Dazai wakes up in a place he'd never thought he would: Chuuya's arms. It takes a moment for him to be able to come back to himself, bundled up in the blankets and shoved halfway down the bed so that his head is resting on Chuuya's chest. It's warm. Dazai is so used to feeling cold and empty, but he's never felt more full than in this moment.
He lifts his head just enough that he can get a good look at Chuuya's face. What he sees brings a soft smile to his lips. Chuuya's mouth is half open, and there's a strand of hair falling into it. There's a little bit of drool at the corner of his lip, and it's cute. His eyelashes are thick, and they flutter for a moment before Chuuya closes his mouth and stirs. His face scrunches up and he tries and fails to spit his hair out, so Dazai reaches up to do it for him, tugging the strand out of the way. Chuuya makes a grumbling noise and then blinks his eyes open halfway, staring sleepily down at Dazai.
His hair is still in Dazai's hand, and Dazai's heart pounds like he's been caught stealing a cookie from a jar. But then Chuuya just closes his eyes again, sighing and smacking his lips.
"You gonna keep staring at me?" He mumbles, his hand starting to rub circles between Dazai's shoulder blades softly, like he doesn't even realize he's doing it. Dazai has to fight not to press into the touch. After last night, he feels that he might have given too much of himself away.
"Can you blame me?" He asks, and then stretches, flexing his feet under the covers. Chuuya cracks an eye open, making a questioning sound. "What a pretty view."
Chuuya groans, closing his eyes again, and Dazai grins, curling up more, pressing his ear to Chuuya's chest so he can hear the ever present beating of his heart. He's alive, and that's good. He lets out a sigh and wiggles his toes gleefully in his sleep socks.
"You can't say shit like that so early in the morning." Chuuya says, and his hand comes up to comb through Dazai's hair. Dazai can't help the shudder that runs through him as Chuuya's fingers scratch gently at his scalp. He sucks in a quiet breath of air and holds himself still.
"The sun is up." He murmurs into Chuuya's pajama shirt. "It's not that early."
Chuuya pauses, and then shifts on the bed. When Dazai looks up again, he's looking out the window, squinting his blue eyes in the light of the sun.
"You're right." He agrees. "We should get up."
It's Dazai's turn to groan.
"I don't wanna." He complains, wiggling closer and intertwining their legs. "You're a comfortable pillow."
Chuuya sighs, and then he's sitting up and shoving Dazai off of him. But Dazai isn't giving up quite so easily. He clings to Chuuya like a koala and groans again.
"You're such a baby." Chuuya says, and even though Dazai can't see his face, he can hear the smile in his voice. It feels good. It makes his face go hot, and he stays silent for just long enough for Chuuya to catch on. "Are you– are you blushing?"
"No." Dazai says, hurriedly, and pushes himself off of Chuuya, scrubbing at his cheeks. He's lying. He really would like to hear Chuuya call him baby again, though maybe in a different setting. Chuuya hasn't ever really called him anything other than insults. Then Chuuya laughs, a quiet, tinkling sound, like silver bells, and Dazai is stunned by how much Chuuya is like his mother. He has her laugh, her hair, and her eyes. He has her kindness, even though it's rougher around the edges. He has her gentle touch.
"I want…" Dazai mumbles, hands fisted in the covers that are twisted around them. But he trails off, unable to finish that thought.
"What?" Chuuya asks, sounding distracted. Dazai purses his lips, and then thins them into a firm line. When he looks back at Chuuya, he sees Chuuya staring at him, eyes wide and lips parted like he's seen something new and undiscovered. Dazai frowns.
"What?" He echoes. Chuuya's eyes trace over him, and Dazai gets the urge to curl in on himself and hide. He doesn't.
"You're…" Chuuya starts, and then clears his throat. "You look pretty."
"Huh?" Dazai asks, baffled. He doesn't say what he's thinking, that Chuuya must be mistaken, because it's the other way around. It's something about how the early morning sunlight filters in through the gaps in the sheer curtains and lights his hair up until it's the shade of a blazing bonfire, or how it brings out flecks of grey and almost-green in Chuuya's eyes that he hadn't noticed before.
"Sorry." Chuuya says, clearing his throat again. "What did you want?"
Oh. Dazai can't remember.
"It's nothing." He murmurs, shaking his head. "We should eat breakfast."
"No, tell me." Chuuya presses. "What do you want?"
Dazai's breath catches in his throat.
"I want you…" He says, and then swallows. "I want you to kiss me."
"Yeah?" Chuuya asks, sounding just as breathless as Dazai feels. Then he gives a mischievous grin. "Tough. I'm not kissing you until we've both brushed our teeth."
Dazai whines petulantly, but clambers out of bed anyway, heading towards his suitcase.
"Chuuya is mean," He grumbles, unlatching the suitcase and rummaging through his clothes. "Denying me kisses so early in the morning."
Chuuya snorts, and the corners of Dazai's lips twitch up in a hidden smile.
"I still can't believe you sleep with socks on." Chuuya says suddenly, and when Dazai turns to look at him, his nose is wrinkled in disgust.
Dazai frowns, staring down at his socked feet, where his toes are being kept warm by soft fuzz.
"It's a sensory thing." He protests, his face screwing up as he tries to think of an explanation. "I don't like the way it feels when my feet touch each other without socks on." Chuuya blinks. "Also, they keep my feet warm."
"I still think it's weird." Chuuya says, getting up from the bed. "But fair enough. Your skin is always freezing, so it protects me, too, I guess."
Dazai nods, satisfied, and goes back to pulling out his clothes. This time, along with his usual choice of a white button down, he picks out a plaid sweater vest of baby blue, brown, and white, and black slacks. He can feel Chuuya's eyes on him as he lays out his choices.
"If you'd worn that yesterday, we could have matched." Chuuya tells him. He's right.
"I didn't want to steal the show." Dazai teases. "You looked good on your own."
"We could have looked better together." Chuuya grumbles, and Dazai's heart flutters. "You said so yourself, right? We look good together."
Dazai had said that. Weeks ago. He didn't think Chuuya would remember something as insignificant as that conversation. Hearing him admit his agreement is nice, but it also leaves Dazai feeling lost and a bit flustered.
"So just wear the turtleneck again," Dazai says. "It looks good on you."
Chuuya glares at him, seemingly affronted by that thought.
"I am not walking out of this hotel in the same clothes I wore yesterday." He declares, and opens his own suitcase. "We'll just have to save the couple's clothes for another time."
That sounds… That sounds really nice. It has Dazai's throat closing up around words he wants to say, but can't. Not yet.
"If you say so." He says, shrugging. "It's up to you."
"I do say so." Chuuya huffs, and then pauses. "Not that we're a couple, or anything."
Dazai can't help the snort he lets out at that. Of course, despite their exclusivity, Chuuya still feels nothing for him in that aspect. And that's fine. He's fine with that. Even though he wants to cling to Chuuya and keep him to himself, hold on and never let go, he understands that things like that aren't possible this time around. Chuuya won't ever feel that way for him, and that's fine.
Because even though they're just fucking, Chuuya makes it feel like it's more than all that. It's not just the sex that keeps them together. They're friends. It's enough. Even though Dazai's chest is tight at the thought of Chuuya loving someone else. Even though he knows he'll never be enough for Chuuya, not like that– this is enough for him.
"Of course not." He forces himself to say, his mouth lifted into a half-smile that he knows looks bright and charming. Then Chuuya frowns at him, and that's confusing. Is he not acting well enough? He hadn't been able to fool Cécile at all. She'd seen right through him without faltering. Is he bad at acting? Or is it just that, as she'd said, a mother always knows?
Dazai wouldn't know anything about that. But when Cécile had touched him so, so gently, like he was worth something and deserved it, Dazai thinks maybe he'd seen a glimpse of what having a mother, a loving one, might be like.
He doesn't really want to think about it, so he grabs his toothbrush and toothpaste, and makes his way to the bathroom. It's huge, with bright white tiles that shine and marble counters. Chuuya follows him in with his own toothbrush and gapes at the sheer size of it. Dazai has seen luxury like this before, as a child, but he knows Chuuya certainly hasn't.
"This is…" Chuuya starts, and then trails off. "This really is too much."
Dazai blinks at him. This, too much? He can see it, maybe, from Chuuya's point of view. But from Dazai's– this could never be enough. Chuuya makes him want to give, and give, and give until there's nothing of him left. It sounds terribly unhealthy. It probably is. But Dazai is nothing, and Chuuya is something, and Dazai takes so much, so greedily. He'd like to give for once, even if he gives everything he has and leaves himself feeling empty and torn open once all this is over.
There's the sick, sick thought that envelopes Dazai, taunting him, crooning in his ear that he's only being kind for his own gain. Because he wants something. Because he wants, needs Chuuya to need him. Without meaning to, he's begun wheedling his way into Chuuya's life just enough for Chuuya to become dependent on him. It sounds bad. It sounds terrible. It makes his mouth go dry, makes his chest tighten, makes pressure build in his throat that he can't let out. What a horrible, horrible person he is.
He tries so hard to convince himself that he's doing the right thing, that he flew Chuuya to Paris out of the goodness of his heart– that thought almost makes him laugh, because how ridiculous of him to assume there's any good left in him. He grips his toothbrush tightly in his palm and looks anywhere but the huge mirror in front of him, staring directly down at the white porcelain bowl of the sink.
"Hey." Comes Chuuya's voice, and Dazai jolts, pulled from his thoughts. He blinks hard to clear any fuzziness that lingers in his head and looks at Chuuya, only to find him staring back. His eyes are dark with concern. "Get out of your head." Chuuya says softly, and Dazai feels like he's been kicked in the gut.
It's not fair. Chuuya is so good to him, so good, and Dazai is just–
"Did you want me to kiss you or not?" Chuuya asks, snapping Dazai away from his thoughts once more. "Brush your fucking teeth."
It's not mean. There's a lingering softness in his voice and on his face, a testament to the concern he holds for Dazai. Dazai smiles weakly and wets his toothbrush under the faucet before uncapping the toothpaste. Chuuya repeats his movements, and Dazai spreads a healthy helping of toothpaste on both of their toothbrushes.
They brush their teeth in relative silence, but as if sensing Dazai's dark thoughts, Chuuya makes faces in the mirror, and Dazai has to fight not to choke on the foam in his mouth. His mouth tugs up at one corner, and before long he's making faces too. Chuuya snorts and ends up choking where Dazai had barely managed not to, and then they both dissolve into laughter.
Once two minutes have passed– Dazai counts the seconds meticulously– and their teeth are clean and fresh, Chuuya tugs him out of the bathroom and back onto the bed they'd chosen to sleep on last night. It takes everything in Dazai not to tense up. He lets himself go fluidly, almost falling on top of Chuuya in the process, which earns another flurry of giggles from the both of them.
Then Chuuya is cupping his jaw in both his hands, holding Dazai's face like it's something precious to him, and Dazai's breath hitches. He closes his eyes, because he doesn't think he could stand to see Chuuya look at him in any way that doesn't scream I love you. And Chuuya won't ever look at him like that, so it's the best option. But then Chuuya says,
"Look at me."
And how is Dazai ever meant to refuse Chuuya something as simple as that? So even though he doesn't want to, even though he's afraid to see how Chuuya looks at him, he lets his eyes flutter open again. The look on Chuuya's face is all softness and care, and it's almost too much.
"Thank you for last night." Chuuya murmurs, and Dazai makes a confused noise in the back of his throat. "For letting yourself be vulnerable with me. For letting me see you cry. I know it's hard for you, so thank you, Dazai."
Dazai could cry all over again, but he won't let himself. Instead he forces a weak smile that trembles far too much to fool someone like Chuuya.
"What am I even supposed to say to something like that?" He croaks.
"Nothing," Chuuya breathes. "Don't say anything at all."
And then Chuuya is kissing him, and it's not abrupt or forceful like how they'd started things. It's more than that. It's not soft, either, not like last night. It's a constant, firm pressure against his mouth that bleeds into the wet swipe of a tongue along his lower lip, a gentle tug at it with Chuuya's teeth, and Dazai makes some sort of noise, one he's too ashamed of to acknowledge, into the kiss. It builds and builds and builds until Dazai feels feverish with it, desire bubbling hot in his gut, but then it's ruined, because–
Because Chuuya pulls away, stroking over Dazai's lips with his thumb, and grins.
"That's enough of that, I think." He says, and Dazai groans.
"Chuuya is so cruel." Dazai complains, but clambers off of the bed anyway.
"I think you like it." Chuuya teases, and Dazai grumbles, but he can't deny it, because it's true. "Now get dressed so we can go eat."
It's been a long time since Dazai has had anything sweet. Too long. He stares in awe at the pastry in his hand like it's something he's never seen before. To be fair, he's probably never seen this variety. For all the traveling with his parents that he did as a young child, he was never allowed this sort of pleasure. He was expected to sit and behave and not say a word while they had their meetings, and he'd very quickly learned that if he didn't, it just meant that they would leave him alone in his hotel room and tell him not to come out. As he got older, they stopped bringing him along at all.
And so he'd never had the chance to try any new or exotic desserts from the western countries he'd gone to at such a young age. This is his chance. But it's all so new and intimidating. What if he doesn't like it? He can feel Chuuya watching him, a teasing smirk on his face.
"What?" Chuuya asks. "Never had chausson aux pommes?"
Dazai glares at him, feeling a bit silly for being so wary of a pastry, but he can't help it. At that, Chuuya's expression softens.
"It's got applesauce in it." He explains. "My mom used to make them all the time, before she got sick. She used to let me help, but I got in the way more than anything else."
Oh.
"They're my favorite." Chuuya adds, and that settles it. Chuuya bought this pastry for Dazai with his own money, so it's not like he can turn it down, but now he doesn't want to. He's almost honored that Chuuya would share such a key part of his childhood with him.
"Are you sure it's not poisoned?" He asks suspiciously, lifting the pastry closer to his face so he can examine it. It's all for show, at this point. Chuuya scoffs at him, and Dazai's lips twitch into an almost-there smile.
"Do you think they'd be selling poisoned pastries at a five star bakery in Paris?" Chuuya points out, and Dazai frowns. He does have a point. But because Dazai is an asshole, and he feels the need to make up for being so vulnerable last night, he doesn't give in just yet.
Instead, he shoves the pastry towards Chuuya.
"You first." He says, a bit petulantly. "That way if it's poisoned, you'll die first."
Chuuya snorts. He doesn't take the pastry, just leans forward and takes a bite out of it. He chews and swallows, making a pleased noise, and then grins at Dazai again.
"Your turn."
Fuck. Dazai blinks, and his fingers tremble as he lifts the pastry to his mouth. Not because he's afraid, or nervous, but because Chuuya had just eaten something out of his hand, and Dazai had liked it. Chuuya is gazing at him like he knows, the little tease, so Dazai teases right back and takes a bite from the same spot Chuuya had. Indirect kiss, he thinks smugly, before the taste of the pastry really registers. He doesn't get to see the look on Chuuya's face when he realizes, because Dazai's eyes immediately flutter shut as the filling of the pastry practically melts his mouth with sweetness and the heat that comes from being freshly baked.
The pastry is actually sweeter than the filling itself, buttery and flaky in all the right ways, and Dazai can't help the pleasured noise he lets out when it crumbles in his mouth. His eyes open again as he chews and swallows, and they land on Chuuya's face. Chuuya's eyes are wide, his cheeks flushed, and Dazai has to fight not to smirk. Good old fashioned revenge has never felt better. Once Dazai has finished swallowing the mouthful he'd bitten off, he lets a coquettish grin cross his face.
"If I kissed you right now, would you taste like apples, too?" Dazai asks, his voice soft and low. Chuuya blinks, and then his eyes narrow.
"Only one fucking way to find out," He grits out. "Come here already."
Dazai lets himself be tugged down into a kiss that isn't nearly as rough as it could be, considering how charged the atmosphere is around them. His hand drops to his side, still holding the pastry, and God, he was right. Chuuya does taste like apples, sweet and a fresh gust of autumn in the middle of spring.
"Don't eat me alive," He murmurs against Chuuya's lips, when they pull apart enough to just breathe. "We're still in public, you know."
"You make it easy to forget." Chuuya says, and it sounds almost like a confession of some kind, something he doesn't want to admit. It leaves Dazai breathless, his heart fluttering like a hummingbird's wings, rapid and thrumming in near silence. He prays that Chuuya can't hear it.
"Careful," Dazai forces himself to laugh, pulling away for real, now. "If Chuuya doesn't watch himself, he'll end up falling for me."
Chuuya's nose wrinkles, and ah, there it is. The ice cold reminder that Dazai doesn't really need, but is forced to see: Chuuya doesn't, can't, won't ever love him, and it's written all over his face.
"Don't say shit like that." Chuuya says, punching Dazai lightheartedly in the arm; a throwback to their earlier days. Dazai laughs again, but it feels painful in his chest and throat, like he's swallowed too big of a mouthful of water.
"Whatever Chuuya wants!" He sing-songs, bringing the pastry back up to his lips and taking another bite. That phrase is a bit too accurate for his liking. He'll do anything Chuuya wants if only to keep him around for just a moment longer.
Don't leave me yet, he begs silently. Hold on, don't go just yet. I need you here.
He'll never say these words out loud, but they run around his head like a puppy chasing its tail, and he's ashamed that he's all but begging Chuuya to stay with his actions rather than words. It's a horrible thought that he's buying Chuuya's time, spending money and gifts on him in hopes that maybe, just maybe, Chuuya will become dependent and want him and need him. Is he doing all of this out of the goodness of his heart, like Cécile had said? Could he ever, really, truly be considered a good person, if a person at all?
Good people don't do things like that. They don't manipulate others into needing them. That's fucked up. Dazai is fucked up. He doesn't realize it right away, but the pastry doesn't taste good anymore. It crumbles like ash in his mouth, heavy and sodden, and his stomach churns because of it. Chuuya seems to notice that something is off, because he nudges Dazai with his shoulder, and when Dazai looks at him, he sees that Chuuya's eyebrows are furrowed in concern.
"Hey," Chuuya says softly. "You still with me?"
For a moment, Dazai is in awe. Then he swallows again and clears his throat, forcing a smile that feels weaker than it should be.
"Never left." He lies. He knows Chuuya catches it, because his eyebrows twitch in what seems to be frustration.
"Sure." He huffs. "Whatever you want to tell yourself." Then he grabs Dazai's free hand in his, and tugs him into a quick stroll. "Visiting hours open soon, so let's go."
Like this, Chuuya's fingers encased in his, Dazai can almost pretend that this will last forever.
When they enter Cécile's room for the first time that morning, it's to a setup that's intriguing as much as it is confusing to Dazai's sleepy brain. Little bottles of nail polish sit in a line on Cécile's bedside table, along with a few cotton swabs and a bottle of nail polish remover. The scent is thick in the air, like rubbing alcohol, and it makes Dazai's nostrils burn a bit, sensitive. He rubs at his nose with his hand, and Cécile notices, smiling apologetically at him.
"You're painting your nails?" Chuuya asks from beside him, sounding bewildered. Cécile shrugs.
"Why not?" She counters. "We all need a little bit of color in our lives. And," She adds, her smile a bit sadder now. "I'm tired of all the white in this room. Aren't you?"
Dazai watches as Chuuya's lips press into a firm line, as he refuses to tremble or give in to any emotion. He wavers just a moment, when his voice shakes as he speaks next.
"Yes." He says. It's one word, but it wobbles in the air between the three of them. Dazai doesn't know what to do, so he mimics what he thinks is the right option. He squeezes Chuuya's hand in his, where they'd never let go. "What color are you going to use?"
Cécile hums, looking over the lineup on the table.
"I haven't decided." She murmurs. "I tried green, but I didn't like the way it looked. What do you think, Dazai?"
Dazai jolts at being included in the conversation. His brain halts all thought for just a moment, focusing on the way Cécile is looking at him. Knowing, like she sees right through him, those blue eyes soft and motherly. He swallows around the growing lump in his throat.
"Um…" Dazai says, ever so eloquently. "What do I think?"
Beside him, Chuuya snorts. Cécile smiles at him, and it's not condescending or mean at all. She's not making fun of him when she elaborates.
"What color should I paint my nails?" She asks.
Ah. Dazai's brain resumes its whirring as he looks over the options. It takes him a moment, and he's quiet as he picks out a bottle of baby blue and holds it up to look at it.
"You really like that color, huh?" Chuuya asks, amused. Dazai shrugs.
"It's soft." He mumbles quietly. "I like soft things."
It also reminds him of Chuuya. He likes that, too.
"I think it's a wonderful choice." Cécile tells him softly, and Dazai feels like a child who's just been given a gold star in class.
Wordlessly, he holds out the bottle for her to take. She does, taking it between her fingers and watching him carefully as he eyes all the colors again.
"Do you want to try?" She asks, and Dazai jerks in his seat like he's been shocked, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "You can pick a color and I'll paint your nails for you, if you'd like."
Dazai considers it. He has, in the past, wondered what it would be like to paint his nails. Mostly, in highschool, he'd wanted to do them black, because it was edgy and felt like an outlet for his emotional turmoil. It also would have looked nice. But he'd never followed through, because it was against school rules, and he didn't have the time or money to spend on frivolous things like nail polish. Now, though, he has both.
He sucks his lower lip between his teeth and bites it as he ponders what color to pick.
"I want to try, too!" Chuuya chimes, and plucks a bottle of white off of the table.
Dazai looks for just a moment longer, and then settles for a bottle of red with the label "baie".
"I like this one." He says quietly, but there's an odd thrill of excitement running through him. His lips quirk into an almost-there smile, just a slight lift at the corners. It's a muted color, but colorful enough that it'll pop against his skin and catch the eyes of passersby.
When he looks up again, Cécile is smiling wider at him now, looking… proud. Like she's proud of him. It makes Dazai's chest seize and then ache, because God, what he would have given for his mother to look at him that way once. Instead he had been shoved off to the side and shunned for being an odd child, too smart and not human enough. As if he was something artificial, his intelligence man-made. But that's beside the point. Cécile sets her chosen bottle down and takes Dazai's from his hand.
His fingers twitch, so he buries them in his slacks and pinches the fabric hard enough so that his knuckles turn white. He feels stripped bare and seen, and it's unnerving. Cécile unscrews the cap and dabs some of the excess polish away on the lip of the bottle before stretching out her hand again.
"Can I see your hand?" She asks, and Dazai unclenches his fingers from his pants, offering his hand to her. He keeps it steady and still, so as not to cause any problems, and the first brush of the polish against his index fingernail feels odd and cold, in a muted sort of way. It's just cartilage, so mostly all he feels is a light pressure. It's just a dot of polish at the bottom of his nail, and then Cécile is dragging the brush from that point up, three separate times. Once in the middle, and then two on either side of the middle stripe. She's good at it. It's clean, with no excess. She must do this a lot.
"Why does he get his nails done first?" Chuuya complains, and Dazai shoots him a teasing grin.
"Dazai's never had his nails done before." Cécile counters, and Chuuya grumbles, but settles down.
"Is it that obvious?" Dazai laughs lightly, unsure if it's even genuine.
"A mother always knows." Cécile repeats yesterday's words, smiling softly at him. Dazai's skin prickles uncomfortably at the attention, and he averts his gaze.
"You're not my mother, though." He points out, feeling almost bitter about it. He feels his mouth twist into something regretful as the words leave his lips. It tastes like an unripe fruit, sour and unpleasant on his teeth. When he looks back up at Cécile, she's frowning slightly, and Dazai feels a sudden pain in his chest, the irrational fear that he's disappointed her welling up inside him. As if that could ever matter.
"No," She agrees softly. "I'm not. It helps, though, that I have a son of my own."
She moves on to the next nail. Dazai sits there quietly, unsure of what to say. The room feels too hot and too small, suddenly. He feels outnumbered.
"Does it?" He croaks out. He doesn't let himself fidget. Cécile hums.
"I think so." She says. Beside them, Chuuya huffs.
"You're talking about me like I'm not even here." He whines. He sounds like a child, and it makes Dazai's lips quirk into a smile.
"Poor Chuuya," Dazai teases, feeling a bit more back in his element. "Don't worry, we haven't forgotten about you yet."
When he glances over, Chuuya is pouting at him. His orange hair falls into his eyes and his lips purse irritably. A small corner of Dazai's heart melts, dripping into a puddle on the inside of his chest.
"You'd better not." Chuuya mumbles, but his lips twitch up into a smile eventually.
When all their nails are dry, Cécile gives them an ultimatum.
"Out." She says. Dazai can't help but blink at her dumbly, and he knows Chuuya must be doing the exact same thing.
"What?" Chuuya asks, bewildered. "What do you mean? Visiting hours aren't even up yet!"
"You heard me." Cécile says. "Out. I won't have you be spending every minute of your trip to Paris in a sterile hospital room. Go out and do something! Have fun!"
Chuuya is very visibly struggling.
"You said we should make use of the time we have together!" He accuses.
"And we will." Cécile agrees, patting Chuuya's hand gently. "We don't have to spend every second together in order to make use of the time we have, Chuuya. You should enjoy yourself, too, and get some fresh air."
"I do enjoy my time with you." Chuuya protests. Cécile smiles at him softly.
"I'm sure you do." She says. "How about this? You go and enjoy a day in Paris together, and bring me back something fun tomorrow. We've already spent a couple of hours together today."
Dazai watches Chuuya struggle, a conflicted look on his face.
"Fine." He agrees, sounding unhappy. He gets to his feet, avoiding Cécile's gaze, and Dazai follows.
"Chuuya," Cécile calls. Chuuya turns to look at her, and from what Dazai can see, his eyes are wet and shiny. Cécile smiles again. "I love you."
Chuuya glares at the floor and then wipes at his eyes.
"I love you too, mom."
"So," Dazai says, when they step outside of the clinic. "Where to?"
Chuuya makes a grumbling noise, seemingly still bitter about having to leave, but he pauses after, deep in thought.
"What are you in the mood for?" He asks. Dazai blinks, surprised.
"Isn't this trip supposed to be about you?" Dazai tries to joke, but it comes off more serious than he'd like, genuine puzzlement evident in his voice. His acting has been falling short, and just a little bit of panic builds in his chest, calmed only by the way that Chuuya doesn't seem to mind. His nose wrinkles, and he looks at Dazai in mild confusion.
"Don't say shit like that." He says, and a pang of hurt shoots through Dazai. He tries to smile, but it apparently doesn't work well enough, because Chuuya pauses, looking him over, his eyebrows pinching together. "You're serious?"
Dazai's lips part to make some sort of excuse, to brush it off, but nothing comes out. His voice is caught in his throat, traitorous and disobedient. A look of despair crosses Chuuya's face.
"Dazai," He says, and then swallows. "What did I say about telling me when I hurt you?"
"It's fine." Dazai protests, forcing a smile. "You're upset, and I can take it. I promise."
Chuuya's expression changes to one of frustration.
"It's not fine!" He shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. At Dazai's silence, he huffs angrily, and then takes a deep breath to calm himself. "I'm sorry. What I said was rude. I'll do better. Now, what do you want to do?"
Dazai blinks at him, a bit thrown off, and then purses his lips in concentration as he wracks his brain for an answer. It has to be the right one. Maybe…
"Are there any carousels around?" He asks, and then looks at his shoes, a bit embarrassed. "I've never been on one before."
He waits for Chuuya to laugh at him, call him childish, but when he looks up, Chuuya is just watching him, his eyes softened. Panic wells up inside of Dazai again. He doesn't want Chuuya to pity him. He's worried that that's all their relationship is at this point.
"Hey." Chuuya says, punching him gently in the shoulder. "Get out of your head. There's one by the Eiffel Tower, if you really want to ride one. Maybe we could try the tower, too, if you're interested."
Dazai is interested.
"I've never been before." He mumbles, and then smiles. "That could be fun."
Chuuya nods.
"Let's go at night, though." He tells Dazai. "It's prettier then, with the lights."
Dazai likes that idea a lot. The image of Chuuya against the skyline, sparkling lights all around them burned against the backs of his eyelids forever. He wants to see it.
"Yeah," Dazai manages, breathless. "I'd like that."
He wants it, selfishly, to last forever. If they could just stay together in Paris and forget everything and everybody else, just the two of them, Dazai would never complain about anything ever again. But they can't, and they won't. Chuuya wouldn't ever give up his major or his independence just to stay by Dazai's side. Dazai ruminates over this the entire cab ride to their destination.
When they arrive, Dazai is struck breathless again, though not immediately. He steps out of the car onto the pavement, his boot heels clicking against the concrete, and stares. The Eiffel Tower is bigger in person. Huge, even, and it makes Dazai feel small and insignificant in front of it. There's nothing pretty about it just yet. It's just a structure, after all, and in broad daylight it's nothing special. There are no lights, and there will be none for a few more hours. Still, it leaves Dazai in awe for just a few moments.
Chuuya steps forward beside him and points, and Dazai's attention is drawn away to the carousel in front of the tower. That, too, is awe inspiring. The horses are white with splashes of bright, flashy colors for their harnesses, and they look docile and almost cowed. Dazai wrinkles his nose just a bit. He prefers wild horses. He walks up to the carousel and the still horses and runs his hand along one of their necks. It's cold like ice and hard to the touch. He looks into the eyes of the carved figure and sees only emptiness. In that moment, he wonders what riding a real horse would be like.
"It looks dead." He murmurs, absent-mindedly. Chuuya startles beside him.
"Well, yeah." Chuuya says, and reaches out a hand to rest on the horse's head. They're standing on the platform now, having had to get close to be able to touch. "They're not real, Dazai. It's hard to carve something and make it look like it's alive."
Chuuya glances at Dazai, and his eyes are like cool ocean water.
"Is that a deal breaker?" He snorts good-naturedly, those eyes crinkling around the corners. "You don't want to ride it anymore?"
Dazai pinches his brows together.
"Of course I'll ride it." He scoffs. "They don't need to be real to be fun. It's just off-putting. Horses aren't supposed to look so… tame."
Chuuya takes his hand off of the cool carving and shoves it into his pocket.
"You like horses, Dazai?" He asks, sounding curious. Dazai has to think about that. He's never had any real interest in them, but he likes them. He likes all animals.
"They're cool." Dazai replies. "I want to see a real one, though."
Chuuya blinks.
"You've never seen a real horse?" He sounds disbelieving, and Dazai bristles.
"Of course I have." He says, indignant. "Online. Never in person, though. I grew up in the city, and my parents thought animals were dirty."
He isn't sure why he feels ashamed about it. Silly, like a child being scolded. He'd always wanted a cat. He hadn't gotten one. Chuuya watches him carefully before he speaks again.
"We can see real horses someday." He says, and then tilts his head. "You're right, they have a lot more personality than this."
"I'd like that." Dazai decides. "But where would we find them?"
"Around." Chuuya says, and then his brow furrows. "I'm sure we could find them somewhere."
Dazai can't help the laugh that bubbles out of his throat. It only lasts a few moments, tapering off into small, subdued giggles, and when he looks at Chuuya again, it stops altogether. Chuuya is staring at him with wide eyes, and Dazai feels small again, self-conscious.
"What?" He asks, quietly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Then Chuuya does something unexpected. He smiles. It's soft, curling just at the corners of his lips, and his eyes crinkle again. It's the most beautiful thing Dazai has ever seen. All the carved horses in the world could never compete with Chuuya. Chuuya, with wild, fiery hair, and eyes that are alive, alive, alive.
"You have a nice laugh." Chuuya says. His voice is as soft as the smile on his face. "You should let me hear it more."
Dazai's face heats.
"Now you're just talking out of your ass." He grumbles, trying not to smile. He fails, especially when Chuuya punches him in the arm.
"I'm being nice, you asshole." Chuuya says, trying to look angry and failing. "Accept the goddamn compliment. And don't curse at me."
A grin breaks out across Dazai's face.
"You're allowed to cuss, but I'm not?" He teases, crossing his arms against his chest. His palm is still cool from the chill of the horse. "Do you even hear yourself when you talk?"
Chuuya turns his nose up, looking away.
"I've never cursed in my fucking life." He says, firmly. "Fuck you, I don't know what you're talking about."
Dazai laughs again, harder. He thinks a few people might be staring, but he can't help it.
"Help," He gasps. "I'm cramping, I can't stop."
Chuuya punches him again, and Dazai wheezes.
"You suck." Chuuya grumbles. "Get on the goddamn horse already, beanpole."
That shuts Dazai up.
"You're riding too, though, right?" He asks.
"Nah." Chuuya says, shaking his head. Free strands of hair fall into his face and he brushes them aside. "You go."
"Absolutely not." Dazai argues, crossing his arms tighter. "What the fuck? You're riding with me. I don't want my first time on a carousel to be alone. That's boring."
"What, are you scared?" Chuuya teases, raising an eyebrow. "It's not like it's a roller coaster, Dazai."
"I wouldn't know. I've never been on a roller coaster before." Dazai pauses as Chuuya gapes at him. "But that's not the point! I want you to ride it with me." And then, because Dazai is a master manipulator, he pouts. "Isn't that enough?"
Chuuya rolls his eyes.
"Fine. Fine!" He caves, throwing his hands in the air. "I'll ride the dumb carousel. Don't say I've never done anything for you."
Dazai's grin softens. Then he gets an idea.
"Hold on." He says. "I bet you just didn't want to ride because you can't climb onto the horses!"
Chuuya flushes bright red.
"That's not true." He argues. "I'm a perfectly average height and that has nothing to do with it."
"Chuuyaaaa!" Dazai chimes. "Why didn't you just say so? I can help!"
"Do not." Chuuya snaps. "You can't hold my weight, I'm a man. We'd both fall over and end up in the ER."
"That would be funny though." Dazai says, still grinning.
"Yeah, right." Chuuya scoffs. "You'd be paying for all my hospital bills, I'm telling you that right now."
"That's fine with me."
"Fine."
"Fine!"
There's an elongated moment of silence, and then Chuuya speaks.
"So are you helping me get on the horse or not?"
Dazai pays, and with admittedly a small struggle, helps Chuuya onto his chosen horse. He looks almost out of place, wild and untamed on top of such a docile creature. Chuuya is a burst of color against the horse's pale pallor.
"Fucking hate these things." He complains, grimacing. "What the hell are they so high up for?"
Dazai snorts at that.
"You're just short, that's all."
"Shut up." Chuuya says, kicking at him from his place on the horse. "Shut the fuck up. Let's see you do it. Get on the horse already, asshole."
"Language, Chuuya." Dazai chastises him, and slips his foot into one of the carved stirrups on the horse. "There are children."
He's not wrong, but he doubts any of the kids can understand them. They all just look happy to be there.
"None of those little shits can understand me." Chuuya grumbles. "I'll curse all I want. You can't stop me."
Dazai fully straddles the horse and holds onto the pole sticking out of the center with steady hands.
"I thought you'd never cursed a day in your life." He says, teasing, and Chuuya shoots him a glare, but there's a glimmer of a smile in his eyes.
"I haven't. Now shut the fuck up."
Suddenly, the carousel lights up, and music begins to filter out through speakers that must be hidden somewhere on the structure. It's slightly haunting, something you might hear at an old circus, but it sends a thrill of excitement up Dazai's spine. He holds onto the pole tighter and lets out a shaky breath, and then they're moving.
It's almost a blur. There's something odd and nearly dreamlike about it, the atmosphere, the music, and Chuuya next to him on a white horse. Dazai laughs, breathless, as the carousel spins.
"You didn't tell me the horses moved!" He says, raising his voice so it can be heard over the music and children laughing.
"It's a fucking carousel!" Chuuya yells back, clinging to the pole of his own horse. "Of course they move!"
Dazai laughs again, feeling dizzy and happy and alive for the first time in a long while. He lets go of the pope for just a moment and stretches out his arms.
"You're going to fucking crack your head open!" Chuuya shouts, and squeezes his eyes shut. Dazai laughs louder and holds onto the pole again.
"Chuuya," He says, looking over his shoulder. "Open your eyes."
For a moment, he thinks maybe he wasn't loud enough. Then Chuuya cracks an eye open. Dazai smiles widely at him, and Chuuya opens his other eye. His mouth opens, but Dazai can't hear what he says next over the screeching laughter of the children in front of them. Dazai frowns leaning forward a bit to try to hear better.
"What did you say?" He asks.
Chuuya looks slightly stricken.
"Nothing!" He hurries to say. "You look like you're having fun, that's all."
That doesn't sound right, but Dazai shrugs it off. Chuuya's hair whips around his face in the breeze. Dazai's mouth opens to speak.
"I–" love you, I love you, I love you. He's shaken by the force at which these thoughts hit him. "I am! Aren't you?"
Chuuya glares at him.
"Are you kidding me?" He yells. "This is fucking terrifying!"
Dazai's eyes squeeze shut with how hard he's smiling.
"Then why do you look so beautiful?" He asks, unable to help himself.
"What?" Chuuya calls. "I can't hear you!"
"I said you look like shit!"
"I fucking hate you!"
It's over too soon. The carousel comes to a stop after just a few more rounds of turning, and Dazai hops off of his horse, giddy and lightheaded and feeling all too much like a kid again.
"Again." He breathes, and Chuuya glares at him.
"Absolutely the fuck not." He says, putting his foot down. "Now help me get down."
And because Dazai is hopelessly infatuated with Nakahara Chuuya, he does.
"Let's get crépes!" He chirps, when they pull away from the carousel. "I'm paying!"
Chuuya rolls his eyes, but smiles.
"You and your sweet tooth." He says, kicking a stray pebble with his shoe. "I never would have guessed. You never put any sugar in your coffee."
Dazai shrugs and grabs Chuuya's hand in his.
"I'm too lazy." He finds himself saying. "Why would I waste time with that when I can just talk to you instead?"
It's a little too honest, a little too vulnerable, and his heart stutters when he says it.
"You say the weirdest fucking things sometimes." Chuuya sighs, but he lets Dazai drag him over to the crépe stand. "What kind are you getting?"
"I don't know." Dazai frowns, looking over the menus plastered on the counter. "I've never had a crépe before. What do you suggest?"
"I guess today is full of firsts for you." Chuuya says, eyeing the menu himself. "Chocolate is always good. I might get the strawberry matcha one, though."
That does sound good. It looks good, too. The picture on the menu is almost mouthwatering.
"Will you let me have a bite?" Dazai asks, still scanning the other options. Chuuya glances over at him, amused.
"You're the one paying." He says. "Sure, why not?"
Dazai's eyes settle on a picture of a strawberry cream cheese crépe. He only knows what's in it because there's a small description in English under the French one, and he excelled in English class in highschool.
"Then I want this one." He tells Chuuya. "Can you order for me?"
Chuuya snorts and elbows him lightly.
"Unless you've miraculously learned how to speak French in the twenty-four hours that we've been here, I don't think you'd be able to pull it off."
Dazai frowns.
"I could order in English," He argues. "I just feel like it might be rude to go to a country and then not speak their language."
Chuuya looks him over as if appraising him.
"I can promise you that probably no one cares about that as much as you think they might."
Dazai's frown deepens.
" Probably isn't a certainty." He says, and Chuuya shrugs before telling the cashier their order. Dazai pulls out his wallet and his card and offers it up. She smiles at him, and then at Chuuya.
"Vous êtes un si beau couple." She says, her voice warm, and beside Dazai, Chuuya flushes beet red.
"On est pas en couple!" He stutters, waving his hands rapidly, and the cashier laughs.
Chuuya tugs Dazai away from the stand to wait for their order and buries his face in his hands. Dazai watches on amusedly. He admittedly has no idea what that exchange was, but he has a mild guess from the word "couple".
"What did she say?" He asks, playing dumb.
"Nothing!" Chuuya snaps, looking terribly flustered. "She was just being nosy, that's all."
Dazai shrugs.
"She seemed nice to me." He says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his slacks. "I don't see the problem."
"You'd probably have a field day with what she said." Chuuya hisses, dropping his hands from his face. Then he frowns. "You and your jokes."
Right. Because Chuuya thinks he's joking. It should stay that way, too.
"There's nothing wrong with a little bit of humor." Dazai points out, his lips quirking up into a wry smile. "I think it's funny. Plus, we look good together. You said so yourself."
Chuuya just groans, hiding his face in his hands again.
"Just forget about it." He whines. The cashier calls out what seems to be their order, and Chuuya rushes off to grab it, leaving Dazai standing still, and alone.
Dazai doesn't want to forget about it. He won't forget. Even when all of this is over, and Chuuya never wants to speak to him again, he won't forget. His hands clench into fists in his pockets as he watches Chuuya leave. He should follow. He should help. He should be a good person. He should tell the truth.
In the moments that follow, Dazai Osamu only does two of those things. He follows Chuuya to the crépe stand and takes his strawberry cream cheese crépe from him, and then leans in to steal a bite of Chuuya's.
"You asshole!" Chuuya gripes, slapping him lightly with his free hand. "I wanted the first bite!"
Dazai chews and swallows, the tang of matcha and sweetness of strawberries exploding in his mouth, and then sticks his tongue out at Chuuya.
"But Chuuya," He whines. "I've never had crépes before! Ever! In my life!"
"Well, now you have." Chuuya grumbles, taking his own bite and making a pleased noise. Dazai watches him softly, a small smile on his face. He could watch Chuuya for hours, but just existing in this time and space, in this moment, is enough. He wants to exist next to Chuuya for eternity, even after he's dead.
"Hey, Chuuya." Dazai says, thoughtfully. "What do you think about double suicide?"
Chuuya freezes, blinking up at him in shock.
"What the fuck?" He asks, around a mouthful of his crépe. "What does that have to do with crépes?"
"It doesn't." Dazai answers, and then frowns. "But what do you think of it?"
Chuuya finishes swallowing, and then stays silent for a moment.
"I think it's sad." He says, and Dazai smiles softly. "It also doesn't make sense. If two people really love each other, shouldn't they want to stay alive together for as long as possible? I don't get it."
Dazai's smile wobbles.
"Sometimes, that's just not possible." He says. Chuuya jerks, looking up at him with startled blue eyes.
"Dazai…" He murmurs. "Is this about your parents?"
"No." Dazai says, firmly. But it is. And it isn't. Then he grimaces, regretful. "Sorry. That probably brought the mood down. I was just curious."
"Don't be sorry." Chuuya says, and takes another bite of his crépe. Dazai follows suit, taking a bite of his own. It's sweeter than Chuuya's, and the filling is rich and creamy, just like its namesake. "I don't mind." Chuuya adds, when he finishes swallowing.
Still, Dazai is regretful. Still, he wishes he hadn't asked.
"What do you want to do while we wait for it to get dark?" Dazai asks, changing the subject.
"There's a park nearby." Chuuya says. "We could sit on the grass and watch the clouds, or something."
Dazai smiles.
"I like that idea a lot." He murmurs. "Lead the way."
Chuuya laughs lightly.
"What am I, a human GPS?" Chuuya teases, grinning. "Let me finish my crépe first and I'll put it into my phone."
"That one looks like a cat." Chuuya says, as they lay on the grass of the park not twenty minutes later, holding a white sun hat they'd bought for Cécile on the way there. "I'm naming him Meow."
Dazai laughs, startled.
"Why Meow?" He asks, when he's able to calm himself enough to speak.
"He looks like a Meow." Chuuya states. "And cats meow. It's what they do."
"Hello, Meow." Dazai says, staring at the puffy white cloud above them. It morphs slightly in the wind, small bits drifting away from the main area. "He's disappearing. Bye Meow."
Chuuya sighs sadly.
"Gone too soon." He says. "Your turn. What does that one look like?"
He points up at a cloud to the right. Dazai narrows his eyes, staring hard.
"I don't know." He says. "I'm no good at this kind of thing."
"Nope. No way." Chuuya argues, slapping him. "Try harder. I want to hear what you think it is."
Dazai scrunches his face up as he thinks.
"I don't know!" He says again. "A horse?"
It looks nothing like a horse. He's grasping at straws here.
"You're just saying that because you like horses and can't think of anything else." Chuuya laughs. "No. It's clearly a dragon. How could it be anything else?"
"That does not look like a dragon." Dazai argues.
"A European dragon." Chuuya specifies. "Yes it does. Try again. What's that one?"
Dazai focuses on a cloud to their left. Chuuya's hand drops from the air where he'd been pointing, and he links their pinkies together.
It takes him about a minute to think up an answer that Chuuya won't be able to argue with. But the harder he stares, the more he's convinced it's true.
"It looks like my mom." Dazai breathes. Beside him, Chuuya goes silent. They breathe together for a few minutes as the wind moves the clouds apart. When Chuuya speaks next, his tone is soft, but not pitying.
"What did your mom look like?" He asks.
"I don't know." Dazai replies. Then he sighs. "I can't remember her face."
"You can't remember what she looks like?" Chuuya asks. He doesn't sound judgemental at all, just curious.
"No." Dazai says. "She had brown hair, like me. But the more I think about it, the more I can't remember what shade it was."
"That's alright." Chuuya says, squeezing Dazai's pinky finger in his. "You don't need to remember that."
"I want to, though."
Chuuya just hums in response, and then he's sitting up. Dazai looks up at him, at his wild red hair, uneven and messy from laying in the grass.
"Let's make new memories, Dazai." Chuuya says. "That way, you don't have to think about all that stuff anymore. We can just exist together."
I exist, you exist. We exist.
Dazai can't find it in himself to answer. His voice has disappeared, the wind knocked out of him.
"It's getting dark now." Chuuya changes the subject. "Look, they're turning the lights on. If we hurry, I bet we'll be able to get up there before the sun fully sets."
That's a view Dazai doesn't want to miss. He gets to his feet and Chuuya follows suit. They stand, their pinkies linked. Without Chuuya knowing a thing, Dazai makes a silent promise.
I promise I won't forget you. I promise I won't forget what you look like.
"Did you say something?" Chuuya asks, the wind blowing through his hair.
I love you, I love you, I love you.
"I think it was just the wind."
I love you.
"Let's hurry. I don't want to miss the sunset."
On top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, everything is full of light. The wind blows Dazai's hair into his face, and he laughs as some of it gets into his mouth.
"Is this what flying feels like?" He asks, to no one in particular.
"We were on a plane just yesterday." Chuuya snorts. "You know what flying is like already."
"That's different." Dazai says, leaning as far over the rail as he dares to without fear of being yelled at. "I want wings, Chuuya."
"What, you want to be a bird?" Chuuya asks. Then, "What bird would you be?"
Dazai has to think about that one.
"I want to be a passenger pigeon." He says, eventually. When he turns to Chuuya, he smiles. "What?"
Chuuya blinks at him.
"I just thought you'd pick something edgier, like a raven." He replies. "Why a pigeon?"
"Passenger pigeon." Dazai corrects. "The last one went extinct in 1941. Her name was Martha, and she died in a cage. After that, they put her in a museum."
Chuuya watches him carefully.
"That's sad." He says. "I wish they'd left her in peace."
"They say dead people turn into passenger pigeons." Dazai murmurs. "I wonder how that works, since there are none left."
For a moment, there's only the sound of the wind.
"What about you, Chuuya?" Dazai asks. "What kind of bird would you be?"
Chuuya turns to look over the rail at the setting sun. His hair is red like the sky, the last dying rays of a giant star. It looks like firelight. Dazai aches to run his fingers through it. He resists.
"It would be sad," Chuuya says. "If you were the last of your kind. We could be passenger pigeons together, I think. That way you wouldn't ever be alone."
"Two isn't better than one when all there's left to do is die."
You don't want that. I'm not worth it.
Somehow, Chuuya seems to catch on to those unsaid thoughts. The last remnants of sunlight catch in his eyes as he turns to face Dazai again.
"Two is always better than one." He says. "And no one deserves to die alone."
Dazai smiles.
"You're funny." He teases, and then looks away. "Thank you, Chuuya."
I love you.
"You're welcome."
"I think you'd be a phoenix, though." Dazai adds. "Since we're talking about the impossible."
"Why a phoenix?" Chuuya asks. He looks every bit the part against the darkening sky.
"You're beautiful." Dazai breathes, without meaning to. Chuuya stares at him for a moment, and then looks away.
"That's not a funny joke." He grumbles.
"I'm serious."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You could be a phoenix, if you tried hard enough."
"Because I'm beautiful." Chuuya deadpans, raising an eyebrow.
"Because you're firelight." Dazai says, desperate. "Because you're sparks. Because I–" –love you.
Not now. Dazai swallows and tries again.
"Because I said so. That's why."
Chuuya stares at him for a moment longer, and then his face softens into a smile.
"You're so weird." He laughs. It sounds like silver bells. It sounds like heaven. Dazai never wants to forget it. "Tough. We're passenger pigeons or we're not birds at all."
Dazai can't say it. He won't. He locks it up in his chest for another time. Another time, he tells himself. He knows that time will never arrive. It's him and Chuuya now, existing together, but soon, Chuuya will leave him.
Because Dazai is a liar and he ruins everything.
"Fine." He says. "Then let's just be people. I want to be a person with you."
Chuuya smiles at him, and it's a soft, secret thing.
"Yeah, okay." He agrees. "Let's just be people."
I love you, an extinct passenger pigeon in the cage that is Dazai's chest screams, but no one hears it. I love you, I love you.