Chapter Text
Red is for love, Dazai thinks.
The red of the marks on Chuuya’s skin when he puts his life in Dazai’s hands. When he becomes something more than human and trusts Dazai to bring him back to himself. How he can do that, Dazai will never understand. He’s manipulated people at every turn of his life, Chuuya is no exception—but to trust him this much? Chuuya knows what Dazai has done. No matter how much he may toy with Chuuya, he’s never been able to control him. But he pushes the unease to the side and pretends to take it lightly. “Ah, Chuuya, it was so entertaining!”
Chuuya threatens him and calls him a bastard, but they both know he’ll do the same thing next time his power is needed. Soukoku only works because of their trust. Trust that Dazai isn’t sure he deserves.
Red is for love, Dazai reminds himself.
Red blooms on his skin as he carves marks into his arm with a silver blade. It’s a gross mimicry of Chuuya’s power. He’ll never be worth as much, never live up to the standards the other man holds for him. It’s funny, he thinks. Chuuya is in the Port Mafia, and Dazai is the one who decided to do good, yet Chuuya is a better person than him. He’ll never understand what it’s like to be Dazai, manipulation and power carved into his brain. Dazai isn’t a good person. Somehow, he’s convinced the Agency otherwise, but it’s not true.
Red is for love, Dazai remembers.
His skin is marred with dark red scars. Ugly, he knows. He’s been told. It’s better that he covers them—everyone knows they’re there, but they don’t have to see them. They don’t have to look Dazai in the eyes and realize what he is.
Red is for love, Dazai thinks dimly, shivering in the cold. He’s outside Chuuya’s door.
The door opens and Chuuya says something, but Dazai can’t make it out. Chuuya sighs and pulls him inside.
Dazai’s done this often enough for Chuuya to be prepared. He takes Dazai to the bathroom and sits him in the tub. As he moves to leave, Dazai catches his wrist. He stays.
Chuuya is uncharacteristically gentle. He undresses Dazai and leaves his clothes in a heap on the floor. He’ll wash them before returning them, Dazai knows. When Chuuya moves to undo his bandages, Dazai flinches.
Chuuya says something. Dazai can’t hear him over the buzzing in his head that’s getting louder and louder. Chuuya sits back and waits, his hand on Dazai’s shoulder.
Dazai can’t let him see. The scars are dark and raised, some of them fresh—he can’t let Chuuya see. He’s weak, so weak, he needs to hide it—
“Dazai.” Chuuya’s voice finally cuts through his thoughts. “I can practically hear you thinking, dumbass. Stop.”
Dazai breathes, in and out, in and out. The buzzing quiets.
He reaches for his left arm first.
Chuuya’s surprised, he can tell. “Dazai, you don’t have to—”
He shakes his head, still unable to speak, and holds out his arm to Chuuya. Chuuya takes his wrist in gentle fingers and begins to unwrap the bandages.
Dazai tenses at the feeling of air on his bare arm. He’s aware of Chuuya’s eyes on him, following his work. When he finishes, Dazai holds out his other arm. His breaths come slowly.
Chuuya undoes the bandages on Dazai’s neck last. When he’s done, Dazai feels vulnerable. Chuuya doesn’t react to his scars and turns on the bath.
The water is warm.
It feels good on his skin, pale from the lack of sun and clammy from the bandages. When did he last change them? He can’t remember.
Chuuya washes his body carefully, running his fingers through his hair and rinsing it out. Dazai loses track of time as Chuuya bathes him.
When he’s done, he helps Dazai into clean clothes—Dazai’s size. He notices the gesture and smiles weakly. It’s uncharacteristically genuine of him, but Chuuya isn’t caught off guard. He doesn’t put the bandages back on.
The short sleeves leave all of Dazai’s scars on display, but he’s okay with that. Chuuya lays him in bed and moves around the room, changing into something he can sleep in. Dazai closes his eyes and pretends to sleep.
He feels Chuuya’s movements as he gets in bed, and the lack of hesitation before he brushes Dazai’s hair to the side and kisses his forehead.
Red is for love, Dazai wants to scream.
Here Chuuya is again, meeting him in the last place he would have expected. But it’s hardly a reunion. Dazai just tried to kill him, like the heartless manipulator he is. And always will be.
And now it’s Chuuya’s turn. He points the gun at Dazai’s head, and Dazai isn’t sure what he hopes will happen. Chuuya’s a vampire, and the last person Dazai thought would kill him. If only he could nullify the vampirism—
Chuuya doesn’t falter. Maybe he doesn’t even want to resist. He shoots.
Through the pain, Dazai sighs and forces himself to smile.
“Ah—at last,” he says. “Chuuya… I’ve been looking forward to this.”