candykalewrites

[candykalewrites]

Wonder - BSD (Dazai & Atsushi)

“Ah, this is amazing, thank you again,” the boy said, vigorously wolfing down the meal in front of him. It was nothing fancy by any means, just tea on rice; but it was what the boy had requested after saving him from the river, and he felt obliged.  

“Your parents must have been awful cooks if this is the height of your culinary experience,” he said to the boy, hoping to garner some more information about the situation of his new young companion. But despite the playful intention of the statement, it had the opposite effect – the boy stopped eating, lowering his chopsticks along with his head. 

“I’ve never known my parents,” he replied quietly. “I live in an orphanage.” He laughed, and the sound felt forced. “Well, I lived in one. They...they kicked me out a few days ago. I’ve been wandering around since.” 

Silence fell between them. He watched as the boy ran his fingers around the edges of his bowl. It was small, made from porcelain and decorated with a simple blue and white pattern, common in this type of establishment. Hair-line cracks peppered the surface, and he looked on as the boy stopped at a larger chip, playing with it absentmindedly. There was a sadness, a loneliness in his expression that he knew all too well. 

But just before he was about to crack a joke, try to make light of the situation, the boy raised his head, and any trace of upset was gone, replaced by a genuine smile. 

“But then I met you,” he said, picking his chopsticks back up. “And you’ve given me the best meal I could have ever asked for. I don’t think I could thank you enough.” And he continued working his way through the rice, which had at this point begun to cool. 

He watched the boy, raising his hand to signal the waiter to bring a fresh bowl. 

“Well. You’re welcome, Atsushi.” 

And he continued to smile his fake smile, saddened by the fact that this boy, despite everything, could find wonder in such a simple thing, when he himself could find it in none.  

[candykalewrites]

A motivational quote, for sure, for sure.

[candykalewrites]

Captured - Bungo Stray Dogs (Soukoku One Shot)

“This is fucking ridiculous.”

“It’s not, it’s fantastic, Mori is a genius.”

“Do you really expect me to believe that this was Mori’s idea?”

“He may have asked my advice on the matter.”

“I could kill you.”

“Only if you do it dressed like that.”

“...Just. Come over here and help me will you. I can’t reach the back by myself.”

Chuuya turned around, pulling his hair into his fingers and lifting it up and away from his neck. Dazai moved up behind him, grabbing the thin straps that were hanging down, his fingers brushing against Chuuya’s spine. He crossed them and pulled them tight, bringing the silk fabric closer to the skin.

“How’s this?” Dazai asked, tying the loose ends of the straps into a neat little bow.

“Fine, I guess,” Chuuya huffed, letting his hair fall back down into its usual place. He curled one strand around his finger as he turned back to look in the mirror. He looked himself up and down, his face flushing red as he followed the curve of his body, outlined in the dress. He could see Dazai in the reflection, smug grin on his face, clearly taking satisfaction in Chuuya’s discomfort.

“You make a very convincing woman,” Dazai said, unable to keep the humour out of his voice. “We’re going to have everyone fooled. No one is ever going to suspect pretty little you of being undercover.”

“I never signed up for this when I joined the Port Mafia,” Chuuya grumbled, pulling at the edge of the dress to try and cover a bit more skin. “Why am I the one who has to dress like this?”

“Because you’re the short one, and-” Dazai held his hands up in defense. “-before you get all whiny on me, that’s not a dig. It just makes the most sense.”

Chuuya mumbled something in response, not quite loud enough for Dazai to hear apart from the odd expletive, as he first removed one, and then the other of his usual small, hooped earrings, swapping them out for something a bit more glamorous that Kouyou had lent him. He attached the backs onto the diamond drops and then stood back.

“Perfect,” Dazai said from behind him. “Turn around.”

Chuuya did, to find Dazai with a camera raised. He pressed the shutter release, and the camera flashed, momentarily blinding Chuuya. When his vision cleared, he could see Dazai looking at the picture he’d taken on the screen on the back of the camera. Chuuya went to grab it, but Dazai held it up, out of Chuuya’s reach.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Chuuya growled through gritted teeth. “Delete that. NOW.”

“Absolutely not,” Dazai said, in a voice dripping with a sadistic edge. “I am making sure I capture this very moment.”

“Blackmail doesn’t suit you Dazai.”

Dazai grinned, smile large and innocent. He slipped the SD card from the camera, pocketed it, and threw the camera over towards Chuuya.

“Who said anything about blackmail Chuuya? This is for my personal collection.”

“...I hate you, you know that right.”

“I know. :D”

[candykalewrites]

BSD - Part Four - War

Part One - Alcohol Part Two - Forget Part Three - Desk

A few days later, Chuuya and Dazai found themselves in a hotel room in the Minato ward, Tokyo, across the road from the American Embassy. It was just past midnight, and this part of the city was quiet.

They’d taken a train up from Yokohama the night before, and after a morning of Dazai sight-seeing and forcing Chuuya to accompany him as he dragged him around all the tourist traps, they’d ended up back at the hotel, focused on the mission ahead of them. Well, at least one of them was.  

“It’s your turn. Put that down and take over,” Chuuya said, not bothering to hide his irritation. He was sat on the windowsill, back leant against the frame and head on the glass. He’d been watching the building in front of him for over two hours with nothing exciting to report and was starting to get cranky. This was turning out to be a lot less exciting than he had originally anticipated.

“I can’t, I’m just getting to the good part.”  

Dazai was lying on top of the hotel bed – king-sized, just the one. Chuuya had blown a fuse when they first came into the room, determined to strangle whoever back at headquarters had booked it, clearly fucking with him. Dazai had simply laughed. His spoils from the morning were spread out around him. These included several opened packets of different flavoured mochi, a floral print sun-umbrella and a tiny ginger cat plush which Dazai had taken to referring to as Chuu-Chuu.  

He was holding a trashy paperback out in front of him. Chuuya couldn’t see the name from where he was sat, but the picture on the cover was of a young Samurai, katana in one hand and a woman Chuuya could only assume was his lover in the other. Pink and white petals drifted around them. Chuuya thought it looked terrible, the kind of thing he would expect a lonely housewife to read, not the 18-year-old Mafia exec in front of him.  

“It’s so beautiful,” Dazai continued. “This young man has been exiled from his hometown and sentenced to death for daring to fall in love with the Shogun’s daughter. They’ve ran away together, but they’re being hunted. They’ve decided the only way they can be together in peace is to commit double suicide.” He dramatically brought his hand to his forehead and rested the book on his chest with an exaggerated sigh. “I can’t think of anything more romantic.”

Chuuya shook his head in disbelief. “If you’re not gonna help, at least throw me some mochi. The matcha ones.”

“Sorry, all gone,” Dazai replied, as he picked up the last of the matcha mochi and popped it in his mouth.  

“You just ate that on purpose!”

“Not at all. Just bad timing on your part. Here,” he sat up, sorting through the assorted packets. He picked up a pink one and threw it at Chuuya who caught it and looked down at it. They were strawberry flavour, and the packet was still full, though he noticed one of the pieces had a bite mark in it.  

“You can have those,” Dazai said, “I don’t like them.”  

Chuuya picked one of the mochi out of the packet, ignoring the half-eaten piece. “Gee, thanks, how generous.” He chewed off a small piece; the taste wasn’t too bad. Not quite up to par with matcha but it’d do. He turned back to look out the window as he swallowed it down.  

The two of them had been tasked with gathering information on an American skill user who was rumoured to have been behind the attack at the bar a few weeks earlier. Although Chuuya had managed to get out with just a new bullet wound to show for it, other members of the mafia hadn’t been so lucky. Since then, everyone was on high alert to catch this American, and they’d had intel that he’d been hiding out at the Embassy.  

For a while, they sat in silence, Chuuya slowly making his way through the strawberry mochi, whilst Dazai slowly made his way through the paperback. As Chuuya picked up the last piece, the half-eaten one, (he was hungry, he reasoned. It’s fine.) he noticed a black Honda City pull up outside of the Embassy. He finished the mochi, licked the sugar off his fingertips and grabbed the pair of binoculars he had beside him.

The windows were blacked out, which wasn’t uncommon for business cars or those belonging to officials who wanted additional privacy, but the license plate had been tampered with, making it impossible to make out the registration. Other than that, there were no defining features that would help to tell it apart from the myriad other Hondas in the city.  

Chuuya watched as the driver exited the vehicle, looked around, and then opened the rear driver’s side door. A moment passed before a man stepped out. Despite the darkness, Chuuya could see that the man had slightly curly, dark ginger hair, not unlike his own. He was wearing a simple white shirt, with far too many of the buttons undone, and black pants. Suspenders were clipped to his belt, but rather than wearing them up and over his shoulders, they were hung loose by his side. Chuuya sat up straight, tapping his finger on the glass as he gestured across the road.  

“Dazai. That’s him, that’s the guy. He matches the description in the file.” Chuuya held out the binoculars towards him.    

Dazai snapped his paperback shut and threw it onto the bed amongst all the other items. He jumped up and came over to the window, taking the binoculars and bringing them up to his eyes. After a few seconds he brought them back down.

“No question,” he smirked. “He’s our guy. Quite the abode he’s got himself over here isn’t it? I wonder what the room service is like.”

“What are we going to do?” Chuuya asked.

“As we were told. We go in, we have a nice polite chat with our Yankee friend, and then we leave. Just like Mori wanted.”

Dazai grabbed his coat off the back of a chair and started to put it on. “Let’s go Chuuya,” he said, picking up the other mafia member’s coat and flinging it at him. Chuuya caught it before it hit him in the face and rested it across his lap. He paused for a moment.  

“Dazai. Are you sure about this? Do you think the Boss has made the right call this time? That’s American soil. If we go in there, we’re gonna start an all-out war.”

Dazai turned to face Chuuya, an unreadable expression passing across his face before a sinister grin took its place.

“War? That’s what I’m betting on.”

[candykalewrites]

BSD - Part Three - Desk

Part One - Alcohol Part Two - Forget Part Four - War “Come in.”

Chuuya paused for a second, straightening his hat and pulling at the edges of his waistcoat, before taking a step forward and pushing open the large heavy doors to the room.

It was dark, the shutters down, blocking out the Yokohama skyline. Towards the far end of the room, a lone light highlighted a shadowy figure sat behind a large desk. The man had a pen in his hand, notebook and papers spread out in front of him. Behind him in the shadows was a young girl, curled into an armchair, book in hand. Neither acknowledged Chuuya’s entrance as he closed the door behind him.

Chuuya moved further into the room, the clicking of his shoe heels against the floor the only sound. It had been three years since he’d first set foot in this office, and the scale of it was no less impressive. He passed over the cracks in the floor that had never been fully repaired from his first visit; damage left behind as he’d been unshackled and manipulated into joining the Port Mafia. He carried on, pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind. He might not have chosen this life, but these people were the closest thing to family he had remaining, and he was nothing if not loyal.

He came to a stop a few paces in front of the desk, bowing his head in respect.

“Boss,” Chuuya said, keeping his head low but casting a glance up at the man sat in front of him. “You wanted to see me.”

For a moment Mori didn’t respond, continuing to write lazily in the notebook. Chuuya waited, watching, his patience wearing thin, but he didn’t dare say more. Finally, Mori reached the end of the page, and punctuating the last sentence with a dramatically audible full stop, he placed the pen down. He closed the book and leant forward on his elbows, fingers grasped together, smiling thinly at Chuuya.

“Chuu-ya,” he drawled. “So nice to see you back on your feet.” That smile again, never reaching his eyes. “It seems that Dazai did a fine job of patching you back up.” Chuuya clenched his fists together by his side in irritation.

“If it wasn’t for that rat bastard distracting me, I’d have never been caught off guard in the first place,” Chuuya spat. “The next time I see him I oughta kick his scrawny ass-“  

“Now, now, Chuuya,” Mori interrupted, glee evident in his voice. “No need to be like that. Besides, I need you two working together on this next assignment.” He pulled a manilla envelope out from a drawer beside him and slid it across the desk, beckoning Chuuya forward.

“But he’s-”

“No buts. This is important and I need my best team.”

Chuuya glared at him. Mori was right of course. As much as Chuuya hated Dazai, and his shit-eating grin, he was the only other member Chuuya could rely on when the tables turned, as they so often did in their line of work. Despite all of Chuuya’s (and Dazai’s) objections at the time, it was Mori who had originally seen their potential back when they were younger. They had been argumentative and explosive, and that had never changed, but they’d quickly earned their reputation as a pair, the name Double Black known by everyone in the organisation.

Chuuya growled under his breath. His feelings for Dazai were hard to unravel. He knew they were the best team in the Port Mafia, but he often found himself wishing he could have been paired with anyone else. He thought Dazai was uncaring, hiding something dark behind his nonchalant persona. He would backstab anyone to further his own incentives, anything but loyal, and Chuuya hated him for that. He hated when they were referred to as partners, as two of the same; to Chuuya they were polar opposites.

But Chuuya trusted Mori, so biting back his displeasure he walked to the desk and picked up the envelope, slipping his fingers underneath the seal to open it.

“Fine Boss,” he said with a tone that tried and failed to hide his obvious annoyance. He pulled the papers from within the envelope, scanning their contents. “What’s the job anyways?”

Mori leaned further forward, grinning at Chuuya. The girl in the chair, Elise, looked over the edges of her paperback with interest.

“Oh,” Mori said, “I think you’re going to love this one.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crack!

The sharp sound of the cue ball hitting the pink sounded out through the snooker hall. Chuuya watched its movement as it first ricocheted off the top cushion, then the side, before dropping neatly into the opposite side pocket. Impressive shot, Chuuya thought, but he hid the expression on his face. He didn’t need to give that smug bastard any more satisfaction.  

Dazai had stayed leant down over the pool table, his eyes following the movement of the ball as it had bounced around the table. As soon as it was potted, he stood up, looking over towards Chuuya.

“The Boss wants us to do what now?” Dazai asked, mimicking Chuuya’s earlier surprise, but with a touch more amusement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chuuya’s eyes had scanned the documents in his hand, reading through them as Mori had watched patiently, smile never leaving his face. The papers contained notes, detailing the specifics of the attack from the bar, along with intel gathered after the getaway car had been tracked down to a location in the Minato Ward, Tokyo, a few hours later. He’d read the job details twice, double checking what they’d been asked to do, before placing the papers back into the envelope and onto the desk.

“Are you sure about this Boss, it feels a little antagonistic.”

“And when has that ever concerned you before?” Mori had asked, ignoring the way Chuuya had bristled. “Don’t you want your revenge?”

Chuuya had sighed, trying to remain composed. “Of course I do, but this feels risky. We don’t know enough about them, who they have on their side.”

Mori had chuckled, sending a shiver through Chuuya’s spine. “Oh, but they don’t know about the little trick you have up your sleeve now do they?” he said, and for a split second Chuuya had felt fear, the same way he always did when he knew what Mori wanted him to do.

“Do you think it would come to that?” Chuuya had asked, keeping his voice level and forcing his concerns down.

“Obviously not, but you can’t be too sure about these things can you? That’s why I need you and Dazai.”

“But-“

“Your train tickets have been booked for Wednesday night. I’ll let you inform your partner.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chuuya picked up his cue and walked over to the table, shoving Dazai out of the way. “I know right? It’s practically a suicide mission. I don’t know why we agree to these kinda things.”

“Sui-cide?” Dazai sang behind him. “Why didn’t you say so earlier Chuuu-yaa? That makes it sound so much more appealing.”

Chuuya turned his head and looked at Dazai, all smiles and with sparkles in his eyes. He tutted, looking back to the table. “You’re obsessed you know? What is wrong with you?” Chuuya bent over, head close to the table as he looked down the cue, moving it left and right trying to decide which shot had the highest chance of success. He spotted a red ball at the far end close to a pocket which looked like an easy shot. He lined it up, pulled the cue back...

“Wait!”

Chuuya jumped, knocking the cue against the cue ball, causing it to roll away and ruining his shot. He growled, slamming the cue down on the side of the table. “You idiot! What??”

Dazai sidled up next to him, wearing a smirk Chuuya wanted to smack off his face. “I thought you might need this.” He produced a cue extender from behind his back. “It looks a little bit difficult for you to make that shot with how far you’re having to stretch...” He leaned closer. “...chibi.”

Chuuya’s cue flew towards Dazai’s head at speed, and if he put a little extra gravity into that swing, then who was to blame him really? Dazai dodged it though. Of course he did.

“You bastard!”

“ : 3 “

[candykalewrites]

Wasting Time

I waste my time sitting here, Waiting for something to happen, It never does. So I keep waiting, scrolling, and searching. The thing I desire the most, what is it? Its not that, I scroll further. Dances to entertain. Every video looks the same. Do this, do that. Did you know? Why would I know that. Is that true? Does it matter? What do I do? I keep getting fatter. Fed on the diet of nothingness. Filled with empty calories. I wither here on this chair, Wating for something to happen, It never does.

This one is a little more personal, I hope no one minds. I enjoy writing things, regardless of its quality. Its enjoyable, therapeutic in some ways. It allows me to sort through my thoughts and feelings and convey them in fun imaginative scenarios. Sometimes it's just plain old wishful fantasy. In this case, its just me saying what I feel at this present moment.

With poems like this one I learn something about myself. One thing I learnt was that I tended to try to dig real deep and do some serious soul searching, hoping to find something meaningful and profound to say to the world. Except there was nothing there, It was just a desire to speak with nothing to say. So I would sit and stare at a blank screen for a few minutes before opening YouTube, or something, and never actually do anything.

So I stopped trying to write those kinds of things and I just decided to write what was there. A few fun poems I could toy with for a day until I was happy with it, like little word puzzles. A short story, or a chapter draft for some idea I have. To write what I enjoy instead of wasting time doing something I don't just because I didn't think what I was doing was "good enough".

To make something happen instead of waiting for it.

[candykalewrites]

A Love Letter to my Obsessions

It starts off as fun, a way to pass the time, But after days and weeks and months, it becomes harder to define.

You’re an escape from reality, a reliable friend, When everything else falls apart, on you I can depend.

I know it doesn’t make sense, this relationship of ours. But I’d rather work at this, than fix the ones I’ve soured.

For a while the mind is happy, but the body becomes neglected, And over time I come to realize, these desires will never be placated. So I try to ignore you, and I try to hide, But the real world just seems so dull, without you by my side.

Bad habits slip back easily, and the tunnel vision returns. You welcome me home with open arms, but this feeling, it burns.

“One more late night,” turns into two, This illogical need to spend all of my time with you. You’re a vision, a construct, perfection in my mind. The rest of me is breaking but to that I become blind. My beating heart gets weaker, as the obsessive one goes deeper. Who knew this love for you would be so deadly.

[candykalewrites]

BSD - Part Two - Forget

I will at some point come up with a name for this fic, but for now, we just have chapter titles!

Part One - Alcohol Part Three - Desk Part Four - War

--------------------------

Chuuya slowly opened his eyes, blinking against soft light. It took a moment for everything to come into focus, and he groaned, limbs feeling stiff as he shifted. There was a tight warmness around him, and Chuuya realised he was lying in a bed. Clean cotton sheets were pulled up to his neck and tucked tightly around his sides.

He lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. There was a subtle pain in his side, and he rested his hand on top of his stomach, tentatively pressing down on it. There was a soreness there, but nothing he wasn’t used to – injuries like this came part and parcel of working with the Port Mafia. Had he been in a fight?  

Chuuya gripped the sheets, rubbing the fabric and feeling the softness between his fingers – these weren’t his sheets, this wasn’t his bed. He tilted his head to the left, confused, looking around at the unfamiliar room he found himself in, trying to place it. The wallpaper was non-descript, and the only window in the room was covered by blinds, some of the slats damaged and letting the light filter through.

At the bottom of the bed, he spotted his coat hung over the back of a chair. It had been lain over it neatly, but Chuuya could see that it was badly stained, a dark smear across the right-hand side and marks on the sleeves. Was that blood? His blood, or an unfortunate other’s? He thought he could see a rip by the pocket that he couldn’t remember having been there before. His hat was balanced on top of the right ear of the chair.

Chuuya reached up and confirmed that he was indeed hatless. His hair felt greasy between his fingertips, and he brought his hand back down, covering his eyes. He tried hard to think. Where had he been before this? Who had removed his coat and hat? Whose bed was this?

Suddenly, a sigh, by his right side.

Chuuya turned, and he saw him, wrapped up in his stupid coat, stupid bandages over his right eye, brown hair falling across his irritating face. His knees were pulled up against him as he shifted in his sleep, curled up in a large chair that was positioned by the bed side. Why was Dazai here?  

Chuuya felt exhausted. He closed his eyes and sunk deeper into the bed, pulling the sheets up above his head and breathing in the subtle scent of cheap washing powder. He tried to focus, tried with everything he had to will his mind into remembering something, anything, that would offer some explanation as to why he was here. Some logical reason as to why Dazai, of all people, was sleeping by his side. But try as he might, nothing would come. Everything was hazy.

Chuuya grumbled to himself, running his hands through his hair as the frustration built. Just what exactly had he forgotten, and why couldn’t he remember?

“What the fuck happened?” he said, voice laden with exasperation.  

 “Oh?”  

Chuuya turned to see Dazai stirring next to him. He yawned, stretching out his slender limbs, the coat he was using as a blanket slipping to the floor. Dazai picked it up and smiled softly at Chuuya, his eyes wrinkling at the sides. It wasn’t an expression Chuuya was used to; it looked genuine and for some unexplainable reason, it made Chuuya feel on edge. Dazai looked tired, his clothes wrinkled, and hair tousled, strands of deep brown stuck up at various angles at the back. His appearance suggested he’d been by Chuuya’s side for some time.  

“I see you’re finally awake. Took your time, hat-rack. Had Mori worried for a moment there.” Dazai said.

“Worried about what?” Chuuya asked, sitting up. The bed sheets that were tucked under him came loose, dropping from around his neck and settling on his waist. He realised he was topless, and as he looked down, he noticed and felt for the first time several bandages wrapped around his abdomen. They were keeping padding and gauze in place and looked recently changed.    

“Hm?,” Dazai hummed, leaning closer, hands on the edge of the bed and eyebrows knitted together. “You really can’t remember?”  

Chuuya moved away from him, pulling the sheets back over himself to cover up. “No, I can’t. Are you going to fill me in, or just sit there gawping.”  

Dazai leant back in the chair, crossing his legs. “We were ambushed in the Lupin.”

“Ambushed? By who!?”  

“A gifted. It turns out that our little inconvenience down by the ports that we’ve been looking into decided to make himself an even bigger inconvenience by attempting a hit on the Port Mafia. We were the targets. Unbeknownst to him and unluckily for me, it takes more than a bullet to take you out, doesn’t it, Chuuya?”

“Wait, what? I was shot?” Chuuya exclaimed, lifting the cover back up to take a second look at the bandages. Suddenly a memory came back to him – soft jazz, the smell of expensive whiskey, the smashing of a glass.  

“You were,” Dazai confirmed, huge grin on his face. “And you owe me. I dragged your scrawny ass out of there and fixed you up.”

Another memory – Dazai pressed close against him, hands against his stomach. Chuuya felt his face redden at the recollection.  

“I don’t owe you anything Dazai, I could have handled it.”

“Hurtful, but sure, you tell yourself that.”  

“I was just caught unaware, that’s all.” Chuuya frowned. “What happened after?”

“We managed to take out a few of the attackers, but the gifted escaped. Oda went after him, but he had a getaway car. It was too dark to make out the exact model, but Oda’s fairly confident it was a black hatchback. He said it looked like a Japanese make. The license plate was defaced, likely stolen. IDs on the other guys were foreign – American.”

“Americans?”

“Mhmm. Confirms some of the earlier intel we had.”  

Chuuya sat there for a minute, head back against the bed rest. After a moment, Dazai stood up from the chair, stretching his hands out in front of him before throwing his coat over his shoulder and making to leave.

“Dazai?” Chuuya said, and Dazai stopped in the door frame, turning back to face him. “Thanks, y’know. For not leaving me to die, I guess.”

Dazai laughed softly. “Don’t thank me,” he said. “I saved you purely for my own selfish reasons. Who else could I torment daily if you weren’t around? It’s too much fun. Plus, death by gunshot? Pfft, where’s the excitement in that?” He spun back around, waving a lazy goodbye over his shoulder as he left. “Rest up Chuuya, there’s work to be done.”  

Chuuya watched him leave, sitting and staring at the empty doorway as he heard the slam of a door closing somewhere just out of sight. He waited for a few moments, silence filling the room, before he pulled back the sheets and swung himself out of the bed, resting on the edge and looking over to a nearby side-table.  

Standing, he walked over to it, arm wrapped around his stomach to ease some of the soreness from the movement. He stopped in front of it, looking down at his clothes which had been washed, ironed and neatly folded into a pile. Atop of them was a small note, written in neat cursive.

Cake and coffee in the kitchen, help yourself – D PS: Nice tattoo, jk!

“I swear to God, I’ll kill him!”

[candykalewrites]

BSD - Part One - Alcohol

My Discord server has started doing weekly writing challenge prompts, so I decided to have a go at using them as themes to write chapters of a longer-running fanfic. I don’t know where this is going but I’m having fun! If anyone else has a read of this, then enjoy! Part Two - Forget Part Three - Desk Part Four - War --------------------------

The whole thing was over before the glass had even reached Chuuya’s lips.

It was a quiet, drizzly Tuesday night, and he’d had an uneventful day at work. There had been rumours of a foreign national causing problems at the ports, but initial investigations into the matter had proven fruitless. With no further leads Chuuya had called it a night, and had been on his way home, but not before taking a short detour to visit the usual haunt of the Port Mafia members. As he had turned into the dingy alley, he had spotted the bright sign, and had followed the soft light illuminating the door leading down into the Lupin Club.

It was a small speak-easy, one that could be called cosy or cramped, depending on your mood. There were a few seats at the bar, three of which were already occupied by some of the other regulars, and a few empty tables pressed against the back wall. The bar tender had been stood behind the bar, slowly cleaning glasses and replacing them in their proper spots, a small clink sounding out with each one put back. He had nodded a quiet acknowledgement to Chuuya as he entered.  

At the seats already taken had been Ango and Oda, and of course, that bastard Dazai. Chuuya had ignored them, took his hat off, and claimed the last spare stool at the bar. He could remember hearing Dazai make some stupid smarmy comment beside him as he had rested his hat on top of the bar, but he had blanked it out, instead snapping his fingers to grab the bar tender’s attention.  

He had felt like treating himself tonight. There had not been any particular reason other than that he could, so he had ordered a large glass of whiskey from a bottle on the top-shelf. Black label, smooth; his favourite. He had slid a 5000 yen note across the bar top as the bar tender had placed the glass in front of him. The liquid was golden, shimmering in the low light of the room. The large spherical ice cube had cracked as it started to melt. Chuuya licked his lips, anticipating the first sip.        

He wasn’t counting the seconds, but in the time between him grasping the tumbler and lifting it up to his mouth, the peaceful atmosphere in the bar was shattered. The gentle jazz that was providing the background ambience was interrupted by a series of sharp, short bangs. The glass fell from Chuuya’s hands, smashing against the hardwood floor.

He had little time to react before he felt himself being dragged to the other side of the bar. When he finally had the opportunity to grasp the situation, he found himself flat on the floor, Dazai’s hand pressed hard against his stomach.  

Chuuya made to get up, and reached towards where Dazai was pressing down, attempting to remove his hand. He grabbed at Dazai’s wrist, fingers gripping against his bandages, but for some reason he was struggling to find any strength to be able to move him. Chuuya pushed harder, but the effort caused a sharp pain to shoot through him. Chuuya grimaced.  

“What are you doing? Get off me, idiot,” he growled through gritted teeth.

Dazai pushed him back down, and Chuuya saw him reach inside of his coat with his free hand, pulling out his revolver.

“Stop moving,” Dazai said in a hushed tone. He didn’t look at Chuuya, instead peering cautiously over the bar top, gun first. “You've been shot,” Dazai continued, as nonchalantly as if discussing the weather.

“...!”  

It took a second before Chuuya understood what Dazai had said. He looked down towards where the other man had his hand against him, and for the first time he noticed – and felt – the blood seeping into the fabric of his shirt. He watched it spread with detachment, as if he were watching a TV show, as if it were happening to someone else.  

Lightheaded, Chuuya started to laugh. The movement caused further pain, and as he moaned it turned into a spluttering cough.

“Glad you can see the funny side,” Dazai said as took aim over the bar top. One shot rang out, then a second. Bang bang. A grunt and the sound of a body falling. Chuuya coughed again.

Dazai stood up and reached behind him, removing pressure from the wound for a moment, before dropping back next to Chuuya, half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. The label was black. Chuuya smiled weakly.

“You have good taste in whiskey, surprisingly,” he said quietly. He could no longer feel Dazai’s hand against him, numbness spreading along with the blood, and he was struggling now to keep his eyes open.  

“Nothing but the best for chibi,” Dazai replied, unravelling several bandages from around his arm and pressing them against the open top of the bottle, tipping it.    

Chuuya’s muddled brain attempted to put together a comeback, but just as he tried to form the words, he felt the sting of the alcohol against the bullet wound.

Then everything went black.

[candykalewrites]

Wednesday Haiku

A man with a lute, Get back here you bastaaard! Ahh! War never changes. My axe is ready. My mouse moves to block his strike! ...I swear I blocked that. I leap, sword in hand. I aim for the jugular. I rolled a nat one. I attack with rage! Roll to hit; its an eighteen. Now for damage!... shit. The theme for this Wednesday was War, so I chose to base it on that Mordhau meme, For Honor, and D&D. Enjoy!