i want dazai who says the wrong thing at the wrong time and chuuya just snaps and decides /that’s it. no more/. but he doesn’t get angry, doesn’t put dazai out of his misery, he just...goes cold. stops responding.

at first, it’s satisfying. dazai makes 5 short jokes in a row+

without a single retaliatory threat. he replaces chuuya’s wine with vinegar, and chuuya makes a beautifully disgusted face and doesn’t even try to dump it over his head! it’s like dazai has free reign to do all the pranks hes been wanting to do!

except the cold shoulder goes+

on. and on and on and on, and dazai is starting to get desperate.

chuuya’s anger is usually so hot and intense, a metaphorical flame that dazai csn hold his hands to and warm the glacier-cold blood in his fingers. he can harness it, almost, borrow the fumes of his energy+

and use it to fill the gaping, hollow trench inside him.

chuuya is so full of life, so full of wrath to ruin him with.

dazai is so /empty/, it burns. or it would, if he wasn’t so numb.

fire burns, and it’s awful and painful— but ice? ice /shatters/.+

dazai feels like ice now, a sluggish glacier spiderwebbed with dozens of hairline fractures just waiting to crack.

one wrong step from shattering into pieces.

+

it frustrates him that he’s so /vulnerable/ because he’s better, he’s worked so fucking hard to be better, and yet here he is, feeling like fragile porcelain just because chuuya will hardly even look at him anymore. and it makes him /so mad/ that that’s all it takes. just a few+

days of being ignored, and dazai is fighting the urge to get on his knees to beg chuuya for forgiveness, beg him for his wrath, beg him to do /anything/ to make dazai stop feeling like a washed out ghost, dead and gone to anything that matters except he’s still suffering.+

and the worst part is he isn’t even mad really, can’t muster the energy for it. he just feels...gone. unseen. not here, not there, trapped in an endless cycle where dazai gets more desperate to piss chuuya off, and chuuya just grows colder.

he feels frostburnt.+

the ADA helps a little. a routine, even if dazai barely sticks to it, helps. atsushi, with his steady faith, helps. kunikida, now the victim of dazai’s increased pranks, helps with his irritation.

but it’s not the same. because here, he has to /be/ something, has to be dazai.+

has to be a good, reformed dazai. has to know what he’s doing, has to be reliable. even though most days he doesn’t know who or what he is, and doesn’t really care to find out.

he doesn’t have to do that, with chuuya. he doesn’t have to be good, or bad, or dazai or not dazai,+

he just /is/. dazai is just dazai, chuuya is just chuuya, and nothing else matters.

sometimes kunikida looks at him like he suspects how much pain dazai is in, like he wants to swaddle him in blankets and feed him hot chocolate.

on his worst, most desperate days, dazai wants+

to break, let his guts spill at kunikidas feet for him to sift through.

but dazai has never been good at revealing his weaknesses. he holds them close to his chest, smooths them into his skin until it’s almost easy to pretend he’s not vulnerable at all.

with chuuya, it+

isn’t like that. it doesn’t matter if dazai is weak or not, because chuuya can crack him open and scour his insides anyways. chuuya is strong enough to tear dazai into strips using his sharp little fangs—

but he doesn’t, and that’s probably the most cruel thing of all.+

dazai lasts 58 days before he cracks under the pressure.

he traipses across the city (as usual), ducking mafia patrols (as usual), and then breaks into chuuya’s house (as usual).

chuuya is sitting on his couch, reading. he doesn’t look up or flinch.+

dazai crosses over to him.

and with all the grace of a felled god, he sinks to his knees at chuuya’s feet.

he doesn’t say it, can’t bring himself to form the words even if his vocal chords would cooperate. but he trusts chuuya to know what he means when he bows his head and+

presses his forehead to chuuya’s knee.

im sorry.

+

chuuya doesn’t move, reads for a few more minutes.

dazai feels like crying. considers it. fights it back by curling his hand around chuuya’s ankle and squeezing gently.

+

dazai freezes when fingers card through his hair, lifting his face. he almost fights it, but he’s so désperately eager for anything that chuuya will give him that he moves easily.

chuuya stares down at him, unreadable.

the tension is so thick dazai could choke.+

then chuuya sighs. “i know,” he says, stroking dazai’s hair, “i know you are.”

dazai shuffles closer, pressing back to encourage chuuya. his heart soars, and he’s so glad that it’s over, it’s finally over—

“but it’s not enough. not this time, dazai.”

+

dazai freezes again, glacier heart creaking ominously in his chest.

“chuuya?” he croaks. for once, he doesn’t know what to do.

chuuya stands, pushing him back. “sorry isn’t enough, dazai,” he says again, heartbreakingly gentle. “i need more.”

dazai stares at him, stricken.+

chuuya crouches down to his level, taking his hand back. “leave, dazai. i need you to leave and i need you to not come back.”

dazai feels pathetically close to keening. he curls his hands into fists so he won’t reach out. “i- okay. but— you’ll forgive me then right? you will?”+

chuuya says nothing and dazai doesn’t know what the fuck that means. yes? no? maybe?

he needs to know. “you—isaid sorry! you have to forgive me.”

chuuya blinks at him, looks sad for a heartbeat. “no,” he says slowly,”i don’t.”

then he walks away, leaving dazai where he kneels+

it takes an embarrassingly long time for dazai to collect himself enough to leave. he locks the door behind him, something he never does, and the click has never felt so final.

he makes it home. the journey is a blur. +

two days pass without a word from chuuya.

a week.

three weeks.

six.

dazai deletes his contact and tries to forget his phone number, so he’s not tempted to call when he’s half-wasted on sake. +

he finds out from kouyou, two months later, tha chuuya has taken a mission in the United States, and that’s almost the straw that breaks dazai.

because chuuya hates americans, calls them lazy and stupid, and yet here he is, fleeing to a continent he loathes to get away from+

dazai.

strangely furious, he calls. hangs up before it answers. paces a bit, calls again. loses his nerve when chuuya answers, soft and questioning, and hangs up again.

ugh, he hates this.

but life goes on, unfortunately. +

he’s not...better, per se, but he is moving on. the wound still hurts but he layers bandages over it until he can breathe again.

some days he thinks of chuuya obsessively, like a jilted ex-lover. where he’s at, what he’s doing, who he’s with.

he doesn’t want to know.+

other days, kinder ones, he doesn’t think of chuuya at all, too used to missing him.

dazai starts to realize that ice can refreeze, given enough time and the right circumstances. he doesn’t feel like cracking much, anymore. +

he doesn’t ask for an update but kouyou gives him one anyways. it’s simple code, telling him one thing:

chuuya’s back in yokohama.

it’s been eight months since he left. almost ten since dazai has seen him. nearly a year since their fight.

before, dazai would’ve gone to him.+

would’ve met him at the airport just to bug him while chuuya is still disorientated and jet lagged.

this time, he spends a long time looking at the message before deleting it.

then grabs his favorite sake. +

he doesn’t remember much of that night, which he supposed is a mercy.

the next day, he scavenges for lunch at a small cafe, shielding his hungover eyes from the glare of the sun.

the door jingles, and dazai eyes flick over, defensive instincts too strong.

it’s chuuya.+

of fucking course it’s chuuya. the universe hates dazai.

but chuuya doesn’t seem to see him, sauntering up to the counter easily. dazai watches for a moment, savoring the muted pain building in his chest before looking away.

he’s supposed to stay away, but he was here first,+

so it doesn’t count, right? he doesn’t have to leave? he can bask in the distant warmth and just remember, just sit here and think—

“oi, shithead, are you even listening to me?!”

dazai freezes.+

he turns his head in slow-motion, like some cliche romance movie, to find chuuya standing at his table, frowning at him.

it’s all too familar, and dazai finds himself hesitant. he doesn’t say anything.

chuuya raps his knuckles on the table, glaring at him. “you gonna+

say anything or are you just gonna sit there and stare at me like a fuckin weirdo? actually never mind, i already know—“

dazai flings himself at chuuya.

and chuuya, like always, catches him in freefall.

“chuuya!” he crows, deliberately annoying because he’s /back/ and+

he’s been forgiven and it’s been so long since he annoyed chuuya, he really has so much to catch up on!

“hello dazai,” chuuya mumbles into his chest because dazai is currently squeezing the life out of him.

“hi, chuuya,” dazai says back easily. suddenly, it feels easier to+

breathe, like the air is no longer freezing inside his lungs.

“you’re smaller than i remember,” dazai notes, teasing.

chuuya pinches him hard, but the pain is so familar that it feels like euphoria, like a thousand memories packed into one gesture.

+

ah, he really does love the mean little hatrack—

wait. what?

// END. HAPPY ENDING BUT ITS A CLIFFHANGER HAHA LOVE U GUYS DONT KILL ME SEE U NEXT TIME

little bonus idea: when chuuya is gone, dazai breaks into his house and sleeps in his bed when he’s feeling really down