It's a twelve hour and fifty minute flight from Tokyo to Paris, and after rambling about his mother for a good hour and a half, Chuuya sleeps for most of it. In his brief moments of consciousness, shifting when he gets a crick in his neck, he ends up laying on Dazai's shoulder instead of pressed up against the window like he had been before.
He actually wakes up several times. Twice to a baby crying, once to someone kicking the back of his seat, and a few times just out of the blue. Every time, Dazai just squeezes his hand and hums, and Chuuya goes back under into a sleepy, dreamy haze just like that. At one point, Dazai shakes him awake to hand him a bottle of water, and Chuuya takes it with a sleep-weak hand, uncapping it and taking a few swigs. His lips have grown dry in the cold air conditioning of the plane, so he wets them with the water, too, before putting the cap back on and setting it on his lap.
Then he dozes back off on Dazai's shoulder. Dazai shifts under him once, and Chuuya thinks, for a moment, that he feels something soft brush against his forehead, but it doesn't quite register in his brain what it could possibly be. Then Dazai settles again and Chuuya sinks into a deeper sleep.
The final time he wakes up is when they're touching down. Dazai shakes him gently, and Chuuya blinks his eyes open, still hazy with sleep. It's strange to look out the window and have it light out, especially since it should be evening in Tokyo right now. As it is, it's 10:50 AM in Paris, and the plane is rolling along the runway slowly.
"You let me sleep for way too long." Chuuya complains weakly, and Dazai snorts, smiling. And it's good to see him smile.
"You'd prefer I kept you awake?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. "I'm pretty annoying. Don't worry, I slept, too."
Somehow, Chuuya doesn't believe that. Dazai may be smiling, but it's weak and soft, and he has bags under his eyes that are dark like bruises.
"Sure." Chuuya says warily. The pilot is babbling on about things Chuuya already knows over the intercom, so he rubs at his eyes with the sleeve of the sweater he's wearing and just waits. When they're finally able to get off the damn plane, Dazai grabs their carry-on bags from the overhang, and Chuuya trails behind him. In a way he knows will embarrass him later, he clings to Dazai's sweater vest so as not to be separated. He knows Dazai thinks it's funny, from the way his lips quirk up into something that's not quite a smirk, but close, but oh well. That's for future Chuuya to deal with.
Once out of the terminal and out of the way of oncoming pedestrian traffic, Chuuya pulls out his phone, and turns it off of airplane mode. In an instant, he has notifications popping up nonstop. Three texts from Yuan wishing him luck, another few from Shirase doing the same, and two from his mother. He swipes the messages from his friends away and goes to his mom's contact first. When he looks at it, he slumps.
Dazai glances at him curiously.
"Everything alright?" He asks, his tone careful, and Chuuya nods tiredly.
"They moved her to Villejuif." He says. "There's a treatment center that's better there. That's where she went first."
"You grew up in Japan, right?" Dazai asks. "Why did your mom come back to France for treatment?"
Chuuya finds himself almost rolling his eyes. He's not exasperated at the question, just the actual reasoning behind it.
"Her parents wanted her back." He grumbles. "They disrupted our entire life to fly her back here, and we had to pay for it. But…" He sighs. "The treatment center in Villejuif is one of the best in the world. I can't be too upset about it."
But he is. He is upset. He is resentful.
"You were alone." Dazai points out, as they head to get their luggage, and Chuuya sighs. Dazai always has to be fucking right about everything, even when he's not trying.
"Yeah." Chuuya grits out, his voice tight, and then shrugs off the tension. "But I texted Shirase and Yuan daily. And I got to actually put my French into practice."
He feels a bit bad for bringing up Yuan, and the way Dazai shifts uncomfortably at the mention of her name makes it worse.
"Your mom taught you French?" Dazai asks, brushing it off like he always does. Chuuya narrows his eyes, but lets it go, because those memories always make him smile.
"Yeah." He murmurs, a small smile curling at the corners of his mouth already. He looks down at his feet for a moment, and when he raises his gaze Dazai is smiling at him, too. It's one of his softer ones, though not as shaky as they have been lately. It's genuine, and it's nice to see.
But it's also confusing. Chuuya never really understands why Dazai smiles at him like that. Shirase was right when he said Dazai looks like he likes him. It's the way someone would smile at their sleeping lover when they wake up first in the morning. It's tender. It sends a shiver up Chuuya's spine, forms a lump in his throat, so he coughs to get rid of it.
"My dad didn't get it. He always said there was no point anyways, since he didn't have plans to move back to France, ever." The thought makes his eyebrows twitch, his smile dropping. "But my mom didn't stop, and I'm glad."
"You really don't like him, huh?" When Chuuya snorts and shakes his head, Dazai doesn't flinch, just continues seamlessly. "I don't blame you."
"I think…" Chuuya says, as they reach the conveyor belt with their luggage on it. "I think that deep down, she still loves him. Even after he left."
"Do you think he loves her, too?" Dazai asks, and Chuuya startles. "Why else would he pay for her treatment?"
And, well. Chuuya hadn't ever thought about it that way.
"Maybe he just feels guilty." He mutters, feeling a bit petulant. Dazai hums.
"Maybe." He agrees. "He definitely fucked up, big time. But I guess you won't know unless you ask him."
Chuuya has no plans of doing that any time soon. He never wants to talk to that fucker ever again.
"What are we going to do about Villejuif?" He asks, changing the subject. "I mean, I assume you already booked a hotel in Paris, since that was the plan."
Dazai shrugs.
"It's not that far, right?" He glances at Chuuya with a soft look in his eye. "Villejuif? I mean, I wouldn't really know, since I've never been. But if it's necessary, I can just book another hotel there, instead. I have the funds."
Chuuya gets the sickening thought that he doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve this level of kindness from Dazai. His throat closes up, and he's distracted from answering when Dazai taps on his shoulder and points out their luggage. It's a bit strange. Dazai has some muscle, but lately he's been wobbly and feeble. Fear suddenly seizes Chuuya. What if Dazai is sick, too?
Chuuya hefts their suitcases off of the conveyor belt.
"You'd tell me, right?" He asks, feeling faint. "If you were sick?"
Dazai blinks at him.
"Do you want an honest answer?" He says, after a moment of hesitation.
"Yes."
Dazai seems to think for a moment longer, several different emotions flitting across his face before it screws up into an expression of almost-guilt. It's always fascinating to watch, in a sad way.
"Probably not, no." Dazai says, apologetically. "Not unless you outright asked."
"Well?" Chuuya demands, hurt rushing through him, though it's overpowered by the concern he feels. "Are you?"
Dazai seems bewildered for a moment before his face softens into an expression of understanding.
"No." He says, honestly. His voice is soft, but not pitying. "Why do you ask?"
They move away from the conveyor belt, their suitcases rolling on the ground behind them.
"You just–" Chuuya tries, managing to somehow sound more choked up than he was when he talked about his mom. It's annoying, and he doesn't understand it. He covers it up with anger. "What are you doing walking around all wobbly like a newborn lamb, then?! You're even limping!"
Chuuya hadn't even noticed that part until just now. God, how stupid can he get? Dazai had been walking around at the airport in Tokyo, probably limping and in pain the whole time, and Chuuya hadn't noticed. Dazai grimaces, seeming almost pained, and he straightens up, his limp immediately disappearing. He winces, though, when he puts even weight on both legs.
"You weren't supposed to notice that." He mumbles, sounding regretful. He avoids Chuuya's gaze like he's embarrassed.
"Well there's no use in pretending now!" Chuuya snaps. Then he takes a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "So, out with it. What's wrong? Why are you acting all weak and fragile all of a sudden?"
Dazai stiffens back up, and then seemingly forces himself to relax, his limp coming back.
"I don't…" He starts, his voice strained but it trails off. "I had… an accident."
Chuuya's heart pounds, and he stops walking, yanking Dazai to a halt, too.
"What kind of accident?" He demands, his eyes searching over Dazai's frame and face for any kind of explanation. Dazai's face screws up again, like he's about to lie, but doesn't want to. "Don't try to lie to me. I'll know."
Dazai's mouth opens, then closes, like he doesn't know how to say anything without lying. He looks like he's in pain just trying to figure something out.
"Chuuya," He starts, slowly. "Are we exclusive?"
Chuuya's pulse races in his ears.
"I–" He doesn't know. "What does that have to do with anything?"
Dazai doesn't meet his eyes.
"I need to know." He says quietly, and then looks up, expression as earnest as he can seem to manage. Chuuya has seen that face before, just yesterday, when Dazai had offered to distract him. "So I can prepare myself for you to be angry, if the answer is no."
Chuuya's brain whirs as he tries to register what any of this could possibly mean.
"You…" He tries. Then it clicks. Rage bubbles up in his chest and he knows it shows on his face, because Dazai curls into himself just a bit when he sees it. "When?" Chuuya hisses.
"I–" Dazai chokes out. "The day before yesterday. But I promise we used protection, and I didn't know if you wanted this to be exclusive or not, and–" He breaks off, and something in his eyes seems pleading. He's so much taller than Chuuya, but right now he seems so small. It makes Chuuya angrier.
"You think I give a damn about whether you used protection or not?!" He yells, earning a few disgruntled looks. He doubts anyone can understand him, but yelling in an airport is hardly polite.
"I'm sorry." Dazai whispers, and closes his eyes. "I really didn't know you wanted this to be exclusive, I promise."
"That's not what this is about!" Chuuya throws his hands up in the air. "I don't care about exclusivity, Dazai, what the fuck?!"
Dazai's eyes open, and he looks bewildered, confused. Like he can't possibly understand what there is to be mad about.
"Then why are you so angry?" He asks. "I don't get it. I don't understand, Chuuya."
"Someone hurt you, didn't they?" Chuuya demands. "Who the fuck was it? Tell me!"
Realization dawns in Dazai's eyes, and his expression gets more desperate, if that's even possible.
"I consented." He protests. "I said it was fine."
"And was it?" Chuuya presses. He's so fucking angry, and none of it is directed at Dazai, none of it, but he knows it comes off that way. "Was it really okay, Dazai?"
"I…" Dazai tries to back away, so Chuuya grabs his hand in what probably is not his brightest moment. Dazai flinches away from his touch.
"Is that why you were like that?" Chuuya asks, suddenly feeling sick. "Oh my god, Dazai. Is that why you offered to distract me? Is that why afterwards…. Oh my god."
He lets go of Dazai to put his head in his hands.
"I promise I wanted it." Dazai says, earnestly. Chuuya peeks out at him through the gaps in his fingers. "To distract you, I mean. I just– I didn't want to think anymore, and you– you're so good."
Dazai whispers the last word, blinking rapidly, and Chuuya gets the horrible, sinking feeling in his stomach that Dazai is trying terribly hard not to cry.
"You're so good, and I'm just– I'm just not." Chuuya takes his hands away from his face, and watches Dazai carefully, but no tears leave Dazai's eyes. He seems to reign himself back in, and it's so, so frustrating that he just won't let himself be vulnerable. "I'm not, and you needed a distraction, and I did, too, so that's why I offered. You didn't force me and I wasn't uncomfortable, and you listened when I said no."
"That's basic fucking human decency." Chuuya snaps.
"Maybe to you." Dazai fires back, and then looks like he regrets it. "Maybe to you, but it meant everything to me, Chuuya."
He looks like he regrets saying that, too.
"Who hurt you?" Chuuya asks, his voice breaking. He hardens it to distract himself from the fact that his eyes are suddenly stinging. "Who fucking hurt you, Dazai?"
"I can't tell you that." Dazai whispers. "I can't. You weren't even supposed to know, I can't–"
"Why not?!" Chuuya asks. "Why can't you just tell me? I could help you. I could help, Dazai."
Dazai's eyes fall shut.
"Can we please not do this here?" He whispers. "Please? People are staring, and I… I don't want to do this here."
He's right. People are staring. Chuuya curls his hands into fists at his sides and glares at the floor.
"Fucking fine." He seethes. "But we are talking about this later. Now hold my fucking hand."
Dazai jolts as if he's been shocked.
"Even though you're mad at me?" He asks, and Chuuya just barely catches the tremor in his voice.
"I'm not fucking mad at you." Chuuya grits out, holding out his hand. Dazai doesn't look like he believes him, but he takes it anyway. He holds it loosely, like he's afraid of the contact, so Chuuya squeezes his hand tighter. "Let's go already. I want to see my mom."
He barely hears or registers the weak "okay" that leaves Dazai's lips as Chuuya tugs him along behind him.
Dazai doesn't say a single word, not even on the car ride to the hotel. He gazes out the window and fidgets, but doesn't let go of Chuuya's hand. Fuck. Chuuya knows he can be abrasive. He gets the feeling that by trying to show Dazai that he cares, he's just made it worse.
"Hey, shithead." Chuuya grits out, and Dazai glances at him with wounded eyes. It hurts to see him like that when he's usually so full of smiles. Fuck. How hadn't Chuuya realized that something was wrong? "I care about you, got it? So don't go thinking I hate you or something just because I yelled. Okay?"
It's hard for him to put his feelings into words, and he's almost proud of himself for managing so well. Dazai's eyes flicker and he squeezes Chuuya's hand, but he doesn't say anything. He looks so, so drained, and guilt eats Chuuya alive.
They get to the hotel just fine, and Chuuya immediately feels worse because of how fucking fancy it is. He knows Dazai can afford it, but he's always had a guilt complex around money. He tugs gently at Dazai's hand when they step inside to get his attention.
"Hey," Chuuya says, even though he's unsure whether Dazai will answer him or not. "Is this really okay?"
Dazai opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He clears his throat and tries again, offering a shaky smile.
"Yes, of course!" He chirps, but something in his eyes screams hurt, and his voice is a tad bit too wobbly to be genuine. "You'll have to check in, though, because I don't know any French. Just use my name and they should give you the key cards."
And okay, that's fairly simple. Dazai looks fairly comfortable where he is, trailing after Chuuya in a casual stroll. The only sign he feels uncomfortable is that he's pinching the back of his hand again. Chuuya kicks him lightly to get him to stop it, and they make it to the front desk. Chuuya doesn't even have to tap the bell. An employee rushes up and looks them over suspiciously. Chuuya rolls his eyes.
Let's just get this over with, he thinks.
"Bonjour, nous avons une réservation au nom de Dazai."
The employee– a man with short, black hair, slick with gel, has the gall to look surprised. Because he's polite, Chuuya holds back from making an audible sound of exasperation. André, the employee's name tag reads. God, even his name sounds pretentious. Chuuya wrinkles his nose, and Dazai snorts quietly, hiding his mouth with his hand, his eyes sparkling. André types something into the computer, and then looks them over once more.
"Oui, une chambre avec deux lits?"
That surprises Chuuya, a little bit. He glances at Dazai, and mouths the word "two?" He gets a nod in return. Alright then.
"Oui."
André sniffs at them and turns around, and Chuuya makes a face at Dazai, who snorts again, looking away. Good. Chuuya finds himself smiling, too.
"Voici votre clé. Vous libérez la chambre ce samedi à 9h00."
It's Monday now, so that gives them nearly an entire week. Chuuya jolts again, looking at Dazai with wide eyes.
"Saturday?!" He exclaims, and Dazai lowers his hand, a small grin on his face.
"Surprise?" Dazai says, eyes sparkling with mischief. God. Chuuya hates him. Not really. A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, and he turns back to the receptionist.
"D'accord, merci." Chuuya says, taking the keys, and Dazai leads him to the nearest elevator.
"What floor are we on?" Chuuya asks, as they step inside. It's then, staring at his reflection in the smooth silver interior of the elevator, that realizes just how underdressed he is, in just a pair of ripped jeans and a baby blue turtleneck. Dazai looks better prepared. He's wearing another sweater vest over a white button down, and tan slacks. He's always dressed for this kind of occasion, Chuuya realizes. Dazai hums before responding.
"Fifth." He says, simply. Then he smirks, watching Chuuya press the button for the fifth floor. "You're not afraid of heights, are you, Chuuya?"
Chuuya snorts, but he's relieved Dazai is acting more like himself. Whether he's being genuine is another matter, and that makes Chuuya frown.
"You're the one who needed me to hold your hand during our flight here." Chuuya points out. Dazai frowns at him, his mouth turning downward in an exaggerated pout. It's cute.
"You could have let go after takeoff." He protests, but it's a bit subdued. "And it's not heights that bother me, just the turbulence. It's uncomfortable."
The elevator doors close with just the two of them inside, and Chuuya's stomach swoops as it begins to rise. He's never liked elevators very much. Dazai takes one look at him and raises an eyebrow. Chuuya grumbles at him, but sticks out his hand for Dazai to take anyway. The beaming smile he gets is worth it. Dazai links their fingers together and swings their arms back and forth as the elevator rises.
"We can drop our stuff off, and then…" Dazai trails off, watching Chuuya with a soft look on his face. For some reason, butterflies flutter like a storm in Chuuya's stomach. "Then we can catch a cab to Villejuif. I looked it up on the way here. It's only a twenty minute drive. I imagine you want to see your mom as soon as possible, so…"
Chuuya is struck by the sudden urge to pull Dazai into a hug. A tight one, just to punish him for overthinking so much.
"Sounds good." He says, his voice tight. It's not that he doesn't want to see his mom, he's just nervous. He hasn't seen her in over a year at this point, staying in contact through texting and video calls, and seeing her in person– it's different. Will she even want to see him? What if she really is upset at him for leaving? Dazai watches him with a blank face, and then squeezes his hand.
"I'm sure she'll be happy to see you." He says, honestly. Chuuya huffs. Even now, Dazai is able to read him like a book. "Really. I mean it."
Chuuya stares at him for a moment, and then smiles weakly.
"Yeah." He murmurs. "Yeah, probably."
The elevator finally stops rising, settling into place and making Chuuya's stomach turn over, and then the doors open. Dazai pulls him out of the small space, their suitcases rolling behind them.
"Room 113," Dazai mumbles, as they walk through the hall. "Ah!"
He stops walking, tugging Chuuya to a halt with their still joined hands, and lets go of his suitcase handle to point at the door. Chuuya sighs, and fumbles for the key cards, pulling one out and swiping it. They enter the room, and Chuuya is once again blown away by the sheer luxury of the interior design. He stands there for a moment, gaping, and Dazai lets go of his hand to shut the door behind him.
"Hey…" He murmurs, eventually, and Dazai hums in question. "Why two beds?"
Dazai blinks, and his lips part slightly.
"I mean, I just figured…" He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. "Wouldn't it be too intimate otherwise?"
Chuuya shrugs.
"I don't think so." He says, and as he says it, he realizes just how true it is. One month ago he probably would have been sick at the thought of sharing a bed with Dazai, but now… "We'll probably end up on the same one anyways."
He doesn't mean for it to sound like an innuendo, but it definitely does. Before he can backtrack, Dazai grins at him.
"Well, they're both queens, anyway." He counters. "So there should be enough room if you just want to share. I just didn't know if you'd be up for that, with everything that's going on."
Chuuya shakes his head.
"It's whatever." He mumbles, and Dazai steps towards him slowly.
"Can I tell you something?" Dazai asks in a low voice. Chuuya has to fight not to shiver. His heart pounds.
"Of course." He says, and watches Dazai suck his lower lip into his mouth to bite at it.
"You're really attractive when you speak French." Dazai breathes, and Chuuya feels his face grow hot.
"You're into stuff like that?" He asks, and he's expecting Dazai to brush it off, but is surprised when he's met with an earnest nod.
"We don't have to do anything," Dazai says. "But I'd really like to kiss you right now."
And yeah. That sounds like something Chuuya can do.
"Okay." He manages to reply. "Come here."
Dazai is wobbly and unsure, and Chuuya is reminded of the conversation that they'd put off. He steps forward and Dazai bends down just enough that their lips brush. It isn't at all heated or frantic, just soft and warm. It's intimate. It's tender. Dazai sighs shakily against Chuuya's lips, all the tension leaving his body. It's a relief, Dazai's hands cupping his face, and Chuuya is reminded of the first time they ever kissed, when he'd been expecting fire and lightning and only received the warmth of a hearth. Dazai's lips manage to be soft, even as bitten as they are. Chuuya thinks he tastes blood for a moment, where Dazai's teeth had dug into his own lip just moments ago. He pulls back just enough to be able to speak.
"You really need to stop doing that," He mumbles into Dazai's mouth. "I don't want to taste blood every time I kiss you."
"I think it's sexy." Dazai jokes, and Chuuya feels his mouth turn up into a grin. This is good. This is nice. Dazai is smiling again, and Chuuya doesn't want to ruin it, so he doesn't bring up their previous conversation, even though it's one they need to have.
Dazai pulls away first, although he looks reluctant to do so. Chuuya sympathizes. He could probably kiss Dazai for hours and be satisfied without going any further. It's a thought that doesn't scare him as much as it would have even two weeks ago.
"Ready?" Dazai asks, sounding breathless. Right. Chuuya nods, and sticks his hand out for Dazai to take. Call him clingy, or maybe codependent, but he needs this right now. Dazai takes a hold of his hand with a soft smile lingering on his lips. It looks good on him.
"As I'll ever be." Chuuya replies, but he really doesn't think he is.
Their arrival at the treatment center in Villejuif is rather anticlimactic. Chuuya doesn't know how to feel. They enter and Chuuya gives his name, a quick "Nakahara."
A female nurse, in blue scrubs and with her hair tied up, gives them both a patient smile.
"Prenez place, s'il vous plaît?" She says, looking rather tired. Her hair is brown and messy, and she unties it just to snap it back up into a bun. As Chuuya begins to sit down, gesturing for Dazai to do the same, she strides up to the desk again, coming back with a few visitor's forms. "Remplissez ce formulaire s'il vous plaît."
She's being extremely polite, and it's a bit irritating, purely because in this situation it would seem to be out of pity. Then Chuuya remembers it's her job, and sighs, taking the documents, clipboard, and pen all in place. He signs himself in, as well as Dazai, who watches him curiously the whole time.
After a few minutes of just filling out paperwork, Chuuya stands, walking up to the front desk to hand it in. Dazai follows behind him. Chuuya tries to hide a smile, but it's a little bit funny to see Dazai, usually so confident and sure of himself, following Chuuya around like a lost puppy.
The nurse looks over the forms and smiles again.
"Suivez-moi, messieurs, je vous prie."
Chuuya grabs Dazai's hand, suddenly very nervous, and winces as he does so, because his palms are sweaty and that's bound to be uncomfortable, but Dazai doesn't complain. He just hums and swings their joined hands as they follow the nurse through the halls. Chuuya is grateful for that small comfort, because his pulse is pounding in his ears, and it's hard to concentrate, with the fluorescent lights and shiny floors giving him a headache.
They reach the end of the hall, and the nurse stops walking, turning to knock on the door.
"Cécile, tu as de visite."
There's a moment of silence, and then a soft, gentle voice that Chuuya hasn't heard in ages speaks up.
"Entrez s'il vous plaît."
It's a relief and a curse to hear her voice.
Maybe she's mad at me, Chuuya thinks. He doesn't have time to ruminate over it, though, because Dazai nudges him to get his attention.
Right. With his heart thundering in his chest, Chuuya opens the door and steps inside.
And there she is. Her hair isn't gone yet. Chuuya remembers when she had first texted him telling him it had started to grow back. And now… He swallows roughly, his eyes stinging.
"Oh, Chuuya," His mother breathes, a soft smile on her face. "Viens chez maman, bébé."
And Chuuya breaks. He doesn't care what Dazai might think. He doesn't care. He lets go of Dazai's hand and runs to his mother's bed, weeping like a small child.
"Mom." He cries, throwing himself at her as gently as he can manage. It's an awkward angle, but she takes him in her arms anyways. He's held by her for what feels like, and what is the first time in years. He's sobbing, and it doesn't matter that Dazai is watching it all happen.
"Oh, baby, it's alright." His mother says, and kisses the top of his head. He feels like a kid again. Like a toddler who's fallen down and is being comforted. "You're here now. It's going to be okay."
And is it? Is it really? Can it possibly be okay when she's here in Villejuif, sick all over again?
Feeling Dazai's presence behind him, Chuuya stiffens, pulling away from his mother's hold and wiping his eyes. His cheeks are wet with the tears that have spilled without his permission.
"Mom," Chuuya croaks. "This is Dazai. He's… He's the only reason I was able to come visit you, this time."
He feels guilt for that crawl around in his gut, but pushes it down in favor of being grateful. Because he is grateful. Dazai pulls a chair over for Chuuya to sit in, and then gives a charming smile.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Nakahara." He says smoothly. "I'm Dazai Osamu. Chuuya is tutoring me in calculus."
He gets a smile in return, and Chuuya watches the exchange almost curiously, still wiping his eyes.
"Call me Cécile." His mother says. Then, "Dazai… Thank you."
Chuuya watches as Dazai blinks, seemingly stunned.
"I…" He says, and then trails off, blinking again. "You're welcome, I think. I just did the right thing."
He glances over to meet Chuuya's eyes when he says, "Basic human decency, right?"
Chuuya is thrown back into their earlier conversation just like that. He could get upset again, but he doesn't think Dazai intends it to be a jab of any kind. He repeats it like a kid in a classroom reading out a word they've just learned. Like he's just learned what that phrase could possibly entail. He seems a bit unsure, like he doesn't know if he's using it correctly.
"This is far more than decent." Chuuya argues, rubbing his eyes one last time. "You went out of your way to do this for us. For me. I know I thanked you before, but… thank you, Dazai."
Dazai looks completely out of his element, uncomfortable and like he doesn't know how to react to being told he's a good person. He waves his hands in the air a little bit as his face screws up. Chuuya wants to kiss the wrinkles on his brow away.
"No, no…" Dazai tries. "I just… I had the funds, and I owe you anyways, for tutoring me."
Chuuya scoffs, but doesn't push it. Instead he turns to his mother.
"Do you know how long they're keeping you in inpatient care?" He asks, his voice strained. "When are you going back to stay with Mami and Papi?"
His mother hums. Her red hair has been coiffed into short curls at chin level. Chuuya's heart aches at the thought of her losing it. She already looks frail, her wrists skinny and skin pale.
"They'll probably keep me another week to do tests." She says, taking Chuuya's hand in hers and stroking it with her thumb. She's still wearing her ring, Chuuya realizes. The thought makes him feel sick, anger bubbling in his chest at the thought of his father. "As far as they know, it's not so bad that I'll need to do long-term inpatient care here. I'll be able to go home and see your Mami and Papi every day, and just come here for treatment appointments."
"A week?" Chuuya asks, feeling helpless. "We'll be gone in five days."
Cécile raises his hand and kisses the back of it softly, like he's a child again.
"My baby," She murmurs. "I guess we'll have to make use of the time we have, then, huh?"
"I'm not a kid anymore." Chuuya says, but his voice is tight and his eyes are stinging again. "I'm an adult."
"You'll always be my baby." Cécile chides. "Always. There's no escaping it."
"You're embarrassing me in front of Dazai." Chuuya groans. "I should have known you'd go back to babying me as soon as I got here."
"You took care of me for so long." His mother tells him. "And it wasn't right of me to let you. It was my job to take care of you, not the other way around."
"You were sick." Chuuya argues. "And dad was gone. I don't regret taking it all on. Not at all."
Cécile smiles, but it's sad, and knowing.
"Chuuya, you were a child." She says. "You should have been running around playing with Shirase and Yuan every day, not cooking me soup and helping me walk. You shouldn't have had to buy groceries by yourself at that age."
Chuuya's chest feels tight.
"I'm glad you don't resent me," Cécile says. "But that doesn't mean that what happened was okay."
And Chuuya hates it, but just like that, he's crying again. Because he had been lonely. Those months before she'd been diagnosed, he'd been so lonely, taking care of her all on his own, with his father nowhere in sight. They'd had money, because the bastard had enough decency to send enough, and still paid for rent, but it was on Chuuya to cook and clean and do everything that a parent should.
He feels a hand on his back and startles, looking up, only to realize that it's Dazai. Dazai is rubbing his back, looking like he's new to comforting someone and isn't sure how to do it right. It should be sad, not funny. But it is funny, and it makes Chuuya let out a wet, bewildered laugh. Dazai makes a face and reaches over to the bedside table to grab a kleenex.
"Need a tissue?" He asks, and this time Chuuya's mother joins him in his laughter.
Cécile Nakahara knows many things. She knows her son is sweet and hardworking, and quick to blow up at the slightest insult. She knows he puts everything, everything, into his major and enjoys expressing himself through fashion, and she knows how personally he takes everything, how he internalizes every word, good or bad, and holds it close to his chest.
She knows that she hadn't been there for him when he'd needed it most. That she couldn't possibly be, as sick as she was all of the time. She knows, and she regrets it. But now she knows better, and she can take care of Chuuya as best as she can, even with all that space between them. He's here now, if only for five days, and Cécile can love and care for him in ways that he can see and feel. She can be there for him in a way she hadn't been able to be three years ago.
So Cécile takes one look at Chuuya's friend and knows. She looks at Dazai and sees a child who is lost and confused, unable to experience the world in a way that could possibly be beneficial to him. Dark, wounded eyes stare back at her, and he smiles, but it's not real. He almost seems to cower, in a subtle way. Cheery and confident on the outside, but terrified deep down, like he's stretched his hand out for help and had it bitten one too many times, and is now afraid to try again.
He cringes in on himself as if to make himself smaller. A whole head taller than her Chuuya and still trying to be small, still trying to hide away. Had his mother ever held him? From the way he watches them, an almost indecipherable look of sadness on his face, she already knows the answer.
He sits quietly by Chuuya's side while they catch up, watching with a curious glint in his eye, but never saying anything. Like he's watching television. Like he's observing something he's never witnessed before. But there are rare moments where he'll let something slip, something he clearly doesn't mean to. Moments when Dazai's face will soften as he listens to Chuuya ramble about something he probably isn't even interested in. He'll smile in a way that looks like it's hurting him, and it's so genuine that it hurts Cécile, too. She wonders if Chuuya knows that Dazai looks at him like that.
Then Chuuya leaves to go to the bathroom, leaving Cécile and Dazai alone, and she jumps on the chance to talk to him.
"So, Dazai," She says, and he startles, glancing at her with wide eyes. He'd watched Chuuya go without looking away, eyes lingering on the doorway even after he was gone. "Does Chuuya know how you feel about him?"
Dazai's mouth drops open in shock.
"I'm sorry?" He asks, his voice sounding strangled.
Cécile puts on a knowing smile and tilts her head.
"Does Chuuya know you're in love with him?" She elaborates. A pained look crosses Dazai's face, and it sounds like it hurts him when he says,
"No."
Oh. Cécile frowns.
"Why not?" She asks. "Why haven't you told him yet?"
Dazai's mouth opens and closes, like he's fighting with himself about whether or not he should answer.
"I can't." He grits out, eventually. "I can't."
"Why?" Cécile presses.
Dazai's hands tighten in the fabric of his slacks until his fingers turn white.
"He just can't know." He tries to explain. "He doesn't like me like that. And it's too soon. And if he finds out, it'll be awkward, and I don't want our friendship to end like that."
His mouth twitches at the word friendship.
"It took him until two days ago to even acknowledge that we were friends." He admits, quietly. He's smiling again, that same sad, hurt smile. "I can be happy with that. Being friends."
"Can you?" Cécile asks, and Dazai closes his eyes.
"I've never had a real friend before." He whispers. Then his eyes open again. "So yeah. This is enough for me."
"But you're not just friends, are you?"
Dazai looks away for just long enough to prove her point, and Cécile grins.
"Dazai," She says. "Have you tainted my little Chuuya?"
At that, his head jerks up, and he glares at her petulantly.
"Tainted?" He says, though it's not heated. "That boy is already a menace. I thought he was a blushing virgin when we first met, and he most certainly was not."
Cécile can't help it. She bursts out laughing in a way she hasn't been able to in a long, long time. Dazai's face softens as if he understands. That hurts, too.
"So you're more than friends." She says, and Dazai nods, albeit reluctantly. "What's stopping you from taking it one step further?"
Dazai's smile drops at that. He looks down at the floor for a moment, and when he smiles again, it's strained.
"I'm not worth it." He murmurs. "There's… There's things I haven't been able to bring myself to tell him about myself that I know will change his opinion of me, and…"
He blinks rapidly, as if to clear his eyes of tears, and then raises his head to look Cécile in the eye. His eyes are so hurt, so empty. Cécile's heart aches for this poor, wayward child.
"And I just want things to stay like this forever." Dazai whispers. "Is that so wrong?"
"What do you think?" Cécile asks genuinely. Dazai's face screws up like he already knows the answer.
"I'm not a good person." He says. "I don't want things to change. I don't want Chuuya to hate me, so I'm lying to him about… about a lot of things. About people who hurt me."
"Do you think you're protecting him, by hiding all of that?" Cécile already knows the answer, but she asks anyway. "Or are you protecting yourself?"
Dazai blinks, looking like he's been stunned.
"I don't…" He starts, but trails off. That's it.
"Dazai, come here." Cécile says, patting the bed.
Dazai hesitantly scoots his chair closer to the bed and leans forward. Cécile reaches out a shaky hand and rests it against his face. He's still for just a moment, and then he seems to break, his face crumpling as he presses into the touch.
"You deserve to be protected." Cécile tells him. "You deserve to feel safe."
Dazai looks like he's about to protest, so she continues.
"I don't know what you've done in the past, and I don't care." She says. "You care for him, and that's enough. You flew him out here to see me, and that's enough. You're good. You're a good person."
"I'm not." Dazai whispers, his voice breaking. His lips wobble like he's about to burst into tears. "I'm not, don't say that, don't give me hope, it's not true."
"You are." Cécile says. "There are things you haven't told him. So what? I trust in you that when the time is right, you will. When you're ready, you'll tell him."
Dazai's eyes squeeze shut, but he doesn't pull away. If anything, he presses into the touch more, like he's been starved of affection his whole life, and this is the first time anyone has done this for him. He probably has. It probably is.
"Stop." He says. "Please."
And because Cécile is a respectable woman and knows when and when not to push, she agrees.
"Alright." She acquiesces, but doesn't remove her hand. It's sad. It's tragic, even, the way Dazai slumps into the touch in relief. Eventually she does move her hand, but it's only to comb her fingers through his hair. "Has no one ever done this for you?" She can't help but ask.
Dazai bites his lip, but doesn't respond, and that's enough of an answer. And the way he reacts when Cécile removes her hand from his hair– lurching forward as if to chase after the touch– it's enough to bring a grown woman to tears. Cécile is that woman, soft at heart, and she brushes tears away from her eyes with thin, frail fingers. She wonders if she is the first person to cry for Dazai, if someone has ever looked hard enough to see past his cheery facade.
He seems to catch himself, retreating back to his seat, and blinks his eyes open, wide and misty with unshed tears. It's at that moment that Chuuya returns from the bathroom, running a hand through his hair. He takes one look at the scene in front of him and pauses in the doorway. He must have seen something on Cécile's face, because he rushes over and jabs Dazai in the shoulder with his index finger.
"Hey, asshole," He gripes, but it's lighthearted. "Did you make my mom cry?"
Dazai blinks to clear his vision, and then puts on a shaky grin.
"I've charmed her to tears!" He chirps. It hurts to see just how good he is at faking his happiness. "I'm probably her favorite person now! I'm stealing your spot, Chuuya!"
And because Cécile is weak to Dazai's charms, as fake and practiced as they might be, she laughs. Maybe it's the expression on Chuuya's face, like he's horrified that Dazai is actually stealing her away from him, but she laughs, and just like that, the room lightens.
"As if," Chuuya scoffs, but he's smiling now. "I'll always be her favorite person."
Dazai's smile is small, but it seems to be genuine. Good. It might take a while, but Cécile has faith that he'll be able to open up one day. About those people who hurt him. About the things he hasn't said. About his feelings for Chuuya. Cécile has faith. And call it a motherly instinct, but she's never been wrong about this kind of thing before.
Chuuya isn't stupid. He knows something is up. The scene he'd walked in on– he hadn't seen Dazai's face, but he'd seen his mother's. And in that instant he'd known, just from her expression, that she wasn't crying because of Dazai, but for him.
In a way, Chuuya understands. Dazai has brought him near tears before, too. At first glance, he's a gleeful, charming person. But under the surface is sorrow that is the depth of an eternal sea, murky and dark, and cold. Chuuya has the sudden urge to warm it up, hold Dazai until that darkness vanishes from his eyes, until he's left with real, genuine happiness, all soft smiles that make his eyes sparkle and his nose scrunch up.
He doesn't know when his feelings for Dazai changed from something volatile to this. To want to comfort and hold him and be there when Dazai needs someone. It surprises Chuuya, but at the same time it feels like maybe all of this was inevitable. Maybe all of this was fate.
Maybe they are two people who were bound to meet in every timeline, drawn together by a red string, tied in a double-knotted bow on each of their pinky fingers. Maybe no matter how many times one or the other person tries to cut it, it will only grow more and more tangled, until there's no possible way to undo it.
In every universe, in every lifetime, this feeling will live on. Chuuya is sure of it. This friendship, this bond, this… whatever this is, it will last forever. No amount of misunderstandings, or conflicts, or betrayals will ever change that.
Visiting hours end, eventually. They've been there for hours, and the nurse finally, though apologetically, informs them that it's time to leave. They gather their things, though they hadn't brought much, and say their goodbyes.
"I'll see you tomorrow." Chuuya promises earnestly, and his mother smiles.
"I don't want to see you until you've eaten a full breakfast." She warns, but it's lighthearted. "Don't rush to get here without eating something."
Chuuya rolls his eyes, smiling.
"Okay, okay." He agrees. "I have Dazai to keep me in check, anyhow."
Dazai startles beside him.
"You want me to take care of you?" He asks, bewildered, like he hadn't expected Chuuya to trust him that much. Chuuya frowns.
"Of course." Chuuya says. "I trust you."
Some emotion Chuuya can't name flickers across Dazai's face before it's snuffed out like a flame on a candle.
"Okay." He whispers, and smiles. "Okay, I'll make sure you eat."
"Alright, you two." Cécile says with a knowing grin. "Get out of here and eat some dinner. I'll know if you skip it!"
"How?" Dazai asks, matching her grin with one of his own, and Chuuya wants to groan. What a pair of menaces. Cécile gives a conspiratory wink.
"A mother always knows." She says, and Chuuya watches as Dazai's face softens. "Now shoo."
The nurse leads them down the halls again, and Chuuya thinks that if he could hear his own heartbeat, it would be quieter now, because it stays in that room, on that bed, in his mother's shaking hands.
Hotel conversation:
"Bonjour, nous avons une réservation au nom de Dazai."
Hello, we have a reservation. The name is Dazai.
"Oui, une chambre avec deux lits?"
Yes, one room with two beds?
"Oui."
Yes.
"Voici votre clé. Vous libérez la chambre ce samedi à 9h00."
Here is your key. Check out is on Saturday at 9am.
"D'accord, merci."
Okay, thank you.
Onto the treatment center conversation!
"Prenez place, s'il vous plaît?"
Won't you have a seat please?
"Remplissez ce formulaire s'il vous plaît."
Please fill out this form.
"Suivez-moi, messieurs, je vous prie."
Please, follow me, gentlemen.
"Cécile, tu as de visite."
Cécile, you have visitors.
"Entrez s'il vous plaît."
Please come in.
"Viens chez maman, bébé."
Come to mama, baby.
Their arrival back to the hotel is quiet. Dazai had been silent the whole cab ride there, looking out the window at the darkening sky like he was deep in thought, and he stays that way until they reach their room. Only when the door is shut behind him and Chuuya is seated on one of the beds does he speak.
"Chuuya," He breathes, and his face is screwed up like he's trying to express some sort of emotion, but doesn't know how. It settles on something soft and pleading, eyes doe-like and shimmering. "Kiss me again?"
And yeah, Chuuya can do that.
"Come here." He says, and Dazai seems to stumble over himself, still limping, as he rushes to get to Chuuya's side.
Chuuya pulls him down onto the bed as gently as he can manage, but Dazai still resists him.
"Not like that." He looks conflicted when he says it. "Like before. Kiss me like you did before." And then, after a moment's hesitation and a soft exhale, "Please."
That does Chuuya in. Something in his chest melts into a warm puddle, like the still cooling embers in a fireplace on a cold winter's day.
"Okay." He agrees softly, and Dazai seats himself fully on the bed, cross-legged and still wearing his socks. They're fuzzy and the same baby blue as Chuuya's turtleneck. We match, Chuuya thinks, and the thought makes butterflies flutter in his stomach. He leans forward to cup Dazai's cheeks in his hands, and is almost startled by how cold Dazai is. Chuuya's urge to warm him up reignites.
He leans forward to press a soft kiss to Dazai's lips, hesitant, before it grows firmer. Not in any urgent, heated way, just two boys kissing for the sake of it on a bed in some five star hotel in Paris. It's slow, languid, and Dazai's lips taste like peppermint chapstick. When he'd had time to apply it, Chuuya doesn't know. He hadn't tasted this way earlier.
Dazai melts into him, sagging forward, and Chuuya feels the urge to comfort him, so he rubs small circles against Dazai's cheekbones with his thumbs. Dazai sighs shakily into his mouth, and then mumbles, "Stop."
Startled, Chuuya freezes. He pulls away, just to check to see if Dazai is okay. He doesn't like what he sees. Dazai's eyes are hazy, and his pupils are blown wide. He blinks like he's clearing fog away from his brain.
"Again." He breathes, and Chuuya watches him carefully.
"Are you sure?" He asks, cautious. Dazai nods.
"Again." Dazai says, and then adds, "Please."
And how can Chuuya possibly refuse him when he asks like that? Even so, when he kisses Dazai again, he's careful about it.
It only lasts another few minutes before Dazai speaks up again.
"Stop." He repeats, a quiet whisper against Chuuya's lips.
Now, instead of being worried, Chuuya is just confused. The concern is still there, but it takes a backseat.
"Are you alright?" Chuuya asks after pulling away, bewildered. He's still cupping Dazai's cheek, and when he tries to remove one of his hands, Dazai catches his wrist and holds it in place, his eyes closing as he leans into his touch.
Then he says, "Again."
And oh. Chuuya has a sudden, sinking feeling that he knows what this is about. So he gives in, leans forward, and meets Dazai in another kiss. Dazai's breath hitches, and Chuuya's thumb brushes something warm and wet on his face. That sinking feeling grows stronger, deeper.
"Stop." Dazai says again, and it's followed by a hiccupping sob as Chuuya pulls away. And when Chuuya looks, really looks at Dazai, he's devastated by what he sees.
For the first time ever, Dazai is crying in front of him. Crying. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, as if trying to hide. But instead of pulling away, he leans into Chuuya's hand, pressing into the touch more. His cheeks are wet, and his breath is hitching in little, barely contained sobs.
Chuuya's eyes start to sting, too, growing wet, but he can't pull his hands away to wipe at them, too afraid to deprive Dazai of that comfort.
"Dazai." He chokes out.
"Don't look at me." Dazai whispers, and then sobs again. "Please don't look at me."
He says it like he's afraid of what Chuuya might see. Like he's something to be feared, something ugly and monstrous. But instead, he's vulnerable, breaking apart in Chuuya's hands like pottery meant to be pieced together again and sealed with gold. Kintsugi, an art form practiced over and over, to find perfection in all of Dazai's flaws and broken pieces, sharp like glass and ready to cut at one wrong phrase, one word too cruel.
"Why not?" Chuuya dares to ask. "Why shouldn't I look?" What are you afraid of me seeing?
"I'm ugly." Dazai sobs. And Chuuya thinks, for a moment, that Dazai doesn't just mean his physical appearance.
"You're not." Chuuya says, his heart aching. "Dazai, you're not ugly."
"I am!" It's followed by a loud inhale and then Dazai is holding his breath, like he's trying to stop crying and that's the only way he knows how. But he fails. He fails and it all breaks apart with another shuddering sob.
"You're not." Chuuya repeats quietly. "You're not ugly to me. You could never be ugly to me."
This time, Dazai doesn't argue with him. Instead, he just cries. Chuuya lets go of his face, earning a noise of protest. He's quick to make up for it by pulling Dazai into his arms in a tight hug.
Dazai cries like he's never done it before and doesn't know how. His fingers grab onto the fabric of Chuuya's turtleneck and hold onto it so tightly it must hurt them. But he doesn't seem to care about it. All that seems to matter, then, is that Dazai is being held like he's never been held before. Chuuya wouldn't be surprised if he really hasn't, if this is the first time anyone has touched Dazai this way.
Not for the first or last time, Chuuya finds himself resenting Dazai's parents with a burning passion. How dare they? How dare they leave their child alone in a world so cruel, in a world so hurtful that being fostered was too bad, that he had to run away, that he had to hide and live on the streets and attend school like nothing was wrong. How dare they let Dazai find them like that, strung up like marionettes on string, a boy, a child, how dare they let him see something so terrible? It's a mean, cruel thought, but Chuuya wishes they had gone and killed themselves somewhere else. Somewhere where Dazai wouldn't have been the one to find them.
"I don't want to think anymore." Dazai hiccups. "I don't want to feel anymore. I don't like it."
"It's okay." Chuuya says, combing a hand through Dazai's hair and ignoring the sharp pain that shoots through his chest at the way Dazai leans into it, like he's never been touched this way before and is just learning what it's like. "Just let yourself feel it. It's okay."
"I don't want to." Dazai argues, sounding almost petulant, but he rests his head in the crook of Chuuya's neck and just trembles there. Chuuya snorts and rubs his back soothingly.
"You're such a kid." He finds himself saying, a murmur into the otherwise silent room.
"I'm not even nineteen yet." Dazai protests, sniffling. "I'm still a teenager. I should be allowed to act like a kid sometimes."
And he's right.
"Yeah, you should." Chuuya agrees, and Dazai stiffens. He struggles against Chuuya's hold for a moment, finally managing to pull away, and scrubs at his face to get rid of any extra tears.
"I'm sorry you had to see that." He mumbles, and then snorts, avoiding Chuuya's gaze. "That's embarrassing."
Frustration wells up inside Chuuya's chest.
"Why are you embarrassed?" He asks, feeling almost insulted. "Is me seeing you like that really so bad?"
Dazai's face screws up into something apologetic.
"It has nothing to do with you," He says, slowly. "And everything to do with me. Really, Chuuya. I just… I don't want anyone seeing me like that."
There's a moment of silence, and then Chuuya forces himself to say something he's been wanting to ask for a long time.
"Is it scary?" He whispers. "Are you afraid?"
He sees Dazai shut down almost like it's in slow motion.
"I'm not afraid of anything." Dazai says firmly. Chuuya is about to get angry again, but then Dazai's eyes soften. "I don't want to make a habit out of letting you see me like that, but… Thank you, Chuuya."
"Whatever for?" Chuuya asks, his chest feeling tight in all the wrong ways. Dazai looks at him and gives a soft, sad smile.
"For listening when I said no." He murmurs. "For stopping when I said to stop. And I'm sorry I used you like that. I don't know what you were expecting when I asked you to kiss me, but it probably wasn't… that."
"Don't apologize for something like that." Chuuya chokes out. "What the fuck? Never apologize to me for something like that."
Dazai blinks at him like he's confused.
"I'm not used to this." He says. "I'm not used to being told things like this."
"When was the last time someone touched you like you deserve good things?" Chuuya blurts. Dazai opens his mouth to answer, probably something predictable like you just did, but Chuuya cuts him off. "Before me."
Dazai closes his mouth, and then opens it, only to close it again.
"I don't know." He admits, eventually, sounding apologetic about it, for whatever goddamn reason. He doesn't say what Chuuya knows he's thinking; that he doesn't deserve good things. "I never really… Even when I fucked other people, it was never like that."
Chuuya really doesn't want to think about Dazai fucking anyone else, and the thought is so fierce that it surprises him.
"I want us to be exclusive." He admits, and it's so sudden that Dazai startles.
"Oh," He breathes quietly, and then his lips twitch, like he's fighting a smile. "Okay."
"Okay?" Chuuya asks, bewildered at how easy it was to get Dazai to agree.
"Okay." Dazai repeats. "We'll be exclusive. That's something I can do."
Chuuya's heart races, pounding thunderously in his chest.
"Come here." He demands, and Dazai inches closer without any hesitation. Chuuya tugs him into another kiss. Once again, it isn't heated or sexual in any way. Their lips meet and meld together softly, and everything in that moment feels golden and perfect.
Dazai pulls away eventually, shuddering, and hunches over to rest his head on Chuuya's shoulder.
"I don't think…" He says, sounding like he's struggling to get it out. "I don't think I want to have sex tonight."
All Chuuya can feel at those words is relief.
"Of course." He murmurs, feeling like an enormous weight has been lifted off of his chest. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to." And then, softer, quieter, "Thank you for telling me."
Dazai is silent for a few moments.
"I never felt like I had a choice before." He admits, and Chuuya's heart splinters, hairline fractures like a wayward piece of gravel hitting a windshield. "I guess it's different with you."
Those words shouldn't affect Chuuya so much. They shouldn't hurt so deeply, yet fill his chest with warmth at the same time, almost like a backhanded compliment.
"I'm glad." Dazai says, murmuring the words into Chuuya's shoulder. "I'm glad that I met you. I'm glad you make me feel this way."
"You always have a choice with me." Chuuya chokes out, when he finally finds the words. "You can always say no to me, and I'll always listen. Always. It's not consent if you feel like you can't say no."
He doesn't mean to allude to their earlier conversation in the airport, but it happens anyway. And, well, he had said they'd talk about it later.
Dazai doesn't say a word for a long while, and Chuuya can't find it in himself to be angry about it. He's just sad. Then Dazai finally speaks again.
"I believe you." He admits, sounding like it surprises even him. "I believe you, Chuuya."
Chuuya lets out a shaky sigh.
"Good." He says. "I'm gonna call room service, because I'm fucking hungry and we promised my mom that we'd eat. What do you want?"
Dazai pulls away and grins at him.
"Filet mignon." He says. "Medium rare."
His face is still shiny where tears have dried on his cheeks, and his dark hair is mussed, and Chuuya has never seen anything more beautiful. The thought should scare him, but it doesn't. The lights in the hotel room are glowing softly, and under them, Chuuya comes to an epiphany that won't register until it's far too late. At that moment, he thinks he falls a little bit in love with Dazai Osamu.
Leave it to Paris to do the trick.