Chuuya kicks Dazai’s knees but Dazai jumps in time to dodge the attack.

“In your dreams.” Chuuya turns away and begins to walk. “Don’t think I believed you for a second there, idiot. What did you do?”

Dazai stops from walking, hands in his pocket, the smile on his face shrinking but not ever leaving, and when Chuuya realizes that Dazai has stopped he turns around with an inquisitive look.

“What is it, jerk?” Chuuya says without real bite, and Dazai catches up until they’re side by side.

“You ought to wear proper clothes, Chuuya.”

“Huh?”

“Say, can you put your ankles behind your head?”

“Oh well I haven’t really tried—”

Seeing the red creep up on Chuuya’s face, the realization sinking in, Dazai’s smile stretches up again until it contorts into an annoying grin, until it becomes too annoying that Chuuya hits his face with the grocery bags.

“What the fuck are you asking you perverted bastard!? Just die already!”

Chapter Text

“You’d make a good wife, Chuuya.” 

He pushes the tie’s knot all the way up Dazai’s throat until he hears the satisfying sound of Dazai’s airway being cut off.

“Say that again, you bastard.” Chuuya dares. When Dazai’s cheeks begin to turn blue, he pulls the knot back down and unties it, meaning to redo the whole thing all over again.

“You’d make a good wife, Chuu—” 

The last syllable Dazai croaks when Chuuya pulls the knot back up for the second time, and this time Chuuya does not pull it away until Dazai raises his arm in surrender. His idiot partner takes in a lungful of air, then wastes all that oxygen to let out an amused laugh as Chuuya redoes his necktie for him for the third damn fucking time seriously Dazai let me fucking finish I also got things to fucking do you know? 

“You told me to say it again.” Dazai coos, sounding victorious, and instead of choking Dazai again (and oh god he’s gonna leave him to suffer a slow death this time), he chooses to ignore him. Chuuya purses his lips to stop himself from saying anything back. His slender fingers move faster to finish the task. 

He feels warm hands rest down the curve of his back right above his ass but he pays it no mind. 

It’s not like it’s something foreign. It’s not like Dazai would dare slide his hands lower than necessary because it surely would bring him his untimely (timely) death. 

And Chuuya does feel the light pressure against his back. It’s Dazai trying to coax him forward but he does not budge. 

“I’m serious though.” Dazai teases and Chuuya glares up at him. 

“Shut up.”

“You have the qualifications of a good wife.” 

“I said shut the fuck up.” 

“You have the skills, you have the look, you have the height—” 

Chuuya jumps and head-butts Dazai’s nose. His hands hold on to the necktie though, careful not to mess it up because he really does not want to redo it again.

Dazai continues talking and more shit comes out of his mouth. 

Because Dazai is stalling and Chuuya knows it.

Knows it because Dazai is still human despite all his inhuman deeds, and Dazai still knows how to feel nervous, how to feel fear. Of what exactly? Or who? Mori? Himself? 

Chuuya never asks, but if he does, he’ll learn that--

(That Dazai fears the day he won’t make it back to Chuuya’s side.)  

He’ll learn nothing.

(Much like how he'll never learn that Dazai actually does know how to tie a fucking necktie.) 

Dazai wouldn’t tell him even if he threatens his life.

 “I’d marry you now if I can.” 

“I’d kill you now if I can.” Chuuya retorts as he tucks the end of tie and loops it in. 

“Oh but you can! You just won’t.” Dazai says, eyes twinkling with a child’s enthusiasm, and Chuuya looks up at him as he finishes his task. 

“Because we’re still partners.” 

“But what if we’re not partners anymore?” 

“Then I won’t hesitate to strangle the shit out of you.” 

“Ah! What a romantic way of dying~!” 

The necktie rests below Dazai’s collar, perfectly knotted thanks to Chuuya’s expert hands.

And well Chuuya does not really know why he spends so much effort in perfecting Dazai’s tie despite knowing that within an hour or two, it would be crooked and torn and slashed and punctured with small holes, its tip will be burnt, it will be soaked with Dazai’s own blood, the blood that gushes out of a chest wound or the blood that Dazai coughs out after a blow on the face.

“It’s done.” Chuuya says, and Dazai smiles. 

“Thank you.” 

Dazai smiles and perhaps, that is enough reason to redo the tie over and over again. 

“You’d make a good wife, Chuuya.” 

He thinks about kicking Dazai on the chest but remembers the wound that Dazai has, still very fresh because Dazai just got it yesterday. Chuuya waves the thought off and instead marches out of their shared bedroom. Dazai follows him. 

“Oh, where’d I put my coat?”

“I hung it behind the door. Seriously, what are you gonna do without me?” 

“Well first I will---”

“Just get going, asshole.” He mutters half-heartedly as he plops down the couch and turns the television on with the remote. 

“Won’t you give me a goodbye kiss?” 

“You can kiss my fist.”

“Love truly does hurt!” Dazai muses loudly as he grabs his newly laundered coat (again, thanks to Chuuya, that bastard really ought to show more gratitude like do you have any idea how hard it is to wash away thickened blood?) hanging by the door. 

“You won’t make it back to dinner will you?” 

He hears a gasp, an overly dramatic gasp. 

“Oh Chuuya! God knows I would love to—” 

“So that’s a no. Good. I don’t feel like cooking tonight anyway.” Chuuya sighs and focuses on the television, tries to understand the news about the heavy snowstorm, and he doesn’t see the warmth in Dazai’s smile. 

“Don’t miss me too much, okay?”

“Oh you’re still here?” 

Dazai laughs, and the last thing that Chuuya hears before the door is closed shut is, 

“You’d really make a good wife, Chuuya.”

Chapter Text

Dazai knows that despite everything his partner says, Chuuya trusts him with his life, otherwise they wouldn’t have lasted together for years as the renowned deadly duo clad in bloodstained black. But groceries are an entirely different matter, and Chuuya would rather let himself wallow away with using ‘Corruption’ rather than entrust Dazai the grocery list. 

So when Chuuya, heavily injured with a broken rib and fractured knee and much much more after a mission-almost-gone-wrong (because why the fuck are you fucking late shitty fucking Dazai fuck—), reluctantly gives Dazai the weekly ‘to-buy’ list, well Dazai is just teary-eyed. 

“I will not fail you, comrade.” He says with mock salute, and Chuuya mutters something about having been greatly disappointed a long time ago but Dazai is already on heels and out the door, determined somehow not to stray from the list he has shoved in his pocket. 

An hour later and he comes back with a bunch of plastic bags that gives Chuuya the obvious fact that Dazai exceeded past the allotted budget, and yes that is a pack of gummy bears he is seeing, yes those are DVDs of movies they’ve already seen, and yes that’s a garden hose even if they do not have a fucking garden they live in a fucking apartment for crying out loud— 

“Oh you’ll never believe what I just got!” Dazai exclaims, dropping the other bags on the floor save for one, and yes Chuuya that sound you just heard is the sound of about half a dozen eggs cracking.

And Chuuya sends flurries of profanities towards Dazai and Dazai just laughs. Like always.

He strides over the couch where Chuuya has managed to carry himself to somehow, and blocks his partner’s view of the T.V. so that Dazai garners Chuuya’s full attention whether the hat rack likes it or not. 

“So, you’ll never believe what I got, Chuuya!” He repeats despite knowing full well that Chuuya has heard him the first time, if only to see those usually pale cheeks fluster from sheer annoyance. 

“Oh pray tell I’m dying to know!” Chuuya answers, and Dazai pats Chuuya on the surprisingly hat-less head as a consoling gesture despite catching clearly the heavily dripping sarcasm, if only to give Chuuya a bit of a fighting spirit to make him forget about his aching injuries. 

“There, there, my little hat rack.”

“Wha—” 

“Don’t worry I’ll tell you. You’ll know.” 

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Dazai only stops when Chuuya manages to smack off his hand. 

“So! I got us…” Dazai fumbles with the plastic bag and then pulls out — “shirts!” 

He pulls out a two shirts with a wide, excited grin and Chuuya stares at the clothes like it’s the first time he has seen clothes, like ‘oh my gosh I never thought shirts exist’, and then he stares at Dazai with a mildly confused face. 

“What?” 

“Oh dear, has Chuuya gone deaf too?” He feigns horrid shock, with his eyes wide and mouth agape. “Should I not have thrown the bomb near you?”

“You shouldn’t even think about throwing it near me in the first place you asshole!”

“So, I got us shirts!” 

“You’re not even listening to me—oof!” 

Dazai throws one of the shirts on Chuuya’s face and ignores everything he hears in favor of removing the shirt he is already wearing, exposing skin and bandages, and making Chuuya curse him more to death for being an indecent pervert, and he doesn’t get it. 

He’ll never get why Chuuya loves to play virgin when he’s seen Dazai naked multiple times. And it’s not like he is even completely naked now. 

He’ll also never get why Chuuya’s face contorts once more with a look of disgust as soon as Dazai pulls down the shirt to his body and models it for Chuuya. 

It’s a simple white shirt, nothing fancy but the cloth is soft and really cool to the skin, not to mention the design. 

Chuuya’s eyes twitch as he reads over and over again, written in blue capital letters, the word ‘HERS’ printed boldly across Dazai’s chest, a pink arrow pointing to the left right below the flashy letters.

“What the hell?” 

Dazai’s eyes sparkle in anticipation as Chuuya reluctantly reads the print on, supposedly his own, shirt. The corner of Chuuya’s lips twitch, seeing the pink as fuck ‘HIS’ printed with arguably a bigger text size. There’s an arrow below it pointing to the right. 

“What is this!?” 

“It’s—“ 

“I KNOW IT’S A SHIRT!” Chuuya cuts him off, knowing what he is going to say in reply.

“Ah, but it’s not just a shirt. It’s a couple shirt!” Dazai clasps his hands and proceeds to twirl away from Chuuya’s reach. It will take some couple of seconds before Chuuya manages to stand up on his own, gravity manipulation included. 

He pushes Chuuya back on the couch when Chuuya makes it halfway to standing. 

“Shit!” 

“Wear it! Wear it!” 

“Like hell I will!” Chuuya exclaims. “It’s a couple shirt, Dazai. A couple shirt! What in satan’s name entered your mind to buy—”

“Ah! I was being practical, you see. Oh you won’t believe it but actually,” Dazai skips over the small, center table and leans down to Chuuya, hands even beckoning the other to move closer to his face so he could whisper. 

He’ll never get why Chuuya does so despite all the things he’s pulled on him. For all he knows, Dazai could prank kiss him again. 

“Actually,” Dazai whispers, excitement barely contained in his voice. “it was on sale.” 

In the midst of Chuuya struggling to kill him, the man questions why he gets the girl’s shirt and Dazai casually explains that it’s the size and he really wouldn’t have mind wearing it but it doesn’t fit.

It’s been made in a woman’s size, cut for a woman’s body, and Chuuya is small.

He jumps back in time for Chuuya’s knuckles to just barely graze his jaw.

Later that evening, after a solo mission (because Chuuya is put to bed rest much to the hat rack’s agony), he finds Chuuya asleep on his own bed in their shared bedroom.

 And he’s wearing the shirt.

HIS
->

Chapter Text

There is an intense throbbing in his skull when Chuuya wakes up brought by the unhealthy consumption of alcohol the night before, but it is not the pain that makes him hiss in irritation. Rather, it is Dazai’s face that is too close for comfort that he could feel and smell his partner’s morning breath (which surprisingly does not stink so much).

“Good morning Chuuya~”

“What the fuck get away from me!” He pushes Dazai off the bed and he hears the resounding thud of Dazai’s body, but the satisfaction of having hurt Dazai does not come because Dazai laughs. That fucker is a fucking masochist what the f—

“Oh by the way there is something that we need to talk about,” Dazai says as he sits properly on the floor with his arms folded and resting on the bed, his smile still bright and annoying as ever but there is something in his tone that makes Chuuya listen.

“What is it?” He asks, eyebrows furrowing with pure curiosity because Dazai is meeting him eye to eye and there is intensity in Dazai’s gaze that makes Chuuya uneasy, makes him sit up and take a lungful of air like he is bracing for an impact.

“You see, the thing is,” Dazai trails again and the air around them grows heavy and the longer the unnecessary silence stretches the more Chuuya’s heartbeat quickens. His drowsiness has been blinked away and it is only then that his eyes wander around the hotel room they are staying at.

The sun’s up in the sky but their room stays dim as the blinds are yet to be pulled open and only the little bit of sunshine illuminates his surroundings. Chuuya sees empty bottles of liquor on the table beside an unfinished bowl of Doritos and he sees chocolate wrappers surrounding the trash bin.

There’s Dazai’s coat hanging on the backrest of the chair. Chuuya’s own coat is left discarded by the threshold that leads towards the bathroom, and on the floor is a trail of white and red rose petals that connects all the way from the entrance and to… towards the bed okay now that Chuuya is really wide awake he only notices then that he is being surrounded by rose petals.

Then he sees a fancy white veil at the foot of the bed.

“Chuuya,”

His toes and fingers feel cold and blood begins to drain from his face.

“W-what the fuck is it? Spill it out damn idiot!”

There is a shadow that is cast on Dazai’s face brought his disheveled strands of hair, and he takes a deep breath in before he finally drops the bomb.

“Don’t panic but… I think we may have accidentally gotten married.”

The bomb drops and it sinks into Chuuya in a matter of seconds, he feels his insides turning and his brain melting and then he kicks Dazai square in the face but Dazai dodges it.

“WHAT!?”

“Okay so actually it’s not ‘may have’. We actually did get married I called and the office confirmed it—“

“DAZAI!”

“Haha, like you do realize you’re also Dazai now.”

“What!? Why do I get to bear your surname why can’t you be Nakahara wait a fucking minute that’s not even the fucking point! How did this even happen I don’t even want this why—”

“Ah but Chuuya,” Dazai silences him with a finger on his lips. “us being married comes with the fact that you said ‘I do!’”

Chuuya flushes red.

“W-w-we were both fucking drunk! I was fucking drunk!”

“But you see, studies show that people are more aware of their actions when they are drunk and also, drunk people tend to be honest! Ah I knew you’re in love with me!”

“I am NOT in love with you and fuck the studies to hell and back! I want a divorce! If we’re really married I want a divorce or better yet, I want you dead right fucking now—“

“I was kidding though.”

Dazai deadpans and Chuuya’s eye twitches.

“What?”

“I was kidding, Chuuya~.” Dazai repeats and the taunting smile on his face comes back full blast as he stands up before Chuuya can throw another bone-wrecking kick. “There’s no way I’d marry a hat rack you know!”

“I fucking hate you.”

Relief floods Chuuya’s veins and well honestly there is also the feeling of slight disappointment but that feeling will never be acknowledged. His eyes follow Dazai until Dazai disappears behind the bathroom door to freshen up because they still both reek of booze.

The door closes and Chuuya completely misses the grin the stretches on Dazai’s face as soon as Dazai is within the company of cold bathroom tiles.

Because when Dazai said they accidentally married, he really wasn’t kidding at all.

And it really wasn’t marriage by accident.

Chapter Text

Chuuya almost throws his phone at the first ring because it is already four in the fucking morning and he is tired as fuck from all the paper work, not to mention the disastrous mission that was the fault for all said shitty paperwork.

He grabs his phone nonetheless, just in case it was an emergency, and he doesn’t even bother checking who the caller is before answering.

“Hello?” Chuuya tries to keep his tone in check, belatedly realising it could have been Mori.

“Good morning.” His eyebrows furrow at the unfamiliar female voice. “This is Dr. Takano Mari from Yokohoma General Hospital. I believe I am speaking with Dazai-san?”

Chuuya almost throws his phone.

Chuuya does throw his phone because what the fuck but he immediately stops it a second before hitting the wall. It floats back in his grip in an instant and he snaps because what the fuck????

“No you’re not.” No the fuck you’re not is what he wants to say but settles to leave the profanity aside because he is not an asshole like Dazai is and this poor doctor might be just another victim of one of Dazai’s fucking pranks at four in. the. fucking. morning.

“Ah, then may I speak with him?” Before Chuuya could say that (un)fortunately, the mackerel piece of shit is nowhere near him right now (thank all the gods in heaven), the doctor continues to speak. And she says, “His husband, Dazai Osamu-san had been in involved in a vehicular accident and we need to inform his spouse.”

What.

He repeats the words in his head, eyebrows furrowing and his mouth agape. Did he hear her right? She isn’t looking for Dazai Osamu but for a different Dazai who isn’t Dazai fucking Osamu and she called Chuuya’s number—Chuuya’s number of all the shitty people in Yokohoma—to look for another Dazai. That couldn’t be good. That could noooot be good.

Anything involving Dazai can never be good and Chuuya’s head is starting to hurt.

“I’m sorry,” Chuuya’s grip on his phone tightens and he closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, takes a deep breath in. “but who exactly are you looking for?”

There’s a sound of shuffling paper like the doctor’s double checking a document, and then,

“The patient’s husband, Dazai Chuuya-san—”

The phone flies all the way towards the other side of the bedroom and crashes against the wall bur Chuuya is out the door, in his pajamas, before the poor broken phone hits the ground.

Dazai wakes up to voices echoing in the hallway.

“Where is he?”

“Are you Dazai Chuuya-san?”

“Yes! I mean, no!”

“I’m sorry but only—”

“Fine! Okay fine I’m—I’m Chuuya, okay? Now where the fuck is that asshole piece of fucking scumbag mackerel bandaged shit—”

“Right this way Dazai-san.”

“I’m not!

“You’re not?”

“Just. UGH.” Dazai keeps his eyes closed but smiles, bites down a laugh because the footsteps are getting louder, nearer. “Just call me Chuuya. Please.”

The door to his room finally opens and Dazai schools his face back to looking dead as fuck, pretending he isn’t conscious yet, making it seem that he hasn’t heard his dear petite mafia lashing out at being called ‘Dazai.” Although his dear husband has quieted down now, listening intently as the doctor explains how Dazai ended up on their hospital bed after getting hit by a truck and sent flying down the road to which Chuuya interrupts with “well you should’ve just left him there to die,” and “you’re only wasting your resources on him,” and “I would’ve been more thrilled if you called to ask for help in digging his grave.”

Dazai can hear amused laughter from Takano-sensei and he has to commend how the doctor continues to act and sound unbothered. He feels a finger ghost over where the IV needle is embedded on his hand and his own thumb twitches.

“How bad was it again?” Chuuya asks.

“He is concussed but he did not sustain any serious injuries.”

“Then why am I called here? The detective agency he’s working for is a much better choice and would most likely be actually concerned for his well-being than I.” Dazai wants to snort at the obvious lie but well, he’s still playing dead.

“Since he was brought in here he’s remained unconscious so we took the liberty to swift through the IDs in his wallet and found you as his emergency contact. We also looked him up and checked his file.” A sound of rustling paper. “We found no other immediate family member except for you, his spouse.”

Silence followed, Dazai guessing Chuuya is trying to absorb at whatever file he is reading, pretty blue eyes trying to make sense of Dazai’s civil status as married, of Chuuya’s name printed next to “Name of Spouse” just beneath it. Dazai hears paper being wrinkled in between Chuuya’s fingers, and he also hears “this son of a bitch” hiss past Chuuya’s teeth.

And Chuuya sounds tired, resigned, exhausted, Dazai notes. He expects to see dark bags under Chuuya’s eyes when he decides to wake up.

“Your husband will be up and about soon.” Takano Mari says as she walks out the door. “Call me or any of the nurses if you need something, Dazai Chuuya-san.”

“I’m not--!” Chuuya pauses, realising it would be fruitless to try and correct the doctor, too tired to waste effort in telling her for the umpteenth time that he is not Dazai’s husband. In the end, he exhales and says “Thank you for all your help.”

Dazai hears the door close with a soft thud.

Dazai feels Chuuya’s hair ticking his face as the mafioso bends down to observe his incredibly handsome face.

Dazai jerks awake after a hand slaps him hard on his injured forehead and even if he has anticipated the attack, he didn’t think Chuuya would hit him that hard given his injuries.

“You goddamn waste of space! I knew you were awake!”

“Chuuya! Must you?” Dazai whines and cradles his bandaged forehead. “I’m in pain!”

“Good!”

Aah, love truly does hurt.

“Why so cruel, chibi?”

“You deserve cruelty, shitty Dazai!”

Chuuya huffs and Dazai grins before asking, “Which Dazai? Me? Or you?”

He watches emotions filter on Chuuya’s face from surprise, disbelief, to embarrassment mixed with rage. Or it might be more accurate that Chuuya’s expressing his embarrassment through fury. Whatever it may be, Dazai is much too happy to accommodate the slug on his lap, straddled on his hospital bed, nevermind that he is being strangled.

“You bastard!” Chuuya grips the collar of his hospital gown and shakes him. “What the fuck was that all about?! I’m not your fucking husband! I’d rather die than be called your husband! Why doens everyone think so? What in the seven fucks of hell does that fucking paper mean? Why is my name written there, as your unfortunate fucking spouse!? Where did they even get that file? You don’t have files and you don’t have records! Is this another stupid prank of yours? What are you on about this time? What—”

“Aaaaah so many questions!” Dazai whines. His blood has climbed and mixed on the IV connected at the back of his hand from Chuuya’s violent ways of demanding answers. “And all are stupid! Really, hat rack, can’t you come up with something better? Use that pea-sized brain of yours! I’m sure it still has common sense, I mean, why else would you be my husband? It’s because we’re married!”

“What the fuck?!”

“I know!” Dazai slumps back on his bed and covers his eyes with his arm, another dramatic ministration of his. “Who would marry a hat rack like you? Oh you should be thankful I did, you know?”

“We’re not married!”

“We are! Did you not read the file?”

“That file is probably fake, like you.”

Ow. That one stung. Dazai sits up again, meeting Chuuya’s eyes and the redhead glares back, unwavering despite the sudden closeness of their faces.

“It’s not fake, chibi.” He says, voice hushed that even if there is someone else in the room, only the two of the can hear his voice. “We’re married.”

“We’re not.” Chuuya bites back but Dazai sees the gears of his mind working, can see it in those clear eyes that he is thinking, trying his hardest to remember if he missed something, not wanting to believe Dazai but he knows, he knows that Dazai beats around the bush and loves riddles and keeps secrets but he never, ever lies to Chuuya and he never ever will. “So what, you went ahead and filed our marriage certificate without me knowing?”

Because Dazai can forge his signature and knows everything about Chuuya so it’s not that hard for him to do what the smaller male thinks he did. But it didn’t go that way and Dazai chuckles.

“What are you talking about, slug? You were there!”

Chuuya pushes him back at an arm’s length, confusion and anger painted on his face, and Dazai is once again struck at how beautiful the man’s blue eyes are.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“That you were there!”

Chuuya hits his arm and he winces.

“Shitty mackerel if I was there then I would’ve remembered but I don’t know shit.”

“Pity! You looked so good in that white lacey veil!”

Chuuya pauses and then he’s looking at Dazai again but not quite seeing him. His mind drifts back to all the times he has worn a white lacey veil and Dazai watches with amusement as it dawns on Chuuya that he has only worn such garment once.

“No.” The mafioso blinks back to reality. “No. No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No!” Chuuya exclaims and hits Dazai again but the man just laughs it off. “Damn it, Dazai! You said we didn’t get married! You said you were kidding!”

“I said that?”

“You said we crashed a fucking halloween party which explains the fucking veil!”

“But Chuuya! Halloween? In May?”

“Fuck you!” Dazai catches Chuuya’s wrists at the next attempt of hitting again. It doesn’t stop Chuuya from cursing at him, of course. “Fucking fuck you! All this time! All this fucking time we are married? You impossible bitch! What good does that bring you? What kind of fucking prank is this? I hate you so goddamn much! I want a divorce!”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do!”

“Oh! That’s what you said that night!”

“Bullshit!” Chuuya tugs his wrists free and scrambles to climb off Dazai and off the bed but to no avail, Dazai snatches his arm and keeps him in place. “That’s a load of bullshit. I was drunk and wasn’t myself. If I were in my right mind I would’ve—”

“Married me still.” Dazai says, oozing with confidence, and he knows he’s right because Chuuya stutters and his face is already dusted red, from his ears down to his neck. The struggling stops, however, and Chuuya’s shoulders slump as Dazai brushes a finger on the bags under his eyes.

Chuuya’s tired, too tired to even remember that he is in his faded yellow pajamas (Dazai’s saving the teasing for a later time when Chuuya’s once again bursting with energy), too exhausted to continue his outburst, too overwhelmed with emotions and revelations about being married all this time, too fucking drained to contradict the truth that Dazai has said.

“You’re the worst husband in the entire fucking universe.” He mumbles and stares down at his fingers. “You’re so shitty. I don’t even have a goddamn ring—”

Dazai slides a gold band on his ring finger and Chuuya’s breath hitches.

“You were saying?” He asks, smug, and he enjoys the shock on Chuuya’s face.

And Chuuya’s eyes travel back and forth between the ring on his finger and Dazai’s knowing smile, the twinkle in those brown eyes, until another fucking realization dawns on him. He grits his teeth, pushes Dazai hard but it only makes the man laugh, again. Chuuya bites his lips, not quite sure what to say despite the many things he does want to say.

“No.” He shakes his head and Dazai nods in response

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You planned this!” Chuuya exclaims. “You got hit by a truck on purpose just for this?”

Dazai doesn’t deny it. Instead of answering, he takes Chuuya’s hands and stares deep in the other’s eyes, lets himself drown in them.

“Nakahara Chuuya, will you accept the honor of waking up to my handsome face everyday, cook Miso and crab for me everyday, and commit double suicide with me someday?” He brings Chuuya’s hand near his lips and kisses the ring. “My little mafia, my loyal hat rack, my dearest partner, in crime and in love, chibi, marry me.”

Chuuya’s face is so red it looks about ready to explode any second.

Any second now.

Any second.

Now.

“I DON’T HAVE A FUCKING CHOICE NOW, DO I? We’re already MARRIED you fucker and you had the senses to propose ONLY NOW? When everybody’s already CALLING ME DAZAI TOO? Are you out your mind? OF COURSE YOU ARE! Who the FUCK thinks ah I should get HIT by a motherfucking TRUCK and make my clueless husband come to the hospital so I can PROPOSE to him after 4 FUCKING YEARS OF ABANDONMENT!?!?”

“Me!”

“Fuck you!”