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At first, it was easy to dismiss. A glimpse of a familiar figure on the street. A shadow that seemed to linger too long. Chuuya told himself it was nothing — just his nerves after everything with Dazai. But then he started noticing patterns. The same man outside his favorite café, seated across the bar when he went for a drink, footsteps echoing too close behind him on his way home.
The night it finally broke into the open, Chuuya was fumbling with his keys, exhausted from work, when a voice cut through the hallway.
“Chuuya.”
He froze. That voice — smooth, steady, and yet threaded with something sharp. Slowly, he turned, and there stood Satori, leaning against the wall as though he’d been waiting all night.
Chuuya’s chest tightened. “…Satori?”
The other man smiled, but it was thin, brittle. “So you do remember me. I was starting to wonder.”
Chuuya looked away, guilt biting at him. “I told you it wouldn’t work. I—”
“You told me in a text,” Satori interrupted, stepping forward. His voice was calm, almost reasonable, but the way his eyes pinned Chuuya made his stomach twist. “One day you’re laughing with me, sharing drinks, planning a second date… and then, just like that, I’m cut off. No explanation. No chance to even ask why.”
Chuuya swallowed hard. “Satori, I can’t do this. You shouldn’t be here—”
“I should,” Satori said, voice dipping lower, gentler now. “Because I care about you. Because I know you deserve better than him.” He took another step closer, and Chuuya felt the wall at his back. “You think I don’t know what Dazai does to you? I see it written all over your face. He breaks you. Over and over. But me?” His hand hovered near Chuuya’s arm, not quite touching. “I’d never hurt you. I’d never leave.”
For a moment, Chuuya almost believed him — almost let himself sink into that quiet promise. But then he caught the glint in Satori’s eyes, something restless and hungry, and his blood ran cold.
This wasn’t just care. This was possession.
Chuuya’s throat was dry. He wanted to push past Satori, to end this before it spiraled, but his body wouldn’t move. Satori leaned in just a little closer, lowering his voice to something almost intimate.
“You don’t have to pretend with me. You don’t love him. He’s a disease that keeps pulling you under.” His smile was faint, trembling at the corners. “But me? I’d worship you, Chuuya. I already do.”
Chuuya’s pulse thundered in his ears. “Stop it. You need to leave.”
Satori’s expression flickered — hurt first, then something darker seeping through. “Leave? After everything? No, Chuuya. You don’t get to throw me away like trash just because he snapped his fingers again. I’m not like him. I won’t vanish. I’ll stay, even if you don’t want me to.”
A sharp click echoed in the hall. Both men froze.
“Funny,” drawled a voice from the shadows, smooth and mocking. “That’s exactly what trash says right before it gets taken out.”
Chuuya’s stomach dropped. Dazai.
He stepped into view casually, hands shoved in his pockets, but his eyes were narrowed and cold, his usual grin carrying a lethal edge. “I was wondering when you’d crawl back out of whatever corner I shoved you into, Satori. Couldn’t handle being second choice?”
Satori’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t back away. “At least I don’t breakhim. At least I don’t leave him alone, crying into his own hands while you run off to play dead. You don’t deserve him.”
“And you do?” Dazai replied immediately, tilting his head, a dangerous glint flashing in his gaze. “Stalking him through the city, cornering him outside his own home? Sounds more like obsession than love to me.”
Chuuya pressed a hand against his forehead, tension spiking as the two men’s voices cut sharper, harsher. “Stop it, both of you—”
But they weren’t listening.
Satori took a step closer to Chuuya, voice urgent. “You don’t have to be afraid of him, Chuuya. You can walk away right now. I’ll be here, I’ll always be here—”
And in the blink of an eye, Dazai was there, his hand fisted in the collar of Satori’s shirt, yanking him back. His smile never faltered, but his voice was poison. “Touch him again, and I’ll make sure you disappear for real this time.”
The hallway went deathly silent, the air heavy with the weight of promises — one of devotion, the other of destruction.
And caught between them, Chuuya realized with a sinking heart that no matter what choice he made, he’d never escape the grip these men had on him.
Dazai’s grip on Satori’s shirt tightened just enough to make the fabric strain, but he didn’t strike — not yet. His smile was sharp, taunting, but his eyes were locked on Chuuya instead of the man in his grasp.
“See, Chuuya? This is what happens when you leave doors open for strays. They crawl back in, convinced they belong here.”
Satori’s face twisted with rage, but he held himself still, glaring back. “Better a stray than a viper. At least I want him whole, not broken into pieces for my amusement.”
Dazai laughed, low and humorless. “Whole? Is that what you call this?” He leaned closer, voice soft, cutting. “You shadow him, wait for scraps of his attention, pretend you’re the savior when all you really are is a parasite. He doesn’t need saving from me — he needs saving from you.”
Chuuya squeezed his eyes shut, hating the words because they both cut too deep. When he looked up, Satori was staring at him, desperation burning.
“Chuuya, you know I’m right. Think about it — he leaves, he comes back, he plays with your heart until you can’t breathe. Do you really believe he’ll change? He’ll destroy you.” His voice cracked on the last word, trembling between plea and command.
And then Dazai’s hand slid from Satori’s collar to his shoulder, patting him like a child. “You’re loud for someone so irrelevant.” His smile widened, but his voice dropped to a whisper meant only for Satori: “The only thing you’re doing is proving to him that he chose correctly.”
Chuuya’s breath caught. Both sets of eyes were on him now — Satori’s filled with raw need, Dazai’s with cold certainty.
One begging for a chance.
One daring him to defy.
The silence that followed was unbearable, stretching thin until Chuuya’s chest ached. He finally muttered, barely audible: “I… don’t want this fight.”
Satori stepped forward immediately, voice trembling with urgency. “Then end it. Walk away with me, now. Let me prove—”
Dazai cut him off, not with words but with a look, a slow shake of his head that sent ice crawling down Chuuya’s spine. His smile was serene, but his eyes promised chaos.
“No,” Dazai said simply, voice calm as stone. “He’s already mine. And you’ll learn to accept that… one way or another.”
The weight of their stares was suffocating. Chuuya’s chest felt tight, his hands trembling at his sides. He couldn’t take another word, another claim, another tug-of-war over his life.
“Enough!” His voice cracked like a whip through the silence, sharp and trembling with the kind of fury that comes from exhaustion. Both men froze.
Chuuya’s breathing was ragged, his fists clenched. “I’m not a prize to be fought over. I’m not a toy you can pick up and drop whenever you feel like it, Dazai. And I’m not some fantasy you can stalk and smother into loving you, Satori.” His eyes burned, but he refused to let the tears fall. “I’m done. Both of you — go.”
Satori’s face fell, panic flashing across it. “Chuuya, wait—”
“No.” Chuuya’s voice wavered, but the steel in it was undeniable. “You don’t get to wait. You don’t get to push anymore. I need space, and neither of you is giving it to me.”
Dazai tilted his head, his usual smirk dimming into something harder to read. For once, he didn’t push back. He studied Chuuya with narrowed eyes, then let go of Satori’s shirt and stepped back, hands raised in mock surrender. “If that’s what you want, Chuuya…” His tone was light, but something dangerous lingered beneath it.
Satori shook his head violently, reaching out as if Chuuya might slip away. “No, you don’t mean that. You’re just upset. Let me stay, let me—”
“Leave!” Chuuya roared, pointing toward the stairs, his voice breaking on the edge of desperation.
Silence crashed down.
For a long, tense beat, no one moved. Then, slowly, Dazai turned and walked away first, his voice drifting over his shoulder, deceptively soft. “I’ll be waiting, love. You know you can’t stay away from me.”
Satori lingered, trembling, tears welling in his eyes. He looked like he wanted to argue, to collapse at Chuuya’s feet, but the fury in Chuuya’s stare rooted him to the spot. Finally, he lowered his gaze and left without another word.
Chuuya watched him leave, then slipped into his apartment, the click of the door sealing him in silence.
He pressed his back to the door, sliding down until he was on the floor, his head buried in his arms. His body shook with the sobs he had been choking back all night. For the first time in years, he wasn’t crying over Dazai, or guilt, or longing. He was crying because he finally realized he wanted something neither of them seemed able to give him: peace.
—
The apartment was silent when Chuuya woke. No voices, no footsteps, no lingering arguments bleeding into the morning. Just silence. For the first time in days, the quiet didn’t feel like a relief — it felt like a weight pressing down on his chest.
He sat up slowly, dragging a hand through his tangled hair. His body still ached faintly, his skin sensitive where Dazai’s mouth had left bruises. He padded to the bathroom and caught sight of himself in the mirror.
Purple blotches scattered across his throat, his collarbone, his chest. He touched one gingerly and immediately pulled his hand away. It wasn’t tenderness that made him recoil — it was what those marks meant.
Claimed. That’s how it felt. Not affection, not intimacy. A brand.
He clenched the sink so tightly his knuckles went white. “Damn it… what the hell am I even doing?” His reflection didn’t answer.
By the time evening came, he’d convinced himself he just needed rest, time alone, no more distractions. But when he went to toss the trash outside, he froze. Across the street, under the dim glow of a lamppost, a figure lingered too long. Too still. Watching.
Chuuya’s stomach twisted. He didn’t need a closer look to know who it was.
Back inside, his phone buzzed with a new notification. Unknown Number: You don’t really want him. You want me.
Chuuya’s hands trembled as he deleted it without replying. But even with the message gone, the words echoed in his head. Satori wasn’t letting go.
And Dazai? Dazai had been silent. No late-night knock at the door, no lazy smirk, no sly remark as if nothing had happened. Chuuya should’ve been grateful for that silence, but it only made him more uneasy. Because if there was one thing he’d learned, it was that Dazai never disappeared without reason. Silence meant planning. Silence meant waiting.
Chuuya tossed his phone onto the couch and sat heavily beside it, staring at the blank wall. He picked the phone up again, thumb hovering over Satori’s blocked messages. Without hesitation, he cleared them all.
Then his thumb slid to another contact. Dazai’s name. He stared at it for a long time, chest tightening. He should block him too. He knew that. He knew Dazai would only break him again, slip away the moment he let his guard down.
But his finger wouldn’t move.
Because for all the hurt, for all the nights spent crying into his pillow, for all the mornings waking up to an empty bed… the truth was unbearable in its simplicity. He couldn’t let Dazai go.
Not when Dazai had finally come back around. Not when he’d held him like he meant it. Not when he’d whispered, 'I love you.'
Chuuya dropped the phone onto the bed and collapsed beside it, pressing an arm over his eyes. “Pathetic,” he muttered to himself. He hated the way his chest tightened at the thought of Dazai, the way relief washed over him every time he replayed his voice in his head. He hated it — but he couldn’t stop.
He stayed like that until exhaustion pulled him under, the quiet of the apartment swallowing him whole. And even as he drifted into sleep, there was no peace. Because deep down, he knew neither Satori nor Dazai would really let him breathe.
Not yet.
The next few days blurred together. Chuuya buried himself in work, extra missions, late hours, anything that would keep him away from his apartment. But no matter how long he stayed gone, that crawling sensation at the back of his neck never left him.
Someone was watching. Satori.
When he walked home at night, he felt footsteps a beat behind his own. When he turned corners, shadows seemed to linger too long. Even in crowded streets, he swore he could feel a pair of eyes locked on him.
He tried to ignore it until he came home one evening and found a single bottle of wine sitting by his door. His favorite brand. No note, no explanation. Just waiting for him.
Chuuya’s blood went cold. He didn’t need a note. He knew who had left it.
That night, the knocks started. Light, deliberate taps against his door, three at a time. Not frantic enough to be threatening. Not casual enough to ignore. When he checked the peephole, the hall was empty.
By the third night, Chuuya’s patience snapped. He ripped the door open, ready to tear into whoever was lurking. The hall was empty again. But halfway down the corridor, leaning against the wall with a lazy grin, stood Satori.
“Evening, pretty.”
"Satori." Chuuya muttered.
Chuuya’s stomach sank as he spotted him leaning against the wall, casual as if he belonged there. His dark eyes glinted with something that made Chuuya’s chest tighten with unease.
“Why can't you just leave me alone?” Chuuya said, desperation in his voice.
“Because” Satori started, walking towards the smaller, “You pushed me away again, I'm trying to get you to see that it's me who'll do anything for you, it's me who actually has feelings for you.” He took Chuuya's hands into his & gave them a squeeze.
Chuuya stared at him in disbelief. “You'll do anything for me? You have feelings for me? You've been stalking me for days on end, Satori I don't even feel safe when I go outside because of you!” Chuuya snapped, pulling his hands away.
“That’s not how I see it. You don’t just give someone your time the way you gave me and then cut them off. Not for him.”
Chuuya froze. Him. He didn’t need the name spoken aloud to know who Satori meant.
And as if the thought itself summoned him, a voice sliced through the hallway — smooth, mocking, dripping with familiarity.
“Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”
Chuuya’s breath hitched, they're back in this same situation once again. He turned sharply, and there he was. Dazai leaned casually against the opposite wall, hands buried in his pockets, but his eyes betrayed him — cold, sharp, possessive.
Satori’s entire body tensed. “You.”
“Me,” Dazai replied with a tilt of his head. His gaze flicked to Chuuya, softening just a fraction before cutting back to Satori like a blade. “And you’re standing far too close to something that isn’t yours. I thought we established this already.”
The air thickened, suffocating. Both men locked on each other, circling without moving, pulling at Chuuya from opposite ends until his chest ached.
“Enough!” The word tore out of him, raw and sharp. Both pairs of eyes snapped to him. His fists clenched, his whole body trembling from anger, exhaustion — and something he didn’t dare name.
“I’m done with this,” he forced out. His glare fixed on Satori first. “Whatever you thought we had? It’s over. Don’t call me. Don’t show up at my door. Don’t follow me again. I mean it, Satori.”
For a flicker of a moment, Satori’s smirk faltered, replaced by something darker, rawer. His jaw clenched, but Chuuya didn’t let him speak. He turned next to Dazai.
“And you… where the hell have you even been?!” He asked in disbelief. Staring at the brown haired man as he just sat there. It started to frustrate him, yes he told Dazai to leave because he was overstimulated but he was never supposed to leave!!
He wanted to scream at him so badly but the words snagged, heavy and stuck. Because compared to Satori’s suffocating obsession, Dazai’s presence felt different. Dangerous, yes. Infuriating, yes. But grounding. Familiar. Safe in a way that made him hate himself. He didn't want Dazai to leave him again.
Still, he forced it: “Both of you. Go. I just… I need to be alone.”
The hallway fell silent.
Satori’s eyes lingered on Chuuya a beat too long, sharp and calculating, before he finally scoffed and turned away. His footsteps echoed down the hall until they faded.
But when Chuuya glanced back at Dazai, he hadn’t moved.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Chuuya muttered, voice softer now.
Dazai stepped forward, unhurried, and slipped inside, closing the door behind him. His presence filled the room effortlessly, suffocating yet strangely grounding.
“I heard you,” Dazai said simply. “But I’m not leaving you alone again, especially with him out there probably still planning to stalk you.” His eyes softened, just slightly. “And besides… you don’t really want me to, do you?”
Chuuya’s lips parted, but no words came. His chest clenched, his throat tight. He should argue, should push him out, but instead he turned away, hiding the relief flickering across his face.
“Do whatever you want,” he muttered, sinking onto the couch. “I’m too damn tired to fight you right now.”
Dazai’s quiet chuckle filled the silence as he joined him, close enough their shoulders brushed. Neither spoke again, but as the minutes stretched on, Chuuya realized he wasn’t trembling anymore.
He hated it. But he also couldn’t deny it. Compared to Satori, Dazai was the only one who felt like home.
—
The silence after Satori’s departure was suffocating. Chuuya sat stiffly on the couch, arms crossed, eyes locked on some invisible point across the room. He could still hear the echo of footsteps in the hallway, could still feel the weight of Satori’s stare, crawling under his skin.
But then there was the sound of fabric shifting, the faint creak of cushions. Dazai moved closer and lowered onto Chuuya's shoulder.
“You should’ve let me deal with him,” Dazai said finally, voice low. “Would’ve saved you the trouble.”
Chuuya scoffed, though his voice cracked at the edges. “I don’t need you fighting my battles for me.”
“Of course not,” Dazai murmured, eyes sharp but soft at the same time. “But I’m not about to let him sniff around you like that again. He’s not worth your time, Chuuya.”
Chuuya hated how his chest loosened at the words, how the coil of dread in his stomach eased just from knowing Dazai had seen it too. Satori’s obsession. His eyes. His persistence.
“Don’t act like you’re any better,” Chuuya muttered, but the bite wasn’t really there.
Dazai only smirked. “Maybe I’m not. But I’m yours. And you know it.”
The words cut through him like glass. He clenched his fists, staring down at his hands. His throat burned — he wanted to argue, to deny it, but the truth sat too heavy on his tongue. Compared to Satori’s hollow sweetness, Dazai was the only one who had ever truly seen him. For better or worse.
A shaky breath slipped out of him, and without thinking, he leaned his head onto Dazai’s. It wasn’t a surrender, not fully — but it was enough to make Dazai lift his head and pull Chuuya closer.
“I hate you,” Chuuya whispered, though it came out broken, trembling.
Dazai’s hand lifted, brushing his hair back gently, the gesture far too tender for the sharp smirk still lingering on his lips. “I know, baby. I hate me too.”
For a long moment, they sat in the hush of the apartment, the only sound Chuuya’s uneven breathing.
“I just… I just want some peace,” Chuuya said quietly, the admission cracking something raw inside him.
“You’ll have it,” Dazai murmured, pressing a kiss into his hair. “As long as I’m here, you’ll have it.”
Chuuya didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. For tonight, he wasn’t alone.
And he realized, bitter as it was, that he didn’t want to be.
—
Chuuya lay curled against Dazai’s side, his legs draped over the taller man’s lap. The closeness made him feel exposed, as if the walls of the apartment had shrunk, the space far too small with Dazai sitting so near. But even though he told himself he was angry, even though he wanted to push Dazai away, he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Dazai’s hand rested lightly against Chuuya’s arm, not forcing contact, just… there. Steady. Warm. Grounding. Chuuya swallowed hard, trying not to let the flutter in his chest show.
“You’re quiet,” Dazai murmured, voice low, teasingly soft. “You’re supposed to be scolding me for standing around like some creep, but instead…” He tilted his head, watching Chuuya fidget with his sleeves. “You’re just… sitting there.”
“I’m fine,” Chuuya muttered, though his voice faltered. “Just… tired.”
Dazai leaned closer, just enough that their knees brushed. The contact was minor, but it sent a shiver through Chuuya. “Tired, huh?” Dazai whispered. “Or… tense? You’re carrying all of last night with you, aren’t you?”
Chuuya’s jaw tightened. He hated how accurate Dazai’s words were. The memory of Satori lingering, of the fear curling in his chest, still made his stomach twist. He tried to shift away, but Dazai’s hand moved gently to his, curling fingers around his wrist.
“Don’t pull away,” Dazai said softly, almost a command, but gentle enough that Chuuya couldn’t. “I’m not leaving. Not tonight.”
Chuuya’s throat tightened. He looked down at their hands, then at Dazai’s calm, unwavering face. Something inside him unclenched — not fully, not yet, but just enough to let a small breath escape.
“You really don’t want me to leave,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“Not for a second,” Dazai answered, brushing a stray lock of hair from Chuuya’s forehead. His fingers lingered, tracing along the curve of Chuuya’s cheek. “You’re mine. And I… I’m not going anywhere.”
Chuuya swallowed hard, his chest tight. He hated the rush of warmth, the shiver crawling down his spine.
Dazai’s arm wrapped around him fully, pulling him impossibly closer, allowing Chuuya to rest fully against him. The contact was intimate, grounding — not rushed, not demanding, just there.
“I like this,” Chuuya muttered quietly, voice muffled against Dazai’s chest.
“You can like it all you want,” Dazai whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Chuuya’s head. “I don’t care if you fight me. I’m not going anywhere.”
And for the first time in days, Chuuya let himself relax. Not fully. Not without a thought in the back of his mind telling him this could all vanish tomorrow. But for tonight, he allowed himself to feel… safe.
Safe, tangled up with the man he loved, even if he’d never admit it out loud. He closed his eyes and sleep slowly took over.
—
Chuuya stirred first, the weight of an arm draped around his waist reminding him he wasn’t alone. He blinked, finding himself still curled into Dazai on the couch, the two of them tangled like they hadn’t moved all night. For a second, the warmth felt grounding — safe, even. But then the memory of yesterday came crawling back. Satori’s face in the hallway. His voice. The way the air had felt poisoned with tension.
Chuuya’s chest tightened. He shifted slightly, as if shaking the thought away, but Dazai stirred, tightening his hold. “Don’t move,” Dazai mumbled into his hair. “It’s Saturday. The world can wait.”
Chuuya huffed. “The world doesn’t feel so far away when psychos show up at my door.” His words slipped out sharper than he intended, and Dazai finally opened his eyes.
There was a beat of silence before Dazai muttered, “He won’t bother you again.” The way he said it — flat, certain, dangerous — sent a shiver through Chuuya.
The quiet stretched until Dazai pulled himself upright with a lazy grin, brushing the tension aside like it had never existed. “I’m making breakfast. Don’t get up.”
“You can’t cook,” Chuuya shot back, but his voice lacked its usual bite. Still, he let Dazai go, listening to the clatter in the kitchen.
When Chuuya eventually joined him, he found Dazai losing a battle with eggshells. Typical. He shoved him aside with a muttered, “Hopeless,” and took over. Dazai only leaned back, watching him with that same intent gaze. “You’re cute when you’re domestic,” he teased, but softer than usual, like he knew Chuuya was still rattled.
By the time breakfast was done, the apartment smelled like coffee and fried eggs — normal, homey. But under it all, Chuuya couldn’t shake the sour taste Satori had left behind. He kept glancing at the door, half-expecting another knock, another shadow bleeding into his life.
Dazai noticed. Of course he did. Their knees brushed under the table, and his voice cut through the silence. “Forget him. You’ve got me now.”
Chuuya wanted to believe that, wanted to let himself sink into this fragile routine. But even as he ate, he couldn’t stop thinking — Satori’s obsession didn’t feel finished.
And yet, when Dazai smiled at him over his coffee, for a fleeting moment, it was easy to pretend.
—
The days slipped by almost too easily. Saturday blurred into Sunday, then into the long week ahead. And for once, Chuuya didn’t feel like he was walking on glass. Dazai stayed. Not every night — sometimes he disappeared for hours, sometimes until dawn — but he always came back. And each time, the weight in Chuuya’s chest eased just a little more.
They found themselves falling into a rhythm neither of them would admit aloud. Late mornings with coffee and eggs, arguments over groceries, evenings that ended on the couch with Chuuya dozing against Dazai’s shoulder. At night, when silence pressed too close, they’d talk. Talk about their childhood, they old classmates, their old houses, etc.
Sometimes, they even laughed.
It almost felt like before — before the years had carved them into enemies, before Dazai’s vanishing acts and Chuuya’s promises to never let him back in. Childhood memories surfaced, old fights retold with sharp edges softened by time. And though Chuuya never said it, he liked seeing this version of Dazai. The one who could smile without it looking like a weapon. The one who remembered.
But peace was fragile. It couldn’t last.
It started with the calls. Unknown numbers flashing across Chuuya’s phone late at night. He ignored them at first, locked his screen and pressed himself closer to Dazai until the buzzing stopped. But then came the texts.
You can’t just erase me.
We weren’t finished.
He won’t stay. He never stays.
Chuuya deleted them as quickly as they appeared, but each one lodged like a splinter under his skin. He stopped checking his phone around Dazai, not wanting him to notice. He stopped walking home alone without glancing over his shoulder, even though Satori had kept his promise and wasn’t lurking in the shadows anymore.
But the presence was still there. Not in person, not physically, but in every vibration of his phone, every blocked number that slipped through with another message.
And Chuuya hated himself for it — but part of him was terrified. Not of Satori showing up again, but of Dazai finding out.
Because deep down, he knew Dazai wouldn’t just let it go.
It didn’t take long for Dazai to notice though.
Chuuya thought he was careful — turning his phone face-down on the table, deleting messages before they could stack, silencing calls in the middle of the night. But Dazai had always been sharp. He noticed the way Chuuya’s shoulders tensed at every buzz, the quick flicker of guilt in his eyes before he locked the screen. He noticed the way Chuuya’s voice would go tight whenever the phone lit up.
One evening, while Chuuya was in the shower, the phone buzzed again. It was only for a second, but Dazai’s hand was already closing over it, his eyes narrowing at the preview across the screen.
You’ll regret ignoring me.
The words were short, but the venom in them was enough.
Dazai’s jaw tightened.
By the time Chuuya came out, towel slung over his shoulders, the phone was back on the counter, untouched. Dazai sat on the couch as though nothing had happened, a lazy smile curling his lips. “Took you long enough, chibi. You spend more time in there than anyone I know.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes, muttered something sharp, and brushed past him. He never noticed the edge lingering in Dazai’s gaze, the way his fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest — calculating.
That night, Dazai held Chuuya close while he slept, his expression unreadable in the dark.
He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. He knew.
And he wasn’t going to let it continue.
Over the next few days, Dazai’s routine shifted. He still showed up at Chuuya’s apartment, still leaned into the easy mornings and late-night talks, but there was a new tension in him, a sharper focus behind the smiles. Every time Chuuya’s phone buzzed, Dazai’s eyes would flick to it, a fraction too quick. Every time Chuuya brushed it off, Dazai only hummed, filing it away.
When Chuuya wasn’t looking, Dazai was digging. Quietly. Patiently. He wasn’t about to let some second-rate obsession linger in the corners of Chuuya’s life.
Satori thought he could scare Chuuya. Thought he could wedge himself between them.
Dazai smiled to himself, sharp and cold.
No one stalked what belonged to him.
He’d find him. And when he did, Satori would learn what it meant to cross Osamu Dazai.
Chuuya, blissfully unaware, thought things were finally starting to steady. He thought maybe, just maybe, the worst was behind them.
But the storm was only just gathering.
⸻
Satiri could tell the messages hadn’t worked — not fully. Chuuya read them, ignored them, deleted them, but he felt them. Satori could almost see the tension curling in his shoulders through the screen. Every buzz of the phone was a reminder. Every vibration, a heartbeat of obsession.
You can’t ignore me forever.
He sent another. No reply. Good. That meant Chuuya noticed, that it got under his skin. He imagined Chuuya in the apartment — maybe cooking, maybe lounging, maybe laughing with that other man, Dazai. The thought made Satori’s hands clench around his phone. That other man.
You’re mine, Chuuya. You can try to forget, but you’ll come back. You always do.
He pressed send. He leaned back, feeling a rush of satisfaction and anticipation, waiting for the tension to coil in Chuuya’s mind. He didn’t need to follow him anymore. Watching from a distance, controlling from afar, was far more potent. Far more infuriating.
⸻
Chuuya, for his part, didn’t know that every buzz he ignored was another thread Satori was pulling at. He was focused on the easy warmth of Dazai beside him, the quiet Saturday mornings, the soft domesticity they were building together.
Yet sometimes, the phone made him flinch, and Dazai’s eyes flicked toward it. Always calm, always unreadable. Chuuya tried to ignore it — tried to pretend Satori was gone — but the creeping unease lingered at the edges of his mind.
One night, Dazai stayed with him late, watching him scroll aimlessly on the phone. His thumb hovered over a message from an unknown number.
Dazai’s hand shot out, resting over Chuuya’s. “Stop,” he murmured. No anger, only cold precision. “Give it to me.”
Chuuya froze. Dazai took the phone, scanning quickly. His eyes narrowed, a flash of something sharp and dangerous crossing his face. Not at Chuuya, but at the screen.
“Osamu…” Chuuya began, but Dazai shook his head.
“Not now. Not here. Not you. Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”
Chuuya wanted to argue, wanted to demand answers, but he felt the weight of Dazai’s gaze. He knew, without words, that Dazai would deal with it — quietly, completely, without letting Chuuya see the storm.
——
The next morning, the messages kept coming, but Chuuya’s phone no longer made him flinch. Dazai’s presence, calm and possessive, anchored him. And somewhere in the shadows, Satori’s frustration grew.
Dazai would find him. Dazai would end it.
And Chuuya… he’d stay blissfully unaware.
Days later, the messages had slowed, but they hadn’t stopped. Chuuya had stopped jumping at every buzz, stopped flinching when his phone lit up. He knew it was Satori, persistent as ever, but for the first time, he felt… controlled. Calm. Confident. Because Dazai was with him, and Dazai never failed.
Dazai, however, didn’t let the calm fool him. He had been quietly tracking, planning. And today, he finally found him.
⸻
Satori didn’t notice the shadow slip through his cracked doorway, didn’t hear the soft whisper of a key turning in the lock. One moment, he was standing in his apartment, scanning his phone for another ignored text from Chuuya. The next, he felt it: a presence. Familiar, impossible to escape.
“Osamu Dazai,” he hissed, his eyes wide, trying to reach for something, anything, to defend himself.
The smile that curved Dazai’s lips wasn’t friendly. It was sharp, cold, a predator surveying his prey. “Persistent,” Dazai said softly, almost kindly. “But you’ve been causing enough trouble.”
What followed was swift, precise, terrifying. Dazai moved with inhuman speed, subduing Satori before he could even react. Every strike, every calculated motion was measured to break, not kill — at first. Psychological pressure, pain, fear. He disoriented him, made him see the consequence of obsession, of crossing boundaries.
Satori’s protests grew weak. Dazai’s voice never raised, never faltered. “You can’t touch what isn’t yours,” he murmured. Every word pressed into Satori like a blade.
By the time Dazai stepped back, Satori was slumped, trembling, blood running from cuts and gashes, bruised, broken, barely clinging to consciousness. Dazai’s dark eyes lingered for a moment, satisfied. “Let this be a lesson,” he said, then turned, leaving him alone to deal with the aftermath.
⸻
Chuuya noticed Dazai return hours later, looking disheveled but composed, as if he had simply been out running errands all day.
“You’re late,” Chuuya said casually, though he felt a twinge of unease. Dazai only smiled, lounging beside him, brushing it off.
But then Chuuya’s gaze caught it — a small, dark stain on Dazai’s shirt. Subtle, almost hidden, but unmistakable. Blood.
“Dazai…” Chuuya’s voice caught, a mixture of suspicion and fear.
Dazai tilted his head, smirking, brushing a hand over the stain as if it was nothing. “Don’t worry about it, baby. Just… important things I had to take care of today. Nothing you need to be concerned about.”
Chuuya narrowed his eyes, sensing that the story wasn’t complete. But even as questions swirled in his mind, he felt Dazai’s hand on his knee, the warmth and possessiveness grounding him. Whatever Dazai had done, he didn’t need to ask what had happened. Somehow, he just knew. But instead of panicking or questioning it, he let it slide. Whatever Dazai had done, it had been for him. For them.
He curled up beside Dazai on his bed, letting the warmth of the taller man seep in. “Don’t even ask,” Chuuya muttered as he rested his head against Dazai’s chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Dazai hummed in acknowledgment, pulling him closer. That was enough for the night. They drifted into sleep, the bedroom quiet and safe.
⸻
The next morning Chuuya woke first, sunlight spilling through the curtains and warming Dazai’s face. He watched him sleep for a few moments, curiosity gnawing at him. What had Dazai done last night? He wasn’t afraid — not of Dazai, not of Satori. But he was curious.
He waited patiently, letting Dazai stir awake. “Morning,” Chuuya said softly, brushing a hand across Dazai’s shoulder.
“Mm, morning,” Dazai murmured, still half-asleep, shrugging off any tension in his usual casual way. Chuuya’s question lingered unspoken, but Dazai made it clear he wouldn’t answer just yet. Chuuya let it go, at least for the moment.
⸻
Hours passed, and the question gnawed at Chuuya like a stubborn itch. He tried subtlety at first. A glance at Dazai’s hands. A casual mention of Satori’s name. But Dazai brushed it off every time, deflecting with a laugh or a shake of his head.
Chuuya’s patience finally ran out. “Osamu,” he said, voice sharp, sitting beside Dazai on the edge of the bed as he tried to focus on his book. “Enough. Tell me. What did you do to him?”
Dazai froze, then let out a soft sigh. “You really want to know?”
Chuuya nodded. “I do. I’m not scared. I just… want to know.”
Dazai’s lips curved into a small, almost guilty smile. “Alright… I made sure Satori wouldn’t be a problem anymore. I took care of him.”
Chuuya blinked. Shock. Not fear, not terror, just a flash of disbelief. “You… almost killed him?”
“Almost,” Dazai admitted casually, shrugging as if it were no big deal. “He won’t be bothering you again.”
Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly. Annoyance, not panic. “Dazai, really? You know I hate that kind of stuff.” He sighed, "I shouldn't have never let you find out."
"And let him keep harassing you?" Dazai replied immediately. "Look, I know you don't like how I deal with things but it was the only way."
Chuuya gave him a small nod, understanding. "I guess, I'll let's this go just this once" he says in defeat.
Dazai smirked, leaning in and brushing a kiss across Chuuya’s temple. “Good. Now, how about we forget him entirely?”
⸻
Time passed. The messages stopped, the calls vanished. Satori was gone, truly gone this time. Chuuya and Dazai slipped back into their comfortable routine — lazy mornings, quiet evenings, laughter over small things, reminiscing about childhood memories and old antics.
Chuuya finally let himself relax fully, curling against Dazai in the bedroom without the lingering tension of fear or dread. Dazai’s arm draped possessively around him, anchoring him. Peace, quiet, and safety — finally.
For the first time in what felt like years, Chuuya smiled and thought: This is enough. This is home.