Archive of Our Own ^beta

April 1st. A dangerous day.

Chuuya knew this. He had learned, through painful experience, to never let his guard down on April Fools’ Day—not when Dazai existed in the same world as him. Yet somehow, despite all his precautions, he had still managed to end up in this situation.

A gunshot. A lifeless body on the floor.

Chuuya’s breath came in short, panicked bursts. His knees hit the ground beside Dazai’s unmoving form, hands shaking as he reached out. “Dazai…? Oi, Dazai, wake up.”

Nothing. No smartass remark. No lazy smirk. Just silence.

Chuuya swallowed hard, his throat dry. He pressed two fingers against Dazai’s neck, searching—desperate—for a pulse. His own heartbeat pounded in his ears, deafening, drowning out all other sounds. There was no movement, no flicker of life beneath his fingertips.

“Dazai,” he tried again, his voice cracking. “Quit screwing around.”

Still, nothing.

A cold chill crawled up his spine, the air around him suddenly too still, too heavy. His fingers curled against Dazai’s coat, gripping the fabric as if that alone could keep him grounded. His breath hitched, his chest tightening with something suffocating, something unbearable.

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of every unspoken truth. Chuuya’s chest tightened further, as if his heart itself were being squeezed, a dull, aching emptiness spreading through him. He could barely breathe, his lungs fighting against the weight of the air in the room.

"Come back," he whispered again, this time the plea breaking apart into something rawer, something more desperate. His fingers traced over Dazai’s features, brushing through the messy strands of dark hair that hung over his forehead, the coolness of his skin sending an icy shock through him. "I can’t... I can't do this. Not without you."

The words were swallowed by the silence that hung in the room like a suffocating blanket. Chuuya’s eyes fluttered closed, trying to push back the tears threatening to spill over. His throat burned, aching with the effort it took to keep himself from falling apart completely.

Dazai wasn’t supposed to die. Not like this. Not in front of him. Not when they still had so much left undone. So many arguments they hadn’t finished, so many moments still hanging in the air, unspoken, just out of reach.

He had so much more to yell at him about.

Chuuya’s fingers curled tighter into Dazai’s jacket, as though the fabric was his lifeline. "Please, wake up, goddammit. You can’t— you can’t leave me like this. Not like this."

His voice cracked again, and this time, he didn’t hold it back. The tears came, falling freely, hot and fast down his face. They stained Dazai’s cheek, mingling with the blood that still stained his shirt. The pain— it wasn’t just physical. It was everything, all at once.

The emptiness inside him felt like it would swallow him whole, like the world was a black hole, consuming every ounce of warmth, of light, of Dazai.

But then—

A sharp breath.

A soft snicker.

"Eh? Chuuya, I didn’t know you cared so much," came a voice—lazily familiar.

Chuuya froze. His body went stiff, his head snapping up, eyes wide with disbelief. The world seemed to stop, the blood in his veins turning to ice.

Dazai— Dazai—was blinking up at him, that lazy, devil-may-care grin spreading across his face. The very same grin that had always pissed him off, the one that drove him mad, the one that made him want to strangle him one moment and kiss him the next.

But now? Now, that grin felt like a dagger to the chest.

Chuuya’s heart lurched, but it wasn’t from relief. It was from the gut-deep anger that surged through him, the frustration, the feeling of betrayal. How could he—how dare he—play with him like this?

"You—" Chuuya’s voice was a strangled growl. "You absolute piece of shit."

Dazai just laughed. “You should have seen your face, Chuuya! I’m really touched, though, really. I had no idea you cared so much."

"You—" Chuuya’s fists clenched, his entire body shaking with rage and something else, something deeper. His chest ached, but this time it wasn’t from fear. It was from frustration, from the overwhelming urge to punch him senseless, to scream at him until he got it through his thick skull just how much this had fucked with him.

But as Chuuya’s hands shook with that fury, something else took over, something fragile that broke the dam. His breath hitched. He felt it again, the choking sense of loss that he had tried to bury deep. His voice faltered. “Don’t— don’t ever do that again.”

Dazai’s expression softened, just for a moment, though the grin was still there, playing on his lips. He tilted his head slightly, as if studying Chuuya. “Why? You didn’t like it? I thought it was pretty funny. But fine, fine— I’ll stop.”

Chuuya wanted to yell again, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he simply grabbed Dazai’s collar, yanking him forward so their faces were mere inches apart. "You think this is funny?" His voice was low, dark, full of all the pain he had been holding back.

Dazai, for once, didn’t say anything. He didn’t laugh. Instead, he just looked at Chuuya, that strange, quiet look in his eyes—like there was something deeper beneath all the jokes, something raw and real that Chuuya wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Then, slowly, Chuuya let go of Dazai’s collar, his hands falling to his sides. His anger was still there, still bubbling beneath the surface, but now there was something else too—something softer, something that made his heart ache even more.

“Don’t do that again,” Chuuya repeated, quieter this time, voice barely above a whisper. "I thought I lost you."

Dazai just stared at him for a long time, the laughter gone from his eyes, replaced with something more complex. “Sorry, Chuuya. I didn’t think you’d take it that seriously.”

“Of course, I would,” Chuuya muttered, stepping back, his chest still tight. "You're an idiot."

April 1st. A very dangerous day.