Work Text:
i just wanna see you dream
something that (i wish) you love
(x)
(That’s a nice outfit, if I do say so myself.)
Chuuya, for one, has never been the type to “admire” himself before the mirror — not for longer than three seconds, anyway. That would be shitty Dazai, with his even shittier fashion sense and alarming fetish for bandages. The damn mackerel never changed even after leaving the Port Mafia, and if the Agency’s Glasses Guy’s constant complaints are anything to go by, it would seem that he only got worse over time.
Still, Chuuya thinks as he adjusts the collar of his dress shirt— yes, there we go , today is an exception, and he indulges himself with the satisfaction that his fashion sense is, at the very least, competent enough to put bandage-wasting mackerels to shame. Kajii, of all people, had graciously gifted him with this rich burgundy number and silken black tie, “fit for a perfect date night, Chuuya-dono!” And while he’d pretended he had no idea what Kajii had meant that time, Gin’s present of dark blue skinny jeans and a buckled leather belt, plus Hirotsu-san’s purchase of two identical pairs of shiny, dark brown Oxfords that same day, had sent Chuuya’s mind reeling with the fact that his colleagues are up to no good again— maybe.
He isn’t going to let that ruin his night out, however. Not in a million years.
They say that ‘clothes make the man,’ and just for today, Chuuya is very much inclined to agree.
(That’s really sweet of them, don’t you think, Chuuya?)
(Shut up, stupid mackerel. I call the shots this time.)
And yes, Chuuya is very much aware that all of this isn’t real. He’s actually a lot smarter than most people give him credit for. Come on — where the hell is credit where it’s due?
In all honesty, Chuuya thought he would have been better prepared than this. Ever since that first time he’d accidentally “seen” into one of Dazai’s dreams— a memory he more than didn’t mind forgetting altogether— he’d immediately looked into any possible… ‘aberrant’ Ability users, so to speak, that the Port Mafia hasn’t already kept tabs on yet. Unfortunately, they had covered their tracks really well this time, and before he knew it, he’s been dragged here again.
The setting this time seems to be his own dream, fortunately; Chuuya had gleaned that much after blowing up an abandoned warehouse to smithereens with his Ability just a little over an hour ago. He still couldn’t figure out how to control the flow of events within it, however. Ignoring Dazai’s otherworldly annoying, underhanded insults that he’s “horribly wrong-genre-savvy,” Chuuya puts on the earpiece Tachihara has prepared for him, “in case there’s trouble in paradise, Chuuya-san,” whatever that means.
As if on cue, the static clears up and Tachihara’s voice comes through almost immediately. “— Oh, hey, Chuuya-san! Ready for your date night?”
(“Date night,” he says. I didn’t know that’s what you actually think of our relationship, Chuuya!)
“This isn’t a date,” Chuuya speaks a little too loudly into the hidden lapel mic, more to shut Dazai up than to chastise the rest of the Port Mafia members whom, no doubt, had all stayed behind after work to spy on his so-called “date night,” for gods’ sake. Both, for the record, were equally as infuriating to him as the fact that the words “date night” sent his heart racing to places he’d rather not go to himself.
“Damn, this feels too unnaturally real to be a dream,” Chuuya grumbles to himself as he puts on his hat— probably the only part of his entire wardrobe that remains a constant presence despite everything else going to hell and beyond. The ensemble finally complete, he allows himself another minute before the mirror, gloved hands in his pockets and a satisfied smirk on his lips. His colleagues do have good taste, and he isn’t above appreciating beautiful things when he sees them.
Except Dazai, of course, no matter what everyone else says— or will say later, bless them all.
The minute is up, and Chuuya is out the door in a flash. Time to get this show on the road.
-
Apparently, the Port Mafia people weren’t the only ones who had the genius idea of spying on them tonight.
“Look, Chuuya,” Dazai flaunts the tackier-than-usual blue pendant on his bolo tie, “it’s a gift from Ranpo-san! This earpiece, too— Tanizaki-kun loaned it to me for tonight. Amazing, right?”
They have apparently decided to meet at the downtown arcade where they used to play fighter games until sunrise. Outwardly, the place hasn’t changed much, but from the unfamiliar cacophony of sounds coming from within the establishment, it seems that many of the machines have been upgraded and new games have been installed. The air conditioning is still horrible, however, and Chuuya could only wonder how their teenage selves had even enjoyed themselves in the sweltering heat inside.
Dazai, too, seems to share the same sentiment, as he chose to wait outside, as far from the entrance as possible. He wears his usual outfit of a light blue dress shirt and black vest, coupled with beige slacks and dark brown shoes. Thankfully, he has opted to forego the trench coat for now; excessive bandages aside, the more casual vibe he gives off suits him really well— not that Chuuya would admit to it, of course.
(Hey, I do look good tonight! Where’s my praise?)
(Dream on.)
“You do realize we’re being spied on, right,” Chuuya could not help but deadpan, “by our own organizations, no less.” Dazai answers this with a mere shrug, and Chuuya resists the temptation to smack some sense into him. This Dazai sure is taking his obfuscating stupidity— if it could even be called that — to new heights, and Chuuya is not having any of that bullshit tonight, if he has anything to say about it.
As it were, though, the little control he can exert over this… situation… is more of a hit-or-miss, if anything. Chuuya experiments on this first by thinking “dinner at an izakaya ” for a few moments, before the lady doctor suggests the same to Dazai via his own communicator. And just as well, he observes as Dazai fumbles for his old wallet for a while; between the both of them, Chuuya would probably end up forking out a lot more out of his own paycheck if he doesn’t take this seriously from the start.
“This is a nice change of pace, don’t you think?” Dazai remarks in between mouthfuls of yakiniku , before washing it down with several gulps of cheap saké . Whoever is running this shitshow knows their targets well enough, at least, Chuuya thinks to himself blithely.
“What, you mean fraternizing with the enemy?” he shoots back matter-of-factly. There is absolutely no way this Dazai is unaware of what this whole night out entails for them both; it’s the exact reason their “date” is currently being spied on by their respective colleagues right now.
Putting down his cup, Dazai lets out a warm chuckle in response, bony cheeks slightly flushed under the dim lighting. “I never said that, Chuuya. You mean you never missed spending time together, like this?”
Part of Chuuya has entertained the idea that this exchange may only have stemmed from some unconscious wish-fulfillment process on his end, given how this is his own dream and all. Still, he hums in agreement as he lifts his own filled cup to his lips; it has been a while since they’ve sat for dinner together, much less shared a drink. Dream or otherwise, it’s a nice feeling, if he were to be honest.
As much as he wishes to let this continue on, however, there are other, more pressing plans to be had. As they leave the restaurant, Chuuya tries his luck for a second time with “movie at an IMAX theater,” but this time, Tachihara turns it down with a rather fervent passion that made his ear bleed, before he could even get a single word in.
“Stop reading my mind, damn it!” Chuuya hisses frantically into his mic; he doesn’t care if it makes him sound weirdly desperate or if Dazai sees him like this; he has more important things to worry about, after all. Also, knowing both parties, they have probably already hacked into every CCTV in the entire district to spy on them tonight. The Port Mafia can and have already done this on many occasions, now, and the Agency has that Katai guy.
(Funny how you’re so keen on calling your friends’ honest concern for you “spying,” chibikko . Do you really think them so low as to sabotage our date, now?)
(Funny how you’re so annoyingly talkative tonight, Dazai. Are you sure you haven’t already figured out what’s going on yet?)
(Now, now, Chuuya, patience is a virtue. Everything in its own time.)
Despite the internal exchange that had just ensued, the Dazai before him had shown no outward signs of even being aware of that, merrily continuing to try on the long scarves on display at a bazaar stall they had just strolled into a while ago. They had just moved on from the rows of hats two stalls back, with Chuuya internally lamenting the wasted opportunity due to other, “more important” issues at hand.
Chuuya couldn’t help but let out a smile at the sight; what wouldn’t he give to see his (ex-)partner smile happily like this, for a change? It is a vague feeling, really, that he couldn’t quite put a finger into. And maybe he could be wrong about it, but Dazai probably feels the same way. They know each other well enough to sense what the other is thinking or feeling at certain points in their lives, even after their stint as the Double Black had long ended.
He decides to call it ‘fondness,’ for now. Deeper than camaraderie, but not quite love. Yeah, sounds about right.
The Dazai in his mind hasn’t spoken for a while now. A good thing, maybe, since the bastard had been making annoying jabs at him since the beginning of the dream. Maybe this new “development” should be enough to silence him for a while.
“What do you think of this?” The present Dazai is now modelling an intricately-woven red and black number haphazardly draped over his neck like a stole. Chuuya instinctively has half a mind to comment on how the color does not suit him at all— that red and black are blood and darkness, and that Dazai no longer needs them in his new world.
‘A world away from me,’ Chuuya thinks bitterly, before quickly shaking his head. He doesn’t— and will never have— the heart to say that. “Yeah, looks good,” he nods in approval as Dazai lightly pulls at the edges of the fluffy material before the small mirror there. Once satisfied, Dazai calls out to the stall owner and pays for it with a small mountain of coins. The smile he has on now mirrors the one Chuuya gave himself earlier this evening, the sense of déjà vu sending tiny shivers down his spine and to his fingertips.
Exhaling slowly, Chuuya instead focuses on the excited chatter from his earpiece instead. “There’s a small shrine further down the road,” Ane-san calmly instructs him, “You would do well to go there and pray for happiness for you both.”
… First of all, what.
Never mind the fact that Ane-san is apparently also in this thing, but did the dream conform to his thoughts just now, or...
(Hmm... It seems that I can also control your dream like this, too. How convenient.)
(... Ugh. Fuck you, too, shitty Dazai.)
“Earth to Chuuya?” And just like that, he is instantly brought back to the present, with Dazai gently shaking at both his shoulders to get his attention. “You okay now?” he presses further, this time cupping both hands onto his cheeks, uncharacteristic, genuine concern reflected in his eyes. Chuuya slowly nods, resisting the temptation to laugh.
‘Just a dream,’ he reminds himself, ‘this isn’t like him, at all.’
“Hmm, if you say so,” Dazai dismisses the topic at once, letting his palms linger on Chuuya’s cheeks for a few seconds more before releasing him. “Anyway, let’s go to the shrine over there!” Dazai points up ahead with excitement. “Kyouka-chan says it’s for good luck. It’ll be fun!”
“Sure, lead the way.” Chuuya lets Dazai drag him by the hand further north, starting from a brisk walk as they evade groups of shoppers, and eventually breaking into a full run as the crowd slowly thins out. Dazai does not look back at him the entire time, so Chuuya lets himself grin widely as he enjoys the feeling of wind on his face. He isn’t gonna lie; this feeling of freedom is exactly the kind of shit he sorely missed for many months now. It isn’t as thrilling as going full-throttle on his bike, but the shared warmth from their linked hands more than makes up for it.
They eventually slow down as they reach the end of the path, where a long flight of stone steps await. An old, abandoned temple stands at the top of the hill, just as Ane-san and Kyouka had said. “C’mon, Chuuya,” Dazai looks at him this time, beads of sweat running down his face, “one last time?”
Chuuya bows his head, hiding a rueful smile. ‘It’s always like this, isn’t it,’ he thinks, not caring whether the other Dazai hears or not anymore. ‘I’m always the one behind you, always the one keeping up.’ It’s definitely something that Chuuya knows he will never acknowledge if he were awake, but having this much introspection practically shoved into his face in one go isn’t how he wants to spend his night at all .
It actually scares him a little, Chuuya realizes further. He wonders how the other Dazai is taking all of this— not too badly, he hopes, if he hasn’t already figured everything out by now, the cunning bastard that he is.
Chuuya raises his head and looks Dazai square in the eye. “Let’s race,” he challenges, “First one to the top gets to make the wish.” The idea of a competition excites Dazai, too (as it should), and he responds with an enthusiastic whoop like an overgrown child who’d just overdosed on sugar on a school night. Dealing with this Dazai is a totally different experience altogether, but it feels like the old times very much— something Chuuya finds he rather enjoys, as well.
What was it he said, again— ‘a wish-fulfillment process’ on his end?
So what if it is ?
They wordlessly give each other space on the starting line at the base of the stairs, with Dazai whistling a merry tune while carefully stretching his long limbs. Chuuya does his own stretching, too, taking slow, deep breaths. It will be different this time, he thinks to himself— no, he feels it with his very being.
Chuuya removes his earpiece on impulse; from the corner of his eye, he sees Dazai do the same. “Ready when you are,” Dazai calls out, gamely settling into starting form. Chuuya follows suit, feeling strangely calm despite his rapid heartbeat literally hammering in his ear. “Get set…”
They start running up the stairs at the exact same time. Dazai leads at first, his unnaturally-long legs giving him the advantage of a beginning sprint. But Chuuya does not let up, his well-trained leg muscles allowing him to keep up for longer while he concentrates solely on his breathing. ‘Just a little more,’ he cheers himself on, the building euphoria fueling his entire being until it’s all he can think about, it’s the best feeling—
The next thing Chuuya knows, he has reached the top, with Dazai trailing after him by only a couple of steps. The look on Dazai’s face right now is absolutely ridiculous.
“Pfft— Hahaha!” Chuuya drops to the floor, clutching at his sides. “Yes! Finally!...”
Dazai towers over him, his expression a mix between a playful pout and a glare. “Okay, so I lost,” he concedes without malice, “but do you really have to rub it in, you stupid slug?”
“Well, yeah,” Chuuya answers smugly, “my win, my bragging rights. Deal with it.”
“Hmm. Can’t argue with that, I guess,” Dazai sighs in defeat as he, too, lies down on the ground beside Chuuya. They spend a few minutes in silence, just like that, letting the gentle rustling of leaves fill their ears. The full moon, too, is out tonight, bathing the temple courtyard in ethereal blue.
A myriad of thoughts run in Chuuya’s mind, all at once. Would things be different, he wonders, if they were both just ordinary guys, and not each other’s sworn enemy? The world of possibilities out of their reach both excite and pain him in more ways than one, and he could only find himself wishing, wanting for more.
All good things must come to an end, however. He wishes they didn’t, though.
(Truly a shame. I was having so much fun, too.)
“Hey, Chuuya,” Dazai softly mumbles after a while, “did you make your wish yet?” His unmoving form— eyes closed, flushed cheeks and lips set aglow by the pale moonlight, is truly a sight to behold, instantly seared into Chuuya’s eyes and very being, and making him weak inside.
(... Beautiful.)
It’s a sight he knows he will never forget.
“I— ”
-
When Chuuya opens his eyes next, there is early sunlight peeking through the window blinds, and the cacophony of chirping robins outside the window causes an unpleasant ringing in his ears. A glance at the alarm clock reveals the time to be fifteen minutes to six in the morning— an hour too early than usual, he grumbles internally.
He was having such an interesting dream, too.
The uncomfortable heat from being huddled under the blankets for so long begins to make Chuuya’s skin prickle, and he immediately gets out of bed to take a bath. The heater does not immediately work, so he lets the cold shower run and soak his entire body, hoping the frigid temperature will jolt him awake sooner.
Later in the day, Chuuya receives a seemingly cryptic text from Dazai, asking if “he got what he wished for,” with a shoddily-taken selfie attached to it. It makes him laugh for minutes on end, for some reason, and Gin ends up checking on him as he curls up in his chair while clutching at his sides.
The text remains unreplied to, but the picture ends up filed in his hidden album later, a screenshot of the message joining it, as well. Some things, Chuuya decides, are best left undisclosed for now, whether Dazai likes it or not.