What you're name ?

Chapter 49 Shuji

Made by @cataclysmiceve1 on Twitter!
-
Content Warnings for this chapter: Death (not SKK), mentions of suicide, and discussions of mental illness.
-
The secretary can barely see over the stack of paperwork she's carrying, stumbling around other people in the hall, until she finally makes it to the corner office, knocking on the door, "Excuse me, Mr. Dazai?"

Chuuya glances up from where he's leaning back against his desk pushing a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "Is that discovery for the Dawson case?"

She nods, exhausted, "I've got three more stacks in the lobby, they just sent it over."

"You can leave it, I'll take it home over the weekend."

"Are you sure?" She blinks, surprised. "I thought you said your husband's birthday was this weekend?"

"It is," Chuuya agrees, shutting his folder as he sets it back on his desk. "But he's pretty adamant about not celebrating this year."

His secretary blinks. "You mean he isn't excited?"

"Uh..." Chuuya scratches the side of his neck. "You could say that."

Dazai is stretched out across their kitchen floor, staring at the ceiling morosely. He doesn't even try to escape when Dazoo pads over, sniffing and licking at his forehead.

It's coming.

His impending doom.

Thirty years old.

Chuuya opens up the front door, setting his brief case down by the entry way as he slips out of his suit jacket. "Are you gonna sulk until tomorrow?"

Dazai groans, closing his eyes. "I'm just waiting for the day you leave me for a younger man."

"Osamu—I'm one year and ten months younger than you." Chuuya reminds him, slipping out of his tie, setting it down on the counter as he pulls his hair up, highlighting the choker around his neck.

It's thicker than the original, with a white gold buckle—Dazai gave it to him for their first wedding anniversary.

"I guess I knew the risks when I married you." Dazai mutters pathetically.

Chuuya arches an eyebrow sharply, "The risks?"

Dazai nods, throwing an arm over his face. "Obviously you'd age better than me," Dazai whines. "Obviously."

Chuuya crosses his arms over his chest. "Osamu, you haven't aged."

Well. Technically that isn't true.

He isn't the gangly teenager Chuuya met over twelve years ago. He's more filled out. He's grown into the broadness of his shoulders. There's a shadow of stubble around his jaw from where he forgot to shave this morning.

Okay, yes, if someone had a gun to his head, there are teeny, tiny little creases under Dazai's eyes, but they wouldn't even be there if Dazai used an eye cream like Chuuya does.

"Remember that gala we went to last week?" Dazai mumbles, sulking.

"...Yeah? What about it?"