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kiss with a fist

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The world was painted the darkest shade of black. Death engulfed him wholly--an odd feeling rested at the pit of his stomach. Was it excitement or fear? He could never discern between the two. He sighed. It should’ve been all that he wished for. After all, he had been trying to kill himself since adolescence. He expected to feel joy, an emotion that did not come easy to a someone like him. He waited in silence for that feeling of accomplishment.


He opened his eyes and snapped his fingers, coming to a conclusion. Shibusawa stabbed him in the back and caused him a great deal of pain before he finally died. It was not the beautiful, elegant suicide that he had been trying so hard to achieve (although others would detest, seeing as his plan ultimately led down this path). Therefore, that had to be the reason behind the feeling in his chest that something was lacking.


“That has to be it… ” he murmured to himself.


He sat cross-legged in front of a metal gate, his head resting on his hand. Who knew that the line between death and life would be so boring. Looking at his arms, he noticed that the bandages he constantly wrapped around his body were gone. The scars that littered his pale skin were gone too. For the first time in a while, he felt liberated. The clog in between his lungs was gone, and so was the dull ache in his heart.


Yet that feeling of unaccomplishment tugged insistently at his heartstrings.


He desperately searched for the reason as to why there was hesitation at the thought of leaving his dear city of Yokohama behind, when it has caused him nothing but pain and loss. Instead, he came across memories flitting past the back of his mind, even those he thought he had buried and forgotten.


Ah, that’s why.


Death refused to claim him, for the time being, seeing the things--the people--he had left behind. (That, and he had purposely left an antidote behind his teeth for his savior to find). He had left so much work unfinished, so many words left unsaid. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he closed his eyes in silent reflection. Being left alone with his thoughts truly was a dangerous thing.


To avoid thinking about his situation, he let his mind drift to imagining what was happening as he waited in deep slumber. His friends were probably fighting their abilities due to Shibusawa’s fog--except Ranpo; he was most likely waiting it out somewhere safe, like he should--but if his plan was going smoothly (and it usually always did), Atsushi and Kyouya would be battling it out with the man he had gone traitor on. He tsked. He was really starting to build a reputation as one of the most disloyal fiends in Yokohama. Again, he pretended not to mind. It was part of the job description, after all.


As for the Port Mafia...he could only expect that they were facing the same tumultuous situation as the rest. Their power could only do so much, after all.


Speaking of the Port Mafia, he let his restless mind drift off to a certain red-haired executive; a liberty that he would often partake in as he went about his daily activities. For some reason, thinking about the angry chibi set his heart at rest and cast his anxieties aside. (Others would detest to that feeling as well; capable as the chibi was, he was much too loud to calm anyone ’s mind). The smaller man was probably kicking ass as he let his mind drift in the midst of the darkness.


His eyes snapped open as soon as he heard an angry yell from behind him.




He grinned. Think of the devil and he shall appear, he thought to himself, as the light consumed him once more.




Ne, Dazai.” Chuuya called, shaking his partner’s arm in a futile attempt to wake him up. He sighed. It’s no use, the idiot’s intent on sleeping the whole day.

Dazai. ” His partner’s arm twitched, a telltale sign that the bastard was actually awake, and was just fucking around with both Chuuya and his patience. Chuuya knelt over Dazai on the bed--with his shoes off, of course, he isn’t a savage unlike someone he knew-- and continued to try to violently shake his partner awake (keyword: try ). This was a small mercy; Chuuya felt like being nice to the dipshit, for once. On bad days, he’d manipulate gravity and whack his partner’s head on the headboard above their--no, his, he refused to admit to actually sharing living spaces with that waste of bandages--bed in order to wake him up. “Wake up--no, get up, I know you’re awake.”


“But Chuu-yaaa~” he singsonged sleepily. “Temporary death’s such a fun time.”


“Suicidal maniac.”


“Hat rack.”


I swear to God--”


“Oho?” Dazai cut him off, a teasing tone in his voice. “You’re talking quite a lot. Are you not tired from last night? Maybe get a glass of water for yourself first, I’m sure your throat is wrecked . Only then--”


Fuck waking the idiot up gently, Chuuya thought angrily, his face turning a bright red after remembering the events of last night. Ane-san would reprimand him for falling prey to the bastard again, saying that Dazai’s no good, that he shouldn’t get attached, nobody knows where his true loyalties lie--as if Chuuya didn’t know that already. That’s why he was trying so hard to detach, but in turn, Dazai was making it hard for him to do so. One smirk, a glass of wine, and it was all over. Even without the glass of wine, everyone knew that he was done for. He didn’t like feeling that vulnerability, refused to acknowledge any emotion that crept its way into his heart.


“Prepare for actual death, you fucking piece of shit--” he said, rolling up his sleeves and raising his arm for a strike. The bastard was going to make them late, and stain his perfect record, he had it coming--


But then Dazai grabbed hold of his wrist with his left hand, and Chuuya’s piercing gaze faltered. “Son of a bitch, what is it now--”


“I’ll get up on one condition.”


Unamused, Chuuya spat out, “What?”


“Wake me up properly, Chuuya~”


“The fuck do you mean by that, asshole?” he asked through gritted teeth, his patience wearing thin. Dazai placed his right hand on his chin, pretending to be deep in thought. Chuuya already knew what the bastard wanted; he just refused to succumb to his wants. He merely rolled his eyes as he broke his wrist free from Dazai’s grasp.


“Ah! I remember. You know how the princess gives the prince a kiss to wake him up--”


“It’s the other way around, dumbass.”


Dazai pretended, once again, to be astounded. “Really? Wow I didn’t know--”


I’m not giving you a wake up kiss. ” Chuuya replied bluntly, trying to keep the red flush from his cheeks. Damn, why was he so affected?


“But Chuu-yaaa~”


“No ‘but’s, Dazai, can you just do me a favor and get the fuck up?” Chuuya spat exasperatedly. In all honesty, he could go on to HQ ahead, and save himself the trouble of having to deal with the bullshit, but he did not trust Dazai alone in his apartment. This wasn’t a break-in; he could still deal with the damage control as long as the bandaged dipshit was in his sight. Furthermore, Ane-san would sense that something happened last night between the two, and question him regarding Dazai’s whereabouts. Even though he was a mafia executive, he still had deadlines to meet and ass to kick.


Chuuya tried to convince himself that this was the lesser evil as Dazai smirked at him.


“Back to sleep then because Chuuya’s being so stingy.” His lover--no, partner --complained, rolling onto his side to lie facing away from Chuuya.


Troublesome. ” Chuuya muttered as he grabbed hold of Dazai’s shoulder and pushed him gently, so that he was facing him. Stuffing away his pride, he gave him a light peck on the cheek.


Eh?” Dazai complained as Chuuya smirked. You didn’t say where, bas--


He wasn’t able to complete his thought, because in a second, Dazai had used his legs to flip them over; Chuuya lay helpless beneath him. His cheeks were a bright red by then; he was unable to mask any sign of being flustered. There was no hiding it anymore. “Chu chu’s being cheeky~so I decided to hurry him along!” Dazai feigned innocence for a second, until it was replaced by something that could be named as--affection? No, Chuuya mentally slapped himself. Since when was falling into each other’s beds every so often called affection? He forced himself to believe it was lust, something that was as fleeting, as unpredictable as the relationship they have forged over the years that they have fallen into bed together. Fumbling teenagers with wild hormones...nonsense. He shut his eyes, trying to will the incessant voices in his head to cease bickering over...whatever he was feeling as Dazai pinned him to his bed.


Those thoughts dissipated as Dazai took hold of his chin in order to press their lips together, falling once more to their synchronized dance.  Chuuya expected kisses like the ones they have shared in hallways, frantic to devour each other’s mouths in an obvious power-play between the two members of the deadly soukoku. But no, these were kisses that they only shared within the four walls that contained them. Soft, gentle lips searching, searching for something definite within their teenage hesitations. They were lips moulded together in search of permanence in their world of transience.


They had too much blood on their hands to be the fairytale couple that everyone seemed to search for. Try as they might, there was no happy ending in sight for the both of them--that was simply the harsh reality that they had instilled within themselves as they were recruited for the Port Mafia.


Yet they continued to dance, playing a game of pretend. Forcefully, Chuuya swiped his tongue along Dazai’s lower lip; to which, he only received a smirk against his lips in return. Dazai replied by nipping his bottom lip. What was supposed to be an innocent kiss turned into the mesh of lips, tongue, and teeth. Another battle for dominance. Another try at being normal, hormonal teenagers with the privilege of a choice.


They parted for breath. “I don’t think this is how the kisses in those fairytales went, bandage-head.”


Dazai laughed, a deep chuckle that did things to Chuuya, made him weak in the knees, and left him vulnerable to the man resting atop him. He was still bright red-- and late --but he decided, fuck it, and cradled the side of Dazai’s head with his hand, leaning upwards in an attempt to clash their lips together once more.


Needless to say, they were very, very late that morning, and Ane-san gave both of them an earful; but they both silently agreed that it was worth it.




Dazai coughed up the antidote, a small pill that he took at his favorite bar (and downed with whiskey, nonetheless). A little insurance, with the assurance at the back of his mind that someone he knew--dearly, one might add--was going to rescue him (again). He could not count the number of times that that chibi saved his life (he was loathe to admit it, though).


And it was that chibi’s face that he had woken up to, much like Snow White and her prince charming; the roles, however, had been reversed. Chuuya’s arms were marked with red all over--signs that his ability had taken over his body. Smiling softly, he reached his arm out to caress Chuuya’s cheek. From the tips of his fingers, he felt Chuuya’s ability disappear; and just like that, he was back to being the chibi that he so adored. Power coursed through Chuuya still. He could feel the hum of the aftermath of Corruption. Idiot, he mused. You beautiful, reckless idiot.


Ne, Chuuya.”


Chuuya looked at him through groggy eyes.


“You used Corruption, believing in me?” he said gently. They were constantly bickering with each other; the moment felt heavy with raw emotion, where they didn’t have to hide their feelings for one another behind hateful words and witty banter. “How beautiful.”


“Yeah, I did.” Chuuya said softly. His soft words were soon replaced with, “I believed in your disgusting craftiness and refusal to die.” Dazai chuckled.


“That was a somewhat violent way of waking up Snow White.” he said endearingly, remembering the mornings they’ve shared together. It became routine for Chuuya to kiss Dazai in the morning whenever Dazai had crashed in Chuuya’s bed. Other times, Dazai got impatient with his partner’s ‘tough’ act, so he claimed those kisses before Chuuya could say anything. It caused a mess for Ane-san, who had to deal with making excuses for the both of them (although Mori-san already knew what the two were up to).

“You’re the one who hid an antidote in your mouth, knowing I’d punch you.”


“Hm,” Dazai mused as he held Chuuya to his chest. They fell to the ground, with Chuuya’s head nestled on Dazai’s thigh, dangerously close to his--


O-oi! ” Chuuya fumbled, just a little bit flustered. There was barely anything he could do; his bones were weary and his brain was fried. “Let go, asshole!” Yet Dazai just pushed him further down on his thigh.


Don’t move,” Dazai hissed, his voice suddenly serious. Chuuya stopped fidgeting and did what he was told, for once. “The fog hasn’t cleared. I don’t want to have to protect you from your special ability in this situation.” The redhead huffed.


“It’s not over?”


“No, it’s just beginning.”


“Shit,” Chuuya cursed, letting out a cough. “I can’t move a single finger.” His partner then proceeded to collapse on his thigh out of sheer exhaustion. He smiled again--one of those rare, genuine smiles reserved for friends, and Chuuya, who probably meant a little more than friend to him by this point. Hell, were they ever even friends ?


“I predicted this far,” Dazai said, to no one in particular. “But the rest is on them.”




Chuuya woke up an hour later, pressed against a warm body. The events of the previous hour or so were all fuzzy in his head. He was too tired to comprehend where he was, much less how he got there.

“Good morning, Chu chu~” the man he was lying down on greeted him, and he jumped away from his touch. His eyes widened as he took in the state of his ex-partner; hair tousled, looking at him sleepily. He’s reminded of slow mornings, white sheets, and passionate kisses shared in bed. He’s reminded of soft spoken words and reassurances, of teasing and playing with each other’s feelings. Chuuya was filled with nostalgia once more, and his heart felt close to bursting. He had only hoped that it didn’t show on his face.


Loathe as he was to admit it, he missed the bastard. Mornings became lonely and boring, work being the only thing driving him on.


“Really, couldn’t you have woken me up like Snow White, Chuu-ya,” Dazai singsonged. “Here, I’ll even pretend I’m asleep again--”


And just like that, Chuuya grabbed the collar of Dazai’s shirt and pulled him close, pressing their lips, their bodies close to each other. Dazai was surprised at first, but then surprise melted into kissing back , his lips making their way all over his precious chibi. From his lips, they moved to his nose, his cheek; lingered on the shell of his ear, whispering soft words of affection. Chuuya could barely stop his whimpers; much less the electricity coursing through his veins and sirens blaring in his ear telling him that this was wrong, he was making out with the infamous mafia traitor --


But he’s missed it so much. He didn’t want to admit it, he’d been repressing all and any emotions in his brain filed under Dazai Osamu. Yet here his body was sending out all of the documents that he had compartmentalized and stowed away the day he left. The signs that he had finally let all of his defenses down showed all across his face, and in the way he moved against his ex-partner. Case A: his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Case B: the brilliant flush on his cheeks that matched the color of his favorite motorcycle. Case C: the way his lips moved of their own accord, kissing Dazai like they were 18 again, and he had never left the mafia, never even left the comfort of his--no, their-- bed.


The list went on and on.


Dazai pulled back and placed a bandage-wrapped hand on Chuuya’s face, caressing him once more. Azure eyes met warm, brown ones in a moment of emotional vulnerability.


That was, until Chuuya weakly punched Dazai in the ribs again.


“Idiot Dazai,” he cursed without a trace of malice, and buried his head in the crook of his neck. “Awake enough yet?”