Work Text:
Dazai hadn’t been planning on going out for the holidays.
After two years in hiding, he’d gotten used to spending these kind of events alone, wherever he was living at the time, with just a bottle of sake, a book, and his own thoughts. It never was the happiest way of doing things. But it unfortunately had to be done, so he did it.
Now, he’s half way through the age of twenty and he’s being invited out.
By his co-workers.
He has those again, now, and they insist on him coming with them to have a drink, at least. Get in the festive spirit, in their words.
He hadn’t even been working at the Agency for a full year, and yet they’re still willing to be in his presence socially. Outside of work. In a way that’s friendly, casual.
Originally, his instinctive response had been no thank you. He certainly didn’t know these people well enough yet to drink alcohol around them—loose lips and all that, and he’d already had a cup or two. He had no qualms with spending these holidays the same way he’d spent his previous few ones.
Another reason tugged at his chest, though, apart from alcohol consumption—that was just an excuse he gave himself. He could easily control his alcohol intake and what he said under the influence, he wasn’t an amateur.
No, a selfish part of him just felt like he was betraying something—someone—by not spending this first Christmas out of hiding with the person he’d shared them with at fifteen, sixteen, and even a very flustered seventeen.
He missed Chuuya.
He missed spending the holidays with him, them fighting over ornaments for a tree that was barely standing as it was.
The last two years were easier, since Dazai literally couldn’t see Chuuya. It would’ve put both of them in the line of fire, screwed them both over.
But now…
The only real casualty would happen if he was seen, but even then it wasn’t a death sentence anymore. And with nothing actively stopping Dazai from making his way to a familiar apartment, there was only the forces pushing him forward left.
At that point, it wasn’t much of a choice.
He (as politely as possible) declined the Agency invitation. He was at least ninety percent sure Ranpo saw right through him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care; and the older detective didn’t comment on Dazai’s choice, so he figured it was fine.
He wasted no more time, after that, and started heading towards Port Mafia territory at an alarmingly swift rate.
And, ah, maybe he’d lied earlier about only having one or two cups. He’d had a few more than that. He wasn’t drunk—not yet—but he wouldn’t call himself sober, either. Tipsy.
It was probably why he walked into Chuuya’s apartment complex like he owned the place—like he still lived here—not giving possible repercussions a second thought. He was confident that Chuuya still lived where he had two years ago; the slug didn’t like change, much.
Another point to the tipsy theory was that he barely remembered the walk, really. His nose had started to get nipped by the cold and he could already hear the lecture Chuuya would give him upon seeing how red it was. It brought a grin to his face, the idea of Chuuya craning his neck as he gave out to him, before ultimately warming him up anyway. Albeit with a lot of grumbling, probably.
And that was another point. The fact that he was grinning thinking about Chuuya lecturing him. Ugh.
Before his mind could even try to talk him out of it, he was standing facing a very familiar door. A door that held memories, both good and bad. A door that he’d lock-picked hundreds of times before, despite owning a key. The door that Chuuya had broken down at least thrice.
The door that Chuuya was currently behind.
He briefly considered actually using his key—which was a testament to his development as a person, if you asked him—but a quick pat down of his pockets told him he didn’t have it. He’d taken it with him the night he ran, and would usually carry it around in his coat pocket, fidgeting with it when he got anxious or impatient.
He’d taken it out, though, when he was considering going to the Agency rendezvous—and it was probably still sitting on his table where he left it.
Lock-picking was an option. Unlike the key, he kept lock-picks hidden in his bandages, and definitely had at least two on him.
Oddly, as he stared at the door handle and lock, the idea of picking it didn’t seem very appealing.
That left one option—knocking.
(Or leaving, but that idea was even more unappealing than the lock-picking.)
Still, Dazai hesitated, and it frustrated him a little. He knew this feeling—nervousness. But what was there to be nervous about? This was practically his apartment just as much as it was Chuuya’s. He’d lived here for the better part of two years. The person inside was Chuuya. There was no logical reason for him to be nervous.
And yet, he definitely was, if the jack-rabbiting heartbeat in his chest was any indication.
He tried to work up the courage. He really tried. But every time he attempted to lift his fist and knock, his hand suddenly felt awkwardly heavy, and his breathing came quicker. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to leave, either, the very concept making his gut churn.
It was a strange predicament he’d found himself in.
In the end, he didn’t get a choice.
The lock clicked and the door swung open, revealing Chuuya in his full work attire, an unlit cigarette halfway to his lips.
As soon as he realised he wasn’t alone, Chuuya froze in his tracks, looking up at Dazai like a deer in headlights.
Not unlike the expression Dazai suspected he himself was currently donning.
“Dazai?” Chuuya croaked, forcing himself out of his stupor. He gave Dazai a once over, eyes still wide. “What the fuck? What the fuck?”
“No need to repeat yourself,” Dazai replied instinctively. Teasing Chuuya he could do. Teasing Chuuya was easy. “I heard you bark the first time.”
“You—no. No,” Chuuya said, waving his cigarette in Dazai’s face. “We are talking after I smoke this. Fuck.”
And just like that, he pulled Dazai into the apartment, shutting the door behind both of them. He didn’t even spare Dazai another glance before heading towards the balcony.
Dazai followed.
By the time he’d caught up to Chuuya, having gotten delayed by inspecting how the apartment had changed in his absence, the shorter man had already lit his cigarette, and was leaning over the balcony’s railing. His back was to the door, and subsequently Dazai, yet his frame wasn’t tense.
Either Chuuya had gotten too confident in his ability to take Dazai down, or their trust had truly been left untouched.
Dazai didn’t know which option was worse.
He watched as smoke rose above Chuuya’s head, and listened to the words that followed it.
“I thought you’d finally done it.”
A beat. A flick of a cigarette. A falling of ashes.
“No,” Dazai replied, frozen in his spot at the door. “No, you didn’t.”
He said it like a fact. It felt more like pleading.
Please, tell me you didn’t.
Chuuya gave a sharp laugh. “Didn’t I? You left nothing behind, and months of looking came up with nothing. What was I supposed to think?”
Dazai’s heart did an ugly somersault in his chest. The idea of Chuuya, of all people, truly believing he was dead—having to grieve him—didn’t sit right with him at all. But there was another part of that sentence that made him feel oddly sick to the stomach.
“You looked?” he asked, barely loud enough. “For me?”
The sentence hung in the air for what felt like an eternity, Chuuya letting the silence stretch. Then he sighed, took a drag of his cigarette, and replied, “Yeah, dipshit. When your partner goes missing, ya tend to do that. Call it courtesy.”
It didn’t feel like courtesy.
“Listen, Dazai,” Chuuya started again, before Dazai could even begin to formulate a reply. “I don’t know why you’re here. And as it stands, I don’t care.”
Dazai opened his mouth to say something, then. He wasn’t entirely sure what, he hadn’t thought that far yet, but he needed to vocalise just how heavy of a hit that was, spilling from Chuuya’s lips without a hint of mirth.
“But,” Chuuya continued, Dazai’s mouth snapping shut. “I could care. Of course, I could. We both know I could.”
He paused, flicking the cigarette. Dazai watched as the ashes blew away in the soft yet cold wind of the evening. Dazai wanted to interrupt. He didn’t.
“You’re back, and you’re alive. Fuckin’ fantastic. But let’s make one thing clear. You came here. If you’re here for the shits, and are planning to disappear off the map again at any moment, you can leave now. I’m not playin’ fucking cat and mouse with you, ya hear me?”
He took a drag of the cigarette. Dazai could’ve sworn his hands were trembling. His own hands itched to hold them still. He left them clenched in fists at his sides.
“Fuck, what am I even saying.” Chuuya huffed a laugh. “You wouldn’t—”
Dazai wrapped his arms around Chuuya’s waist, cutting the rest of the sentence off. Chuuya inhaled sharply, almost dropping the cigarette in surprise.
Dazai wasn’t sure when he’d taken the steps across the balcony, but he knew that at some point, this conversation had become something he couldn’t bear to continue having with so much distance between them.
Both physically and emotionally.
Dazai leaned down slightly, placing his chin on Chuuya’s shoulder.
“Does Chuuya remember,” he whispered, “our first time decorating a Christmas tree?”
Chuuya swallowed. “Yeah. Two fifteen-year-olds and a dream.”
Dazai hummed, the memory fresh in his mind.
“You’re doing it wrong,” Dazai called, staring at the tree with his hands on his hips.
“Go fuck yourself,” Chuuya called back from behind the tree, peeking around it just a moment later. “There’s no ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ way to decorate a Christmas tree, dickhead.”
“Okay, I’ll rephrase,” Dazai deadpanned, “it looks terrible and Chuuya should be ashamed of himself for this monstrosity.”
Chuuya shot him a withering glare in return, and if looks would kill, Dazai would have gotten his greatest wish then and there.
“You do it then, if you’re so high and mighty!”
“Gladly, if it saves me from this eyesore.”
Thirty minutes later, the tree was redecorated, a more cohesive colour palette to it. The larger ornaments were at the bottom and the smaller ones at the top, instead of randomly thrown on.
“Huh,” Chuuya said, staring at it. “Where the fuck d’ya learn this?”
“It’s common sense, slug,” Dazai replied, picking out the final piece of the puzzle from their plastic bag. It was a star, one that was supposed to go on the top of the tree. Dazai glanced up at the top in question, humming curiously.
He then turned to Chuuya, shoving the decoration into the shorter boy’s hands before picking him up from behind.
“What—?!” Chuuya yelled, instantly starting to flail. “Put me down, what the fuck?!”
Dazai just squeezed tighter, walking towards the tree. “Calm down, puppy. Just put the star at the top of the tree, will you?”
“I can float, asshole,” Chuuya grit out, “there was no need for this.”
“Ah,” Dazai said, a grin gracing his face. “But where’s the fun in that?”
“I’m never decorating a tree with you again, this is hell.”
“Sure, sure.”
Despite his grumbling, the star was placed firmly atop the tree, Chuuya careful with his movements as he made sure it was on straight.
Dazai wasn’t as careful when he unceremoniously dropped Chuuya on the ground with a, “Whoops.”
“We should do it again,” Dazai said, his breath visible in the cold air. “It was fun.”
“Right,” Chuuya replied. There was still hesitance in his voice, and he was still looking forward. He hadn’t looked at Dazai once, ever since he opened the front door.
“Chuuya,” Dazai drawled, “come on, it’s Christmas, and you don’t have a tree up!”
Chuuya put his cigarette out on the nearby ashtray.
“Your breath smells like alcohol,” he mumbled, and Dazai didn’t miss the slight disappointment in his voice. “How much have ya had, you alcoholic?”
Dazai didn’t comment on the change in subject, for the moment.
“Not much,” Dazai replied honestly, “few cups of sake, maybe an hour ago?”
“Tipsy, then,” Chuuya said, and Dazai hummed in agreement. “So, what, ya gonna leave as soon as you’re sober and realise what you’ve done?”
Dazai frowned. “No.”
Chuuya sneered. “Bullshit.”
“I don’t—” Dazai started, sniffled. “Chuuya, look at me.”
Chuuya did, that stony gaze meeting Dazai’s in the dim light of the balcony. He pulled away from Dazai’s embrace, crossing his arms as he stared. His eyebrow raised as if silently asking, well?
“I came because I wanted to,” Dazai said, the vulnerability tasting bitter on his tongue but making his chest feel so, so warm. “I missed you, and it was finally safe to see you, so I did.”
“Finally safe?” Chuuya enquired, not missing a beat. He caught onto the words like fish on a hook.
“Yes,” Dazai confirmed without hesitation, leaving no room for argument. “Laying low for two years was just that—laying low. Doing anything but the essentials would’ve been risking all I’d worked for.”
A flame danced in Chuuya’s eyes. It was a familiar one, one that Dazai would usually find comfort in, but right now it was piercing through him and not leaving anything but ashes behind. Chuuya was looking at him—really looking at him. As if trying to detect any sense of a lie through sheer willpower.
Dazai had never felt more scrutinised in his life. His instincts were squirming, uncomfortable under the precise attention and itching to get away. To break eye contact, to divert the conversation into something less intense. He did nothing of the sort, meeting Chuuya’s gaze head on.
And Chuuya seemed to find what he wanted, because the next thing Dazai registered was Chuuya’s lips on his.
Chuuya tasted like cigarettes and mulled wine.
Chuuya kissed with a gentleness that shouldn’t be allowed given the amount of passion he puts into absolutely everything.
Chuuya kissed exactly the same as he had two years prior.
Chuuya kissed like nothing had changed between them.
Dazai had never felt warmer on a cold balcony in his life.
He was quick to pull Chuuya back into an embrace, hands landing comfortable on the shorter man’s waist. Chuuya hummed in appreciation into his mouth, his own hands coming up to rest on Dazai’s nape.
Chuuya’s gloved hands were somehow warm, and it sent a shiver down Dazai’s spine.
He hadn’t realised how much he missed holding Chuuya, kissing Chuuya until it had been given back to him after two whole years of having gone without it. It was intoxicating—so much like the first time they kissed, yet so little like it at the same time.
After a few wonderful and long moments, Chuuya pulled away, and shot Dazai a knowing glare.
“You’re fuckin’ freezing, idiot,” he said, and Dazai couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. Chuuya tugged on his hair in reprimand.
“Don’t laugh, asshole, do you not know what a scarf is?! I’m not gonna be the one takin’ care of you when you get a cold!” Chuuya huffed, slipping out of Dazai’s arms and pulling him back into the apartment with a firm hold on his hand. “Damn it, bastard…”
The next minutes were a blur of Chuuya giving out to him, fussing over him and going back and forth between the couch and his kitchen. Dazai was pretty sure he’d gotten half-heartedly hit over the head at least twice, and kissed at least another three times. Chuuya didn’t stop moving for even a second, bringing Dazai warm tea and blankets in one fell swoop. None of his actions matched his words at all.
It was nonsensical. It was warm. It was adorable. It was comfortable. It was so wholeheartedly Chuuya.
It was the best Christmas Dazai’s had in two full years, and Dazai wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Bonus:
Later, when they were both warm and cuddled up on the couch, Dazai shot up straight. “Wait, the tree! We forgot about the tree!”
Chuuya huffed, shaking his head in response. “I doubt we’ll be able to get one anywhere now.”
Dazai pouted. He had honestly been looking forward to decorating a Christmas tree with Chuuya again.
“Don’t pout, ya big baby,” Chuuya teased, snorting as he glanced at the clock. He seemed to contemplate something for a few seconds before speaking again, “We can’t get a tree, at this point, but it’s still early enough for something else, ya know?”
Dazai tilted his head, interested. He’d never considered doing a different holiday activity, but it did sound appealing.
“There’s a Christmas market not far down the road,” Chuuya offered, with a slight bit of hesitance. “How about a new tradition, of sorts?”
Really, Dazai didn’t need to be told any more. He practically jumped of the couch, the blankets falling of him and onto the floor.
“Hey, watch the blankets,” Chuuya grumbled, but he was smiling.
Dazai grinned at him, offering a hand to help him stand up off the couch. “Market it is?”
Chuuya huffed, but took the offer, hand clasping Dazai’s. “Market it is.”
Sure, there’d be more emotional conversations to be had later, full of apologies and explanations.
For now, though, they could spend Christmas together, again, and that was enough.