[Memories...how ironic that Chuuya remembers nothing before the age of eight. Perhaps it’s for the best; who wants to remember being a human experiment? And yet there’s some foolishly sentimental part of Chuuya that yearns for memories of a pleasant, happy childhood. It’s practically unheard of for that to be the case in the Mafia, but Chuuya has always been spectacular at wanting things he can’t have. He’s more than made up for lost time by doing and buying everything his little heart could possibly desire, and yet there will always be that missing piece of his life that only lost case files could fill.
Chuuya is silent as Dazai takes the liberty of touching him, but not because he’s pissed or sulking. The look on his face says it all; he can’t recall the last time Dazai had touched him quite so gently, and it’s enough to make Chuuya’s heart skip a beat. It feels like he’s a fine porcelain doll that’s being admired with a borderline reverent touch, and for once in his life he doesn’t want those hands to grab and push and pull. Without a second thought his body seems to lean into Dazai’s hand like a cat that craves petting, and when it comes to rest on his cheek, cupping it so gently that if Chuuya were to close his eyes he’d never guess it was Dazai, he doesn’t slap the guy’s hand away or bite his fingers out of spite.]
What are you even saying, you bastard??
[The slow, tender swipe of Dazai’s thumb makes Chuuya’s heart ache; how many times had he seen Dazai touch a pretty face like this? How many times had he curled up on his bed and sulked well into the night about Dazai casually brushing shoulders with Oda, or sharing a glass of whiskey with him? How many times has Chuuya wished that Dazai would look at him with more than just lust in those dark eyes of his? It’s not fair that he’s doing this now! It’s not fair that Chuuya can’t bring himself to push Dazai away and tell him that he’s too goddamn late to win Chuuya’s affection now! It’s not fair that he’s hovering so closely and yet not kissing Chuuya like he’s done countless times before.]
Shut up.
[Without a single care about prying eyes, Chuuya crushes their lips together with all the ferocity Dazai knows him for, his hand gripping the bastard’s shirt to anchor him there like he’ll float away if Chuuya lets go.
This is the only way Chuuya knows how to express the full extent of his emotions, even if Dazai’s question goes unanswered. Or perhaps that single gesture is enough to tell him what Chuuya cannot.]
no subject
Chuuya is silent as Dazai takes the liberty of touching him, but not because he’s pissed or sulking. The look on his face says it all; he can’t recall the last time Dazai had touched him quite so gently, and it’s enough to make Chuuya’s heart skip a beat. It feels like he’s a fine porcelain doll that’s being admired with a borderline reverent touch, and for once in his life he doesn’t want those hands to grab and push and pull. Without a second thought his body seems to lean into Dazai’s hand like a cat that craves petting, and when it comes to rest on his cheek, cupping it so gently that if Chuuya were to close his eyes he’d never guess it was Dazai, he doesn’t slap the guy’s hand away or bite his fingers out of spite.]
What are you even saying, you bastard??
[The slow, tender swipe of Dazai’s thumb makes Chuuya’s heart ache; how many times had he seen Dazai touch a pretty face like this? How many times had he curled up on his bed and sulked well into the night about Dazai casually brushing shoulders with Oda, or sharing a glass of whiskey with him? How many times has Chuuya wished that Dazai would look at him with more than just lust in those dark eyes of his? It’s not fair that he’s doing this now! It’s not fair that Chuuya can’t bring himself to push Dazai away and tell him that he’s too goddamn late to win Chuuya’s affection now! It’s not fair that he’s hovering so closely and yet not kissing Chuuya like he’s done countless times before.]
Shut up.
[Without a single care about prying eyes, Chuuya crushes their lips together with all the ferocity Dazai knows him for, his hand gripping the bastard’s shirt to anchor him there like he’ll float away if Chuuya lets go.
This is the only way Chuuya knows how to express the full extent of his emotions, even if Dazai’s question goes unanswered. Or perhaps that single gesture is enough to tell him what Chuuya cannot.]