#and it sinking in that Dazai cared about Chuuya knowing the truth about himself

[threadmonster]

I'll (maybe) elaborate on this more at a later time, but I just keep thinking about the part in Storm Bringer where it states that Chuuya doesn't dream.

I think, "oh, but what if after those events he does start to dream. He has peace of mind with who he is, what if that opens doors and he has a dream for the first time"

"are his first dreams nightmares, but sentimental at the core? Playing back his memories with The Flags?"

"once he and Dazai are a team and form a deeper bond, what are his dreams like then? When Dazai leaves the Port Mafia and Chuuya doesn't know where he's gone to, do those dreams turn to nightmares over the anger and worry?"

Unfortunately, I think Chuuya would have nightmares and not really know how to deal with them. I think he adjusts well with what's thrown at him, but we do see when he loses comrades he gets angry and hurt.

Maybe his first dream is his memories of his time with The Flags. He dreams of what the anniversary party, that day, would have been like if nothing had interrupted it but then is hit with the reality of what really happened.

Previously he had (unwillingly) revealed to Dazai that he doesn't dream. Dazai was teasing him and he snapped. But Dazai had noticed that this might have changed.

Dazai casually teases Chuuya, that he knows he doesn't dream but if he's having nightmares he can come to him. It's not like he'd publish fliers and send them through the organization or anything.

Chuuya snaps at Dazai, but later, probably after they're soukoku, Chuuya lets his guard down a bit and decides to trust Dazai with his nightmares of his fallen comrades. That he doesn't actually want to lose Dazai like that too. That he doesn't even know why these things still bother him at times.

Dazai only listens. He enjoys the moment. He, who never doubted Chuuya's humanity, maybe finds seeing him like this actually makes Dazai feel his own humanity too.

Dazai's only regret about leaving the Mafia is knowing Chuuya is going to be haunted by his disappearance in his dreams, with no one to listen to them. He knows the bad ones don't outweigh Chuuya's good dreams, the bad ones just affect him more.

Okay, that's where I'm going to leave off because I don't like typing out too much on my phone. I lose track of what I'm saying (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)

[crow-writes-stuff]

Help me sleep

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dazai Osamu & Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs), possible Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs) Characters: Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs) Additional Tags: Whumptober 2020, Sleep Deprivation, Sleep Deprived Dazai Osamu, Nakahara Chuuya Takes Care of Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Sharing a Bed, Literal Sleeping Together, Post-Decay of Angels Arc (Bungou Stray Dogs) Series: Part 6 of Soukoku Whumptober 2020 Summary:

Dazai can't sleep. He finally asks Chuuya for help.

Ao3

Dazai stares blankly at the papers in front of him. He's trying to make sense of the black squiggly lines all across them. "Dazai-san?" Atsushi interrupts his concentration. "Hm?" Dazai asks without looking up. Atsushi fidgets with his belt before answering: "You seem really tired. Maybe you should finish early today?" Aw, he's concerned about Dazai! He finally looks up and gives Atsushi a smile. "What makes you say that?" More fidgeting. "Uh, well... For one, the papers you've been looking at are upside-down." Oh. Hm. That explains his troubles. Dazai shrugs and stands up. "Maybe you're right," he says with a cheerful voice, "tell Kunikida I'm calling in sick." This takes Atsushi by surprise, and he stammers through his response. Did he expect more resistance? "Oh, um, s-sure. But, uh, Dazai-san?" Dazai suppresses a sigh and looks back at Atsushi. "Yes?" The boy's expression is absolutely sincere when he asks: "Are you alright? You've been acting a bit strange lately. Everyone is worried." Ah, so Dazai has not been hiding it as well as he thought. He waves Atsushi off with a lazy smile. "I'll be fine, no need worry." That at least seems to placate the other for the moment, and he lets Dazai leave without further questions. Technically, Dazai didn't lie. He is sure that he'll be fine. Eventually. For now, he's leaning against the wall of the staircase and looks down at his shaking hands.

He's so tired. He has barely been sleeping, ever since... Ever since the whole disaster of the Decay of Angels situation. Sure, it worked out for them in the end, but Dazai's mind has known no rest. And neither has his body. He has tried almost everything he could think off to finally get some sleep but to no avail. Logically he knows that he only has two options left. Three, if he considers a successful suicide an option. He really, really would rather avoid both options. Which is precisely what he has done until now. The first is simple and would probably be effective as well. But taking drugs, even if they're regular sleeping pills, leads down a path he knows all too well. So that's a no from him. The second option is the last resort in every case. But what choice does he have at this point? Of course, he could go home and fail to rest again. But he knows how much his body can take and it won't be long until it reaches its limit. Death due to lack of sleep is not what he had pictured for himself.

Dazai sighs and fumbles with his coat to get his phone. The screen looks blurry to him, but that isn't the phones fault. Besides, he doesn't need to see to find what he's looking for. He starts the call and holds the phone to his ear. While listening to the quiet beeps of the starting connection, he sinks down the wall. Might as well sit down while he waits. It doesn't take long for the call to be picked up. "What the fuck do you want?" snarls an all too familiar voice. Dazai smiles. Good old Chuuya. His smile quickly falls again, and he takes a breath. He doesn't want to do this, but he's out of options.

"I need your help." The line goes completely silent. Dazai isn't too worried, though. Because as much as they fight with each other, their partnership has always been build on one fundamental truth; If one of them needs help, the other will provide it. As predicted, Chuuya soon asks: "What do you need?" His voice is even, but Dazai likes to imagine he hears a tiny hint of worry. Dazai almost wants to laugh, but he can't muster the energy. He's going to sound so pathetic. "I can't sleep." Another moment of quiet before Chuuya says: "Dazai if this is some kind of joke..." "It's not," he's quick to respond, "I think... I think I haven't slept for more than two hours this past week." The fact that he's unsure speaks for itself. He can hear a quiet sigh at the other end of the line. "Okay," Chuuya says, "Are you at the Agency?" Dazai nods before he remembers that Chuuya can't tell. His brain really isn't at its regular capacity. "I am." He hears quiet rustling and imagines that Chuuya is sitting at his desk, probably doing paperwork. "Wait there. I'm going to pick you up." The line goes dead without Chuuya waiting for confirmation. He knows Dazai will comply. He's the one that asked for help after all.

Dazai continues staring at the black screen of his phone, before resting his head on his knees. He just wants to finally sleep for more than a few minutes.

He sighs and checks the time. With a start, he realises that he already zoned out for a while. Time to go outside. He doesn't want Chuuya to come in here and perhaps run into someone else from the Agency. That would take to much explaining. Something Dazai does not have the energy for.

He makes his way downstairs and notices that he's swaying slightly. Looks like his sense of balance is also affected by the exhaustion. He's honestly a bit disappointed by his body.

Outside he leans against a wall for support. He doesn't have to wait long for Chuuya to turn up. The expensive red car is an instant giveaway even before it slows to a stop. No one gets out, so Dazai makes his way to the passenger door. He sinks into the leather seat without looking at Chuuya. Chuuya is looking at him, though. Dazai can feel his eyes as if they're burning into his skin. Finally, Chuuya turns to look at the street again. "Seatbelt," he says and starts the car again. He waits for Dazai to comply before driving off. Dazai really wants to make a joke, but his mind is blank. Chuuya usually isn't this concerned with safety, he's pretty confident in his driving. But Dazai notices that the seatbelt prevents him from slumping forward. So he settles back, his head leaning at the window. Perhaps that was the intention.

A hand on his shoulders brings him out of his thoughts. The engine is turned off, and Chuuya is looking at him again. They've already reached their destination. Said destination clearly being the underground garage of Chuuya's home. Dazai isn't surprised. They get out of the car and Dazai trails behind Chuuya as they make their way up to his apartment. He has stuffed his hands into his pockets. Chuuya has probably already noticed the shaking though. As much as Dazai likes to make fun of him, the other is far from stupid.

Dazai goes through the motions of taking off his coat and shoes entirely on autopilot. He only really comes back when a cup of hot tea is placed on the table on front of him. He doesn't even remember sitting down on the couch. Chuuya is sitting across from him. Neither of them has spoken since they started driving. Dazai already thinks that Chuuya is merely waiting him out when his expectations get defied. "This is going on since you came back?" Chuuya's talking about his little prison cell where he tried getting information from Dostoevsky. Of course, Dazai hadn't gotten out, until the threat of the Decay of Angels had been neutralised. But Chuuya is right. Dazai nods. "It's gotten worse over time." In the beginning, he had thought that it would be a temporary thing. That he'd soon be back to his old self. Sleeping on his desk if he wanted, head clear when needed. Instead, he just got less and less sleep.

Chuuya doesn't pressure him into talking more, and he appreciates it. He slowly drinks his tea. It's some kind of herbal mixture, presumably to help him sleep. He already tried that, but he doesn't comment on it. It won't hurt either.

He's staring at his empty cup when Chuuya stands up with a sigh. "Come on then." Dazai looks up at the offered hand and allows himself a tiny smile. Chuuya isn't looking at him anyway. He lets Chuuya pull him to his feet, and they head towards the elaborate bedroom. It's not the first time Dazai is here, but he's still fascinated by the giant dark wood bed frame and the deep red sheets. Chuuya once said, that now that he has money, he's not going to compromise on his own comfort. Looking at the bed, Dazai gets why.

Chuuya is already undressing when Dazai comes out of his thoughts. He turns around and starts unbuttoning his shirt. He places it on one of the chairs in the corner, his pants and socks soon following. When only his underwear is left, he turns back to the bed, where Chuuya already sits crosslegged with the blanket folded back. He's changed into a pair of pyjama pants and is leaning against the headboard. Dazai feels a slight pang at the few unfamiliar scars he spots. He ignores it however and starts crawling into bed. Chuuya easily puts his arms around Dazai and pulls him against his chest. This is far from the first time they have shared a bed. They shift until they're both comfortable, with Dazai having slung one arm over Chuuya, his head resting on the other's chest and their legs tangled together. Dazai closes his eyes, listening to the steady heartbeat of his partner. They may no longer work together, but he's never really stopped seeing Chuuya as that.

Chuuya starts gently playing with his hair and Dazai sighs. He had hoped that he would just fall instantly asleep, but that doesn't seem to be the case. "Everyone is safe," Chuuya says softly, and Dazai stiffens. How does he know what's on his mind? Chuuya sighs now. "So that is what's keeping you up? You're worrying about what happened to your friends." He pauses, waiting for a reaction that doesn't come. "And what you could have done differently to prevent it in the first place." Dazai squeezes his eyes even closer. Chuuya is right. "And you're probably trying to come up with a thousand plans to prevent something like this from happening again." Chuuya definitely knows him too well. Not that Dazai regrets this in any way. Chuuya always was weirdly insightful. And he's the only one with whom Dazai can be truly honest, even if he often isn't. He nods slightly, not reacting otherwise.

Chuuya's voice is gentle when he continues: "You're not going to like it, but there wasn't anything you could have done differently. We were all taken by surprise." He's still stroking Dazai's head, and he relaxes a little again. "And you can't prevent your friends from ever getting hurt again. But when it happens," Chuuya sounds like he's smiling now, "you'll find a way to get them out of it." Dazai sighs softly. Perhaps Chuuya is right once again. "And you won't be alone," Chuuya whispers finally.

Dazai smiles as he finally relaxes completely. Chuuya isn't going to leave. No matter how much he hurt him in the past, they're still partners. Dazai is safe with him. Probably the safest he'll ever be.

"Chibi is getting sentimental," he mutters, barely conscious at this point. Chuuya laughs softly. "Go to sleep, idiot." And Dazai does. Because Chuuya is right. Whatever comes next, he won't be alone to handle it.

[parkchuuya]

Foreword: The interpretation better known as unpopular opinion by the blogger seeks to give the reader another point of view but mainly to share the blogger's thoughts. It does not necessarily mean to disregard other opinions from the experts. The blogger is just a casual fan who in many reasons can't put down a pen. It may or may not resonate with your own interpretation. If it doesn't, I apologize. Just scroll down. But if it does, welcome to the club.

Date Written: June 3, 2020

Atsushi and Akutagawa has always been ride or die for Dazai.

Dazai's kids are more rampaging than Odasaku's orphans. They just don't go well together. In fact, they would be willing to kill each other when lazily pushed. But these two no matter how much hatred they have, they could create a blast when they work together, so yes Dazai being a fan of "teamwork makes the dream work". But it was not that these two were made for each other to be a younger version of Double Black. In fact, their representation to their senior is much more than just a Shin Soukouku. They both reminded Dazai of his past and present and possibly future.

Back in his Port Mafia days, it's always been fight or die so Akutagawa had to be strong or stronger in order to live because that's Port Mafia. Imagine having the power to control the underground, you have to be strict and merciless and more authorative. Akutagawa's health is crucial that's why Dazai had to break his bones before anyone could kill him for good. This rather cruel treatment Akutagawa received from his mentor crafted a somewhat goal to him as his motive to fulfill the standards Dazai had set. It became his ultimate goal that later gone wrong and bloomed a feeling of anger and hatred. This became more intense when Dazai had gone MIA, abandoned his mission, and left Port Mafia. It's as if Akutagawa had lost all strands of hopes he was willing to build to get that approval and of course who wouldn't get hurt like that. He's ghosted.

But did he really not care about his eldest son?

I think Dazai purposely left that kind of impression to Akutagawa so he would hate him and continue to get stronger and one day prove to him how he gotten strong; and that he would match his soon-to-be partner in crime, Atsushi my baby. That's why whilst fighting his own demons, Dazai managed to escape before anyone could notice that he's sinking... and he wanted Akutagawa to apply all he has taught him since day 1 and one day, be able to finally realize what it meant to be "strong".

On the other hand, Dazai had to tame the beast and recruit him to become a member of Armed Detective Agency. While Akutagawa is in the dark side, Atsushi with his naive, innocent and pure posture needs to be on the lighter side since opposite attracts. Dazai knows Akutagawa will do everything to surpass his goals so he thought he should be fine in the Port Mafia- secretly hiding his intention of preparing the two as mini double black version for the bloody battle against Fyodor the rat Dostoyevsky. As a detective, Dazai's treatment to Atsushi is soft compared to Akutagawa who sufferred in a lot of killings. By murdering people, Akutagawa had somehow found a reason to live not for himself but also for his sister, Gin. Unlike Akutagawa, Atsushi was more vulnerable, more tender that if he's been told to kill himself, he would arguably, eventually rather do over a period of unfortunate time. So Dazai had to carefully mold him and build barriers to Atsushi's fragile vessel sans giving him the idea of being "privileged".

That does mean different treatment means biased?

I don't think that's the case.

Dazai Osamu and The Dark Era, Chapter 3

In the Dark Era, when Odasaku asked Dazai about his subordinate Akutagawa I was convinced that Dazai already  "approved" Akutagawa's strength because if not, then there's no need for him to passively invite him in Port  Mafia. There's no need to waste time of hard training without special treatment. And the question still lingered at the tip of my tongue waiting to recall of what we known as an excuse or "reason". I think Dazai saw Akutagawa in him. No emotion at all. Just a powerful stray dog running around the alley slums, doing everything to survive. He's filled with anger and revenge and that's what keeps driving him to hold on. Even if it's cruel, even if it's painful. Back to history, Dazai Osamu appreciated Ryunosuke Akutagawa and he looked up to him so bad that it affected him when the latter committed suicide. This drove the aspiring author to follow the footsteps of his idol. In BSD, their roles are reversed. It was Akutagawa who was longing for Dazai's appreciation and Akutagawa seems not a fan of his mentor's suicidal habits.

The rather odd truth I found by their relationship was simply assuming. The retrospect taught me to look again in another point of view. Akutagawa is Dazai's past self, emotions, feelings, even boredom. He reminds him of what was the smell of bloodlust and violence again before he realized it was too late. It seems he "hates" Akutagawa because he still could not forgive himself for what happened though no one was saying it's easy. But after the exasperating fight with The Guild, he pulled off his mentor status and finally after a long period of time, he delivered the words by himself in person, "You've gotten strong", a few words enough for Akutagawa to realized Atsushi was right all along and his view of the world was twisted and wrong. Dazai knows it was the only resolution to pave a way for Akutagawa's character development and it needs to be him as his superior.

I think the miscommunication between these two were  notably shown. It was like:

For Dazai: Action speaks louder than words; but

For Akutagawa: The pen is mightier than the sword.

Akutagawa's jealousy or should I say, envy as we follow the chapters and the episode was enormous that it blinded him from the very path he wanted to take. The paces became blurry and muddy it was like he stepped directly on a quicksand and he forgot what he should do at times of chaos that killing is not always the right solution. This is why Dazai could not reach him in the first season's ending song. He does not know when enough is enough and because they were both a shadow of darkness in the past, there was only one boat eligible for one person and Dazai chose to save no one nor himself. This could also explain at least for me, when Dazai touched Atsushi's head, Akutagawa cried in blood. The blood represents his anger saturated with confusion and betrayal. Why did it have to be Atsushi and not him. But this could also explain that the both of them were submerging and they needed someone whose heart is strong no ability could ever tear, someone whose soul is pure and innocent. Someone who understands both good and evil but proceeded with kindness. He did not choose between them. He simply sought salvation and by faith, he met Atsushi.

Changing the focus to Atsushi, who's been tortured in his childhood, tormented, and broken, he was way unfortunate than the both of them. For the sake of his mental health, Dazai had to guide him into the light even though it means staying with him in the present. He even let himself captured by the Port Mafia to obtain information regarding the 7 billion bounty put on Atsushi's head. If someone asks me, I think he's already melting the brick facade he built for himself and Atsushi was the only one who notices that he's trying to get better. Atsushi is the living proof of Odasaku's last words, to be on the side that saves the poor because his life will at least get better, that is... if you're trying to live. Why did he obey Odasaku aside from the fact that he was his only true friend? Wasn't it because he felt guilty or he's just sentimental? No. It's because... he actually wanted to taste how living actually is. And he did. Now, things are going to change. For him, for Akutagawa and also for Atsushi.

And for Dazai, he caught himself tangled by Atsushi's healing abilities. He reminds Dazai of the beauty of the world without violence. Atsushi's view might find argumentative but at least it's philisophical. Atsushi always find the right words whenever Dazai talks to him. A simple nod, and "yes" brought a slight suprise to him. It's Atsushi's nature that even knowing the good and evil, Atsushi wish to perceive good and kindness. And to this extent, the rotten past Dazai was trying to conceal felt a permission to be forgiven. It took only one touch in the forehead for him to approve of Atsushi and as he tried to get along with him, he is also learning and developing. Atsushi might open doors for Dazai and also for Akutagawa to completely move forward.

After the war shin sokoukou had gone through, Dazai showed us that these two when guide together, is like a perfect harmony that without realizing, compliment each others' strength and value thus also discrediting his contribution, for us to realize that one does not need any appreciation or recognition to realize your own worth.

You are worthy and it's something you should NEVER ask validation from nor apologize for.

That's all for today, I'm beat, notice me Chuuya senpai ;-;

Follow me on my anime amino account where I post all my bsd stuffs ;-;

http://aminoapps.com/p/y0iwdr

[reolakradness]

Color My World

Chuuya was color blind. He had always seen the world in a black and white tint, a grayish hue. While others described the brilliance of blue and the richness of red, he’d always seen the same boring screen of color. A black and white movie with sound. That’s what the world appeared to him as. It didn’t really affect his life, so he never thought much of it. He could still fight, cry, smile, and get angry. He was normal all aside from his eyes really. He’d apparently been born with his color blindness and even though he was told he had beautiful azure eyes he’d never seen them and never will. Not even if he meets his soulmate. And it was inconsequential to someone like him. After all, a soulmate was made for you. He’d find it with or without colors.

He grew up on the streets and continued on his merry way with the sheep, living each day as his last, because hell, it might be. Before they attempted to back stab him.

The mafia saved Chuuya, he’d say that to his dying breath. It saved the redhead from a group of people hiding behind him, prepared to kill him at a moments notice, and leave him behind. Yes, the mafia had done him a great deal of good. Bringing Kouyou into his life also made him a great deal happy. If he didn’t have to deal with his jackass of his partner, it would be perfect.

Except he did.

Honestly, the short teen didn’t care much for his partner. He was rude, inconsiderate, always late, and always making fun of Chuuya in anyway he could. Especially his height which ticked him off the most. Of course, the brunette had easily picked up on his color blindness but all the jabs at his lack of ability to see color meant nothing to him. He truly didn’t care for them after all. The fashion comments bothered him though.

“Awwwww did the shrimp come out looking like this cause he can’t tell his clothes colors apart?” The tall teen cooed at him as Chuuya walked in with Kouyou.

“Bastard I look just fine I’ll have you know!” He wore mostly black for a reason. Couldn’t go wrong with it. He clenched his gloved hands into fists and grit his teeth. “And before you talk about my fashion stop looking like a mummy reject!” The angry 17 year old threw back. Just before Dazai could reply, Kouyou dragged Chuuya out, ending the argument.

As Kouyou dragged the shrimp out, he resisted the urge to sigh. The world was annoying bright and Daza just wanted to tell it to fuck off. How could it be so cheerful when Dazai couldn’t even smile? When his only reason to smile may never know?

Chuuya and Dazai are soulmates. Problem? Chuuya still couldn’t see colors. And while every day Dazai gazed at those beautiful sparkling orbs and his rich red hair, Chuuya continued on to see the world in the same black and white tones. Which also meant Chuuya didn’t know. And that he may never know because Dazai wasn’t gonna tell him. The chibi wasn’t gonna believe him, that much was for sure, and because Chuuya would probably never fall in love with Dazai the same way he had with the redhead. It was ironic really. He said all those mean comments in hope of getting Chuuya’s attention, arguing is better than nothing after all, and it only seemed to drive the other far away. Even as the magnetism dragged Dazai close, it repelled Chuuya farther and it was driving him nuts. Especially when the teen had already fallen so hard and fast. Within 2 months he’d gained a crush, by 4 it had been an obsession. He was hooked by the time half a year had passed, and was sinking faster with each day he was mesmerized by the french teen.

It was getting a little depressing.

Dazai turned and entered Mori’s office where he’d originally been going. Anything to take his mind off Chuuya…

Chuuya was now 18. He’d been with the mafia for 2 years and was celebrating his birthday at a huge party. What could he say, he’d made as many friends as enemies. For this celebration, he’d been dared to drink an entire bottle of wine in one go. Who was he to deny them? And so, an entire bottle of wine later, Chuuya was pleasant;y drunk, swaying and hiccuping. His blood hummed beneath his veins and a nice warmth came from his body, completely relaxed, although a bit warm. Discarding his coat did the trick. And then the music started and the redhead decided the party was just started grabbing a nearby spectator to start dancing with. Tachihara huh?

“Hope you’re good dancer…” And maybe it came out just a bit seductive and flirty, but Chuuya was drunk and couldn’t bring himself to care. “Cause we’re gonna dance our asses off.”

They danced. And soon, others were too. In fact, it turned into a contest of who could manage to get the birthday boy with them next and keep up with him. As the clock struck 12, Chuuya finished off a song with Gin and smirked at her, winking. The girl nearly combusted on the spot. Chuuya moved on to his next victim partner. Tall and lanky, dressed in almost all black, and clearly sober.

“Dazai…” He got out as the song began, a high tempo beat and something like a club song. Chuuya already felt adrenaline under his skin. This had to have been his favorite song all night.

“Chuuya.” Dazai purred back, beginning to move along with Chuuya, being so in sync with Chuuya, always knowing where to step, their dance was flawless.

Dazai won the competition easily.

Chuuya swayed along to a few more songs after that before the party ended and Kouyou brought him home. He remembered nothing more than the ghost of a whisper on his lips the next morning. Someone saying they were his soulmate. But Chuuya didn’t believe that. He also didn’t believe that flash of color he thought he saw was real. The doctors had told him… no matter what, he would see no color.

Dazai confessed on his 18th birthday. Well, he’d technically confessed a few months earlier, but Chuuya had been smashed and could hardly remember his name that night. So Dazai confessed again. This was the only gift he wanted. The brunette prepared for rejection. He got the most gentle smile ever instead and a bright and teary smile. Chuuya said yes. Dazai had cried from happiness.

If he’d known it would’ve been so smooth he’d have done it sooner. The brunette didn’t know someone was listening and plotting however. They kept their relationship a secret. They were in the port mafia after all, but soon they hardly saw each other. Dazai began getting more and more solo missions, Chuuya his own destructive kind. They worked together less and less. Finally the time came when they were allowed to work together again. Had Dazai known what was gonna happen, looking back, he would've help Chuuya before it happened.

What was supposed to be a simple mission, became dirty and messy. They weren’t gonna get out alive, weren’t supposed to escape alive. It’d been planned. Except they did. Chuuya used corruption.

Chuuya had used corruption by mistake. It was a life and death situation and it seemingly activated of its own accord. He started destroying everyone and thing he saw. The voice inside him that usually whispered, roared.

‘Kill, kill, kill kill. Destroy, burn, leave behind nothing!’ Until he thought nothing but these things. Until he didn’t think at all.

Soon his enemies were destroyed but more remained and Chuuya realized with abject horror, he wouldn't stop. Not until he died or nothing else existed. Both seemed horrible. Except he felt something grab him at his naval and pull. It was gentle and firm. He turned and Dazai was touching him, holding him. The world exploded.

Chuuya threw up and passed out.

Chuuya smiled as he thought back on it. He really was such a stupid and stubborn teenager. That day he’d touched Dazai for the first time, he’d seen color for the first time. Him who’d been told by so many doctors that it was hopeless, had seen colors. And boy had his body made him suffer for it. He was different. Only when he touched his soulmate, skin on skin, could he see color. Dazai began to make it a daily occurrence. Now 22, he sighed. He’d denied it so many times that's what caused the flash of colors. Every time Dazai nullified his ability he’d explained it away. Until that day he’d stopped corruption. Chuuya stopped denying and told him the truth. Dazai had cried in relief. They’d been going strong now for 4 years, even after Dazai had left the mafia and all was right when they cuddled in bed together. When the world finally came into a brilliant and clear focus.

"Hey Chuuya."

"Hm? He replied lazily as he laid there gently drifting between thoughts.

"Why'd you get sick all those years ago? Not the first mission, before that." Dazai asked as he rubbed his face into the redheads hair.

"Because, every time we touched, colors flashed and overwhelmed me. So I stopped touching you and things got better."

"And why didn't you tell me?"

"'Cause Mori was blackmailing me. Said he'd make sure we never saw each other again if I told you if you I knew."

"I'm glad we killed the bastard."

"Me too."

[strawberry-devil-fruit]

I Kept My Melancholy and My Agitations Hidden

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19048714/chapters/45247036

Chapter 5 of A Waterfall Framed in Summer Leaves

Can be read as stand-alone. Warnings: suicidal thoughts, intrusive thoughts, language

“I have always shook with fright before human beings. Unable as I was to feel the least particle of confidence in my ability to speak and act like a human being, I kept my solitary agonies locked in my breast. I kept my melancholy and my agitation hidden, careful lest any trace should be left exposed. I feigned an innocent optimism; I gradually perfected myself in the role of the farcical eccentric.” - Dazai Osamu, No Longer Human

Chuuya’s still formed grazed Dazai’s eyes. The redhead remains asleep three days after their mission; where Dazai almost failed to nullify Corruption.

There is so much guilt. He can’t get his head around it all. Every thought plagues him in a flurry of what if and I almost lost. Dazai struggles to keep in his chair. His legs bounce up and down restlessly. His hands clasp each other in a desperate game to stop from unwrapping bandages and scratching.

Dazai goes through the same old motions; thinking of death; wanting to die. He is so deep in, and Chuuya is a blur before him.

There is no hope for me. I’m such a burden. I’m faking it, I’m fucking faking it.

He squeezes his hands tighter. Dazai can’t shake it away. Guilt guilt guilt. Burden.

All the things Dazai does, all he feels—never a positive emotion—is just another stupid, stupid annoyance on everyone around him.

I’m a waste of time. So stupid. Worthless. Absolutely worthless and stupid and hopeless and fuck me, I should remove myself from everyone. I take up too much space.

Despair bubbles in a vicious energy, and his legs stay persistent in their bouncing. He can’t slow down; his thoughts, his legs. It’s too painful.

Dazai wants to sleep, lay down and sleep. Be encased by the warmth of his blankets like a coffin. He wants to stay like that forever, never wake up.

He’s falling. Falling fast or slow, Dazai can’t figure out, because he is endlessly confused and doesn’t know where to start. He remembers Odasaku advising him to organise his thoughts, take a breather, relax his muscles. Odasaku sure as hell wasn’t a certified therapist but this is where he should begin. Do this now and see where it takes him.

Dazai wants Chuuya to wake up…

I should stop asking for things. He brings his clasped hands to his forehead and presses them there with enough pressure to ache. Hope is useless, I’ve learnt that in the past. Dazai knows that’s not him talking, but the voice is so convincing, so soothing and understanding and helpful. I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared. I hate this life.

The thoughts are dizzying—his entire state is. The pain exhausts him and arouses the lingering sting in his arms.

Dazai curls in the chair, draws knees to his chest and buries his face in the dark.

I need to get my shit together. Stop thinking, stop thinking!

Mori will be back soon. He can’t show weakness or Mori will take advantage and exploit him.

Fuck fuck fuck… what am I doing?

Why can’t I focus?

He grits his teeth and almost screams but Chuuya’s unconscious grimace of pain distracts him.

Dazai’s mind tarries in fog, and Chuuya is quickly removed from his attention. The fog is as immovable as trying to swat a broom at the wind in hopes of it going away; Dazai grasps at nothing, finds no way out.

He draws inward, lets the world close tight around his awareness. Sink in, think of nothing.

Just enough, it has to be enough. But Mori will see through it, he always does.

The mantra of just enough carries through and resonates at Mori’s arrival.

Dazai stays quiet, making the words louder than the clacking shoes and doctor coming around him. He zones out as Mori hovers over Chuuya. It takes the weight of the world to focus on Mori when Dazai is addressed. Two minds in one; to continue the mantra, to listen to words he doesn’t want to hear. Comprehending them is both minds combined. He’ll need to sleep two days after this, the prediction rings in his bones.

“The entire gang,” Mori starts. He doesn’t need to say more.

Dazai meets steely violet eyes. “They had us surrounded. I was left with no other options.”

“I’m sure you could have found another way if you truly set your mind to it,” Mori’s tone is scheming. Dazai feels familiar shivers in his body and the immense urge to run. “But, of course, you forced Chuuya to use Corruption,” a glance to Chuuya, “and nigh on lost him, I suppose. Foolish.”

“I… I didn’t—”

Mori snaps over him with a croon, “Oh, but you did, Dazai-kun. You know you did.”

Mori is trying to get to him. Dazai knows that. His instinct is to break eye-contact and squeeze his eyes shut in defence. All he can do is shake his head as Mori continues to lean over him, too close—

“What do you intend to achieve from this?” Dazai breathes out.

“Your utmost subservience,” Mori states it like it’s obvious.

The door clicks closed and Dazai can finally take in air properly.

He hates himself so much more now. Not for Chuuya almost dying, not from Mori’s words… Himself.

For making the decision to return to the Port Mafia in the empty wish that it could save him, Dazai hates his guts more than ever.

A rustle draws his eyes to Chuuya who is… not so motionless. Dazai blinks blearily as he takes in the twitching fingers and shuffle of shoulders, foggy brain too slow to comprehend what is occurring before him.

Dazai snaps into awareness as he registers Chuuya’s scarcely open eyes, and leans closer to his partner. Only three days, that’s not too bad, he’s alive, oh thank god.

“Chuuya…” Dazai whispers, and he grabs Chuuya’s hand in his own, squeezing as tight as he dares. Chuuya’s gaze rolls over to him, straining as his head doesn’t follow. He raises his other hand, and Dazai understands the message.

He takes a glass of water from the bedside and helps Chuuya sip down a bit. Dazai relaxes back in his chair as Chuuya swallows.

Dazai knows he should say the words, but he can’t get them out. The number of times he’s spoken them in his entire life… Dazai can count it on one hand… one.

“I’m sorry,” and it’s genuine enough that Chuuya’s eyes widen. Dazai stares down at their intertwined hands, No Longer Human actively pulsating through his hand into Chuuya, suppressing the anger of Arahabaki.

“Wha—what for?” Chuuya clears his throat, and his voice still comes out dry.

“For… almost losing you. For almost being too late,” Dazai admits.

Chuuya blinks, “Well I’m here, aren’t I? What does it matter that you were almost too late to stop Corruption? And… honestly, the words don’t suit you, so keep them in there, please.”

Of course I’m saying sorry. You almost died. Why are you forgiving me? After everything I’ve done, how can you forgive me?

Dazai strains to keep awake and aware, focusing on Chuuya’s face, the acceptance in his relaxed expression, as if there was nothing to stress over and no one to punch.

“I can help you but you’ve got to want to be helped.”

What? Help me? Dazai tries to think of the many reasons why, and each plausible idea he strays from, because surely they are not so bad he needs help? He can get through it on his own, always has. Why should Chuuya help him, when the man spent every moment expressing his hatred for Dazai? It made no sense to him, and he didn't have the energy nor the mental capacity to figure out why Chuuya was offering help.

“You’re so messed up and yet you refuse to do anything about it. It’s obvious that you’re in pain. You hide it behind jokes and glorious ideas about how you want to die, without letting anyone remember that you do, actually, want to die,” Chuuya says, and the matter-of-fact way he puts it sends Dazai reeling back.

“So what?” Dazai clips. “There are plenty of people like me.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes, “Well, yeah… but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get better. Recovery is always possible. And it’s not just you’re suicidal tendencies. Your past is still affecting you, in negative ways, and too much to be bearable. You’re back in the Mafia, after all.” Chuuya turns his head now, stares directly into Dazai, into his soul, his mind, seeing everything he wishes to stay hidden.

“Can we stop talking about it? It’s stupid anyways. Let’s move on,” Dazai wriggles in his chair, looking away from Chuuya’s scrutiny. Who cares what happened in his past? That was years ago, it doesn’t matter.

“Then at least tell me something? Tell me something and I’ll leave you alone today,” Chuuya persists. And Dazai can see, that even saying something small will get Chuuya to lay off until Dazai can gather himself together. Maybe… maybe telling the truth for once will ease a little of the pain.

“Fine… I feel stuck. I feel stuck, and all the while everyone continues to move on without me. They have their paths, they aren’t lost. They aren’t frozen,” they don’t have Master to think about, they don’t have to dream of his presence every night. They don’t have to dream of Mori, either. Dazai has said his part. He doesn’t need to speak any longer.

................

Dazai stares into water, rushing by as slow as time. The river glistens white with moonlight, and the cool breeze makes the water shimmer. Dazai draws his coat closer around himself and crosses his arms. His mind is dreary, aching for sleep, be it eternal or until the sun rises.

I used to believe I never deserved love… And now I know it for certain: I’ll never deserve love. It’ll be better this way. Oh, how easy he had slipped into his demonic persona, eighteen once more and delighting in the pain he could draw from victims. All it had taken was Mori’s order and a knife in his hand. He is cruel. Too cruel to live, too cruel to be on the side that saves people. How can I be good if I can only do what is evil?

One step… One step is all he needs to reach the water, fall into its depths and never come to the surface again. One step to feel the ache of his lungs as they are deprived of air and frozen by the cool water. One step and his heavy coat will drag him down to the riverbed like an anchor. One step to try and end it all, pass into hell, escape the living. The temptation is almost too much to handle, to resist.

“Are you going to drown yourself?” Dazai doesn’t bother to spin around. It’s Chuuya, the pissed off voice enough of a marker. The steps approach him, near silent on the grass. “Seriously?”

“Did you expect any different?” Dazai asks. It’s a lie, he won’t attempt to die tonight, regardless. But Chuuya doesn’t know that, and he doesn’t need to know.

“I gave you everything. Before you left and even now, when you finally come back. When will you repay me?”

Dazai can’t bring himself to answer, too shocked by the sincerity of Chuuya’s words. He has been foolish, to not pay attention to Chuuya. His partner is right, he needs to repay him in someway, give back what he has always taken for granted. All those times he treated Chuuya as a dog, taken advantage of Corruption, ordered him around, not once giving control to Chuuya. Too hard, it’s too hard to go on, he’s a mess, he’s worthless, doesn’t deserve to live. He should take that final step, and would, if not for Chuuya who would save him again, like every other time he has.

“Why did you go the first time?” Chuuya asks softly. Dazai can understand. Chuuya is loyal. He puts everything into protecting those he loves, answers to, and he does everything they ask of him. So when Dazai left after Oda’s… after Oda’s death, of course Chuuya felt betrayed. Chuuya feels too much, wears his heart on his sleeve. He must have been crushed by Dazai’s abrupt departure.

Dazai shakes his head minutely. As much as he wants to speak, tell Chuuya everything, he doesn’t want to talk at all. Keep silent, keep it all locked inside, keep him from being vulnerable.

“Am I just a toy for you to play with and cast aside?” Chuuya growls. Dazai doesn’t reply, gaze fixed on the water. Go away, please. I’m sorry, I’m so damn sorry… but leave me to die. It’s what you want, right? You always go on about how much you want to kill me, want me dead.

Like his thoughts were spoken aloud, and perhaps they were, to Chuuya, his partner leaves, footsteps quieter as the distance between them stretches. Dazai shrinks at the anger radiating from Chuuya. He can feel it from here. No doubt Chuuya will be heading someplace to start a fight and drink his rage away.

Dazai should accept his help, he really should. But he can’t bring himself to when Chuuya will evoke in him so many emotions that Dazai doesn’t know how to navigate. It strikes in him a fear of the unknown. After living in darkness all his life, and still to this day, Dazai can’t let the light in. He can’t predict what it will do to him, and Dazai always knows what will happen next. He doesn’t want that structure disrupted. Dazai will do nothing, for he cannot accept Chuuya’s help. But… even without it, Dazai still feels those same emotions he wishes to run from.

“Is this what humans feels like?” Dazai whispers, and a warm trail streams down his cheek, again on one side, then the other. He reaches up a hand, feels the tears escaping him. “If it is, I don’t want it.”

[chuuyazai]

That One Smug Doctor

I found inspiration and decided to write this as a thank you to @kakuseis for being amazing!! It’s not much but I hope you enjoy it!!!

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Pairing: Soukoku (Chuuya/Dazai)

Word Count: 1379

Read on AO3: here

A steady beeping woke Chuuya from his slumber. Well, he couldn’t really call it a “slumber” since he absolutely did not feel refreshed. Even before he opened his eyes, he could tell that he was in the hospital. The beeping combined with the extreme soreness of his body and the light graze of small tubing against his skin told him exactly where he was. He slowly blinked his eyes open, groaning as the bright lights and white walls overtook his senses.

It took a few minutes before his head stopped pounding and he was able to focus. His head turned slowly, taking in not only the room but also the numerous machines he was connected to. Bandages covered his arms and chest, restricting him as he tried to rip out the IV line, cursing under his breath as his fingers fumbled with the needle unsuccessfully.

“Hey there! You don’t want to be doing that!” Chuuya processed the words at the same time when two large, and admittedly, soft hands covered his own and moved them away from the IV. He scowled and whipped his arm away and turned his head around to look at the stranger, body protesting slightly at the movements.

“Oi! Don’t touch me asshole!” He froze when his blue eyes met dark brown ones that portrayed an amusing glint.

The stranger simply smirked as he leaned in closer. “Hm? Feisty, aren’t we?”

This only managed to anger Chuuya more. First, he was stuck in the hospital and there was a random guy in his room, not caring about his personal space. His scowled deepened, trying to convey murderous intent through his gaze.

“Get. The fuck. Out.” His voice was harsh but he didn’t care, just hoping that the other would actually listen to him this time.

“No can do!” The other leaned back and took a few steps away, relief flowing through Chuuya as he got back his personal space. He cocked an eyebrow in confusion at the other’s words. “I’m your doctor, Dazai Osamu.” Chuuya felt like an idiot, only then realizing that the other did in fact have on a lab coat and was carrying around a stethoscope.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he mumbled under his breath, head dropping in both exhaustion and annoyance.

“Most people would find it a great honor to be under my care, you know.”

Dazai’s teasing tone did not amuse Chuuya at all, only increasing his annoyance. He looked back up and saw that he was looking at his chart, seemingly concentrating a great deal as his eyes scanned the page. “Well, I’m not most people.”

The other chuckled, “Oh, I could tell from the moment I met you.” Chuuya tensed as Dazai’s voice dropped to a more serious note. “Most normal people don’t come in with cuts, stab wounds, and bruises.” He put the chart back and walked to the side of Chuuya’s bed, looking over him and causing the redhead to tense up. The other quickly looked him over head to toe, before locking eyes with him. “So what exactly happened to you, Chuuya?”

Chuuya kept his gaze locked on the other, refusing to look away even if he was feeling slightly unnerved at the way he said his name. “Car accident.”

“Hmm? See you’re going to have to do better than that if you’re going to lie to me.” He walked over to the door, calling for something or someone, but Chuuya couldn’t hear. He then went over to the sink to wash his hands before putting on a clean pair of gloves.

Chuuya’s eyes never left the other’s figure. His gaze was intense, though the doctor couldn’t see it. The redhead took this brief moment of silence to examine just who was treating him. Unruly brown hair, tall and thin frame, fair skin, and an aura of confidence is what made up this doctor and Chuuya felt something akin to respect for the other. After all, not many people dare question him, much less tease him. Not to mention, the other was pretty attractive.

Wait, what?

“So what do you say? Want to tell me the truth now?” Chuuya was broken out of his trance as the other turned around and audibly snapped his glove.

“Why do you want to know anyway?” He sunk farther into the bed and stared ahead at the wall, light blush dusting his cheeks.

“So I can treat you properly, of course.” Dazai made his way to Chuuya’s bedside again and didn’t hesitate before moving Chuuya’s gown off from around his shoulders, causing the redhead to jump back and swat his hand out of the way.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” He pushed himself as far away from Dazai as he could get without falling off of the bed, bending his knee up to act as a barrier between the two.

Dazai simply let out a deep laugh. “I was just going to check your bandages. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything until the third date. I am a gentleman after all.” He finished his statement with a wink and Chuuya was torn between feeling flattered and pissed. He slowly let the tension out of his body as he shuffled back so that Dazai could do his job, grumbling curses under his breath as he did so.

The doctor was quick with his examination, simply examining the bandage and tape to make sure it was securely placed and there wasn’t too much blood. “So, since you won’t tell me, I’ll have to make up some wild story and see if it’s close.” He straightened out Chuuya’s gown before checking the bandages wrapped around his arms.

“Knock yourself out.” Chuuya was feeling bored and tired again, letting Dazai do whatever he wanted to do to his limbs as he just sat there, staring at the mop of brown hair that looked very soft.

“Hmm,” the other hummed to himself, grabbing Chuuya’s other arm to examine. “Bar fight. Three guys versus you, all of them twice your size, which actually isn’t hard considering how short you are,” Chuuya barked out a fuck you but Dazai didn’t pay him any attention. “You took them all out with ease, but being drunk, you still managed to get knocked around quite a bit. Then you ran out and passed out in a nearby ally.”

Chuuya’s eyes were wide as the other was able to perfectly recite what happened. “How the fuck?”

Dazai simply laughed again, Chuuya already pleasantly accustomed to the sound. “I was at the bar too and I followed you out to make sure you were okay. Then took you here when you obviously weren’t alright.”

“Then why did you have to ask me what happened if you already knew?” Chuuya spoke coldly to him, annoyed by his smug attitude.

“I wanted to see if you would be honest with me.”

Chuuya scoffed. “In your dreams asshole.”

“Is that a promise,” he said with a smirk, causing Chuuya to feign disgust. Dazai grabbed a pen and a sticky-note from out of his pocket before scribbling something down. Chuuya watched him in mild curiosity, curiosity only growing when Dazai ripped off the note and handed it to him. “You’re free to go whenever you want. Your pain seems to be okay since you haven’t complained once and your dressings are okay. I’ll have a nurse bring your things. I also didn’t call the cops on you since you weren’t the one to start the fight.” Chuuya just stared at the note as he talked, only looking up when he heard Dazai shuffling around. The other was grabbing all of his papers and supplies before heading towards the door.

“Oi, dickhead!” Chuuya called after him, thankfully earning Dazai’s attention. The brunette turned around, head cocked in attentiveness. “What’s this for?” He waved the piece of paper out in front of him.

“My phone number, since I couldn’t give it to you last night.” With a wink, Dazai left Chuuya there alone with his mix of emotions. After a few minutes of thought he let out a huff, lips twitching upwards as he gently placed the number on the bedside table where he could see it.

“That smug bastard.”

[jotarosfattits]

   Blood and Roses

  Blood runs down his chest in big droplets. His muscles contract and relax as he scrubs at the blood. The steam from the hot water in the clawfoot tub clears his senses, but not his thoughts.  The dim light does not help Dazai to see everything, but he can tell. He can tell that he’s still covered in blood. He raises a hand to the fogged mirror and swipes left, clearing a space in the mirror where he can see himself. The bandages that are usually covering his right eye are gone, showing the milky chocolate colored iris and a small, fading cut just above his cheekbone. As Dazai examines himself further, he notices red droplets falling from the tips of his hair. He thought he washed all of it out. His skin is paler than usual and he has small bags under his eyes. He needs to take better care of himself. Not eating at all during the day and drinking a small glass of whisky every night with Oda is not good for him. He needs some source of food, energy, something. But with the idea of suicide at his door, what could he do? It was hard to walk next to a food shop and just listen to the growl of his stomach.

  At this rate, he might just die from food deprivation. He grabs a rag hanging over the edge of the sink and starts to dab his hair, trying to remove the blood that is caked to his hair and skin. It’s no use. He has to soak in the tub again to remove the clotted blood. He wasn’t grossed out by blood, he was just sick of seeing it. The dark and shiny pigment of red was almost sickening, but soaking in a tub to remove it from himself was a nightmare. He lowered himself into the tub again, the water is still hot. Although, he doesn’t mind the tingling feeling he gets as he settles into the liquid. He grabs the bottle of shampoo and squirts a quarter-sized circle into the palm of his hand.

   How many times had he done this?  

  How many times had he scrubbed the blood off of his body? How many times had he sat in the same damned tub to cleanse himself of all the things he had done? How many times a year did he feel that need to hit and punch and scream? He lathered the soap in his hands before running his fingers through his hair. As he squeezed and massaged the soap into his hair, large droplets of water and blood would fall out of his hair and into the water below him. Dazai had lost his boisterous charm hours ago, he couldn’t keep that facade up and longer. Now he was just despondent, sitting in the tub silently as he scrubbed his hair.

  Among everyone in the Port Mafia, Dazai was a virtuoso. “Skilled at everything,” People would say. But Dazai was not skilled at everything. He was not skilled at handling emotion, especially his own. He brought his hands down and stared at the now red shampoo. “I’m a fuck up…” He whispers to himself. “What kind of life am I living?” In truth, not even Dazai himself knew. But he just kept living everyday. Some were bloodier than others, some were just plain boring.

  He dipped his hands into the water to rinse the bloody shampoo off and squirted more shampoo into them. It seemed to take an hour to make sure all of the blood was out. Dazai climbed out of the tub and grabbed a towel hanging from the shelf. His phone rang. From it’s position on the counter and from where he was standing, Dazai could see the caller ID, the word “Odasaku” displayed in big white letters.  He never answered the phone. He let it sit on the counter, ringing and vibrating.  How could he do such a thing? Ignore Odasaku, his very own friend? Dazai thought about the word ‘friend’ for a moment. He was no friend. Dazai constantly thought about committing suicide, while Oda politely sat and listened. Odasaku always listened to what Dazai had to say…and what had Dazai done? He just wanted to switch jobs with poor Odasaku so he could have the chance to be blown up.  Dazai curls a few strands of hair with his finger.

  He walks out of the small bathroom and into his bedroom. The bed made a depressing creak as he fell back onto the mattress. The small apartment suffocated him, it was never big enough for him to become comfortable, never big enough for him to be comfortable in his own skin. He heard his phone ring in the bathroom. His chest clenched, he didn’t have the heart to speak to Odasaku at the moment. Dazai gripped his shirt at the hem and bit his bottom lip bloody. The iron taste was overpowering, and he felt like he would choke on the liquid. The phone stopped ringing and Dazai calmed down slightly, although he knew that later he would have to answer his friend. He looked down at the bandages that emblazon his arms. All the scars that were hidden under them were hideous. Dazai flinched as he remembered all the blood running down his arms, legs, chest and neck as he cut the thin lines into his skin. This feeling was horrible.

  Dazai hated the way he felt, but he couldn’t fix that. He had to deal with the depression and anxiety he felt as he walked through the halls of the Port Mafia everyday, he had to endure that clawing, aching feeling that dragged him down every single day. How his chest tightened with the pain and regret of being alive was painful.

Could he really not find anything worth living for?

Was this his life?

Did others not really see how pitiful of a human he is?

 He’s not a human at all, he’s a monster.

  I am not human, Dazai thinks. I am a wretched soul walking this earth that does not belong here, for someone like myself in whom the ability to trust others is so cracked and broken that I am wretchedly timid and am forever trying to read the expression on people’s faces…

  Dazai stares blankly through the window. Ten minutes go by, he still hasn’t moved. His stomach gurgles, he needs to get up and eat something. But the weight of his body keeps him on the bed, as if Chuuya himself used his Ability to keep him there. Dazai fights with himself for another five minutes, arguing about whether he should eat or starve. Maybe if he starved, he could die right there on the mattress, and no one would know. No one would care. Dazai pushes his upper body up with his arms and swings his legs over the bed. His hair is still slightly wet from his bath, water droplets fall from the tips of his hair and onto his lap. Dazai’s suit hangs in the corner of his room and he eyes it warily. He should go. Oda probably needs to speak with him…maybe Oda can help Dazai feel better, and at the very least, help him feel something. Dazai needs the comfort of his friend. He needs to know that someone cares for him, that someone would care if he died in a ditch somewhere.

That’s what friends are for, right?

   The loud clinking of silverware is deafening. It’s annoying. Everything about being in this space is uncomfortable. Dazai couldn’t remember a time where he sat down to eat. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had eaten. Dazai is sitting in the corner of a small diner, watching other people enjoy the company of their friends and family. He spots a familiar red-head with the familiar beige jacket out of the corner of his eye. He continues to look down at the menu in front of him. “Dazai.” Odasaku announces as he sits across from Dazai. Dazai flinches at the sound. He knows Oda wants to talk about the missed calls. “How have you been?” Oda asks. Dazai looks up and into the man’s eyes. “I don’t know.” The waitress walks up to the table. “Have you decided on what you’d like?” She smiles, but Dazai can tell it is nothing but habitual. Dazai doesn’t return the smile, “I’d like a country fried steak with mashed potatoes.” He flicks a finger against the glass of sprite in front of him. Oda places his order and asks for a water. “I thought you’d like to eat while we talked…” Dazai drifts off as he speaks. Odasaku tilts his head to the side.

  “Thank you for thinking about me, Dazai. In fact, I was imagining what you were thinking when you missed my calls. You usually answer.” Odasaku didn’t mean to sound harsh or rude, but Dazai took it as a small affliction to his personal being. Dazai frowns, “I have no desire for others to take it on themselves to analyze my thoughts.” Both males look up at each other. “What happened, Dazai? You’re different.” Oda accentuates the word “different”. Dazai takes a sharp breath.

  Can Dazai even explain how he feels? Of course Odasaku would understand, but there is just so much that Dazai feels that he cannot possibly relay it all in the hopes that his friend will automatically comprehend. “It’s hard to explain.” Dazai says after a minute. “I’ve got all night.” Odasaku replies casually. He is willing to listen to Dazai, no matter how long it takes.

It’s what friends do.

[lenin-it-to-win-it]

“I’m Here”

Summary: After escaping Poe’s book, Chuuya struggles- and fails- to come to terms with the fact that  Akutagawa has been killed.

Notes: HOLY SHIT ANGST ALERT, in case that summary didn’t clue you in. Normally, I try to keep my Chuuaku fics pretty light because Chuuya and Aku have suffered enough already, but I came up with this scenario after the latest chapter came out, and I just had to write this. Welcome to suffertown!

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I

It was summer.

Sun beat down on Yokohama with a ferocity that blurred the air, burning the city into submission. Sweat streaked Chuuya’s forehead, but he shivered. His mind had detached itself from his body, had sunk to some dark, unfathomable place where the physical sensation of heat was forgotten and feelings were dulled by distance. Chuuya stared at the ring in the palm of his hand, too numb even to cry.

He had meant to give it to Akutagawa weeks ago, once the guild had been defeated, but Akutagawa was so drained from his fight against Fitzgerald and brief encounter with Dazai that Chuuya didn’t want to risk overexciting him. There would be plenty of time to propose later, he thought, once Akutagawa was feeling better.

How stupid of Chuuya to forget that a mafioso’s “later” was a promise written on water.

Something came up. Something always came up. Fyodor and those wretched rats, the destruction, the chaos, the missions upon missions upon missions that seemed tailor-made to keep Chuuya and Akutagawa apart.

Then the book.

Chuuya was stunned when he found out he had only been gone a few days when it felt as if he had been trapped inside the book for months, but he was relieved. If only a few days had passed, Akutagawa should be fine. That wasn’t enough time for him to have gotten seriously hurt, right?

Wrong.

Chuuya bit his lip to keep from crying out. Even alone, he didn’t want to admit weakness.

Wrong, wrong wrong. . .

Chuuya couldn’t remember the moment he found out. He didn’t remember who told him, or where, or what he had been doing before, the words they had used. He didn’t remember shaking his head, denying, laughing as tears streamed from his eyes then collapsing to the ground, sobbing, believing, letting the terrible truth sink in.

All he remembered was the last time he and Akutagwa had been together. Chuuya had to leave in the dead of the night for a mission, but Akutagawa had looked so soft and peaceful in sleep that Chuuya couldn’t bear to wake him up. Instead, he settled for giving Akutagawa a quick kiss on the forehead and leaving in silence. He never said goodbye.

What was the last thing he had said to Akutagawa? What were Akutagawa’s last words to him?

Chuuya dragged his hands through his hair, tearing out copper strands. The ring slipped through his fingertips and clattered on the ground. Chuuya didn’t bother picking it up. What did it matter now? Akutagawa was gone.

No, he wasn’t gone. Chuuya could admit as much to himself. “Gone” made it sound as if Akutagawa had merely decided to leave, but that wasn’t what happened. Akutagawa didn’t leave.

No.

Chuuya’s body suddenly went cold

He was murdered.

Akutagawa had been murdered, and Chuuya already knew the culprit.

The virus ability user. . .

Chuuya kneeled down and picked up the discarded ring, cradling it in the palm of his hand for a moment before clenching his hand into a fist and striding out of the room, bent on revenge. The cold metal of the ring dug into the flesh of his palm.

It was blazing hot outside.

II

It was winter.

That was how Corruption always felt to Chuuya, like winter.

A blizzard.

Cold and capricious winds dragged icicle claws into the bellies of storm clouds above until snow bled from their wounds. Silent snowdrifts swept through his mind like static as snowflakes struck the ground with cannon-fire bombast, falling in time to the distant pounding, thrumming, buzzing deep in the core of bones Chuuya could no longer feel. The wind shrieked as if it was wounded, roared as if angered, whimpered as if grieving.

Trapped in the icy embrace of Corruption, Chuuya felt nothing as his distant body laid waste to everything around it. He remembered nothing, not the heat of vengeance nor the warmth of love. Chuuya had dropped the wedding ring long ago. He had given himself over to the storm.

Then the storm ended, and Chuuya was instantly, crushingly aware of every searing pain, every bone-deep ache tormenting the body it appeared he still possessed after all. He gazed at his shattered surroundings through unseeing eyes, unable to make sense of the blood-splattered ruins of a place he did not know. Even as he tried to make his eyes focus, the world seemed to fade to white at the edges. A cold hand gripped Chuuya’s shoulder, causing him to scream in pain.

“Calm down, partner,” whispered a familiar voice. Long arms slipped beneath Chuuya’s knees and around his shoulders, lifting him into the air. “It’s over now.”

Chuuya couldn’t make out the details of his face, but he would have recognized that voice anywhere. “Dazai?” he hissed, struggling to speak through the tightness of his throat. Chuuya couldn’t tell if he had spoken or not; all he could hear was the pounding in his head. “Put me down! I don’t want you-” Chuuya gasped, tearing up as another wave of pain struck. Before he could break away from Dazai, Chuuya fell unconscious, as helpless in Dazai’s arms as he had been in the storm.

***

Dazai’s apartment was a wretched little place.

Chuuya sat on a worn-down couch, wrapped in a moth-eaten blanket, holding but not drinking a cup of pre-packaged bile Dazai insisted was tea, listening to him explain what had happened, a look of total impassivity on his usually expressive face.

“-and then I arrive to find everything destroyed, everyone dead, etcetera, etcetera. Of course, I predicted you’d go after him once you figured out what happened,” Dazai said with a hint of smugness.“So, naturally, I had to be there, too.” Dazai took a sip of tea, then smiled. “My Chuuya is so high-maintenance.”

Chuuya gripped the teacup almost hard enough to shatter it. “I’m not yours.”

Dazai seemed a little put out. “You could at least say thank you,” he huffed, drumming his abnormally long fingers on the rim of his teacup. “I did save your life, after all.”

“Thank you!?” Chuuya leapt to his feet, throwing his teacup to the ground. Almost as soon as he was standing, Chuuya lost his balance and collapsed back onto the couch. The seismic throbbing in his head mounted, beating back his thoughts the instant they began to form. Chuuya cradled his head in his hands, willing the pain to go away.

Dazai reached toward Chuuya’s face; Chuuya smacked his hand away. Weakened as he was, the slap could not have been very painful, but Dazai drew back his hand as if he had touched a hot stove. “I’m just trying to help you,” said Dazai, annoyed. “Chuuya, I can’t do anything for you if you’re just gonna keep pushing me awa-”

“I don’t want you do to anything for me!” Chuuya cried, digging his fingernails into Dazai’s hideous couch to keep himself from attempting to gouge Dazai’s eyes out. “I don’t want anything from you- you ruin everything you touch! You’re a monster!”

“Monster?” Dazai looked pained for a moment, but his genuine emotion was quickly masked by cold anger. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t the one who murdered for a living,” he said, his words as cool and clipped as flurries of snow whipped into a frenzy by the wind, stinging like shards of glass as they struck the skin.“You might not remember what you did to all those people while you were using Corruption, but I saw it, I remember. If you want to see a monster, Chuuya, I’d suggest looking in a mirror.”

Chuuya refused to take Dazai’s bait. “This isn’t about me, and this isn’t about those damn rats I killed either,” he growled. “This is about you, and what you did to Ryuu.”

Dazai furrowed his brow. “Akutagawa-kun? I didn’t kill him, and I assume you know that, since you set out to kill the man who did.”

“You can’t be this stupid!” Chuuya snapped. “Do you really think Ryuu would have gone on that mission if you weren’t the one sending him?”

“If I hadn’t sent him to catch the virus user, Mori-san would have,” Dazai replied with a shrug. “I figured at least with Atsushi-kun, he would have someone to watch his back.”

“You fucking idiot!” Chuuya was unable to keep a bit of hysterical laughter from bubbling up in his sandpaper throat. “You stupid motherfucker.” He gave one more manic giggle, then relapsed into rage once more. “Who do you think made Ryuu that way in the first place? Every mission he’went on, he went on because you made him.”

Dazai stared down at Chuuya with eyes carved from ice. “I made him stronger.”

“You made him broken!” Chuuya clenched his hands into fists, cutting his palms with the jagged edges of his fingernails. “You beat him, tortured him, made him need you. You shot him in the face! He was just a kid, Dazai! A fucking kid!”

“I don’t have to take this from you.” Dazai took a slow sip of tea. “A current mafioso has no right to lecture a former mafioso on right and wrong.”

“I’m not saying I haven’t done worse, but at least I have the common-fucking-decency to regret it!” Chuuya cried, eyes blazing. “If I treated a kid- hell, any subordinate, anybody under my care- the way you treated Ryuu, you can bet your ass it would keep me up at night. But you-” Chuuya savagely swiped at the tears stinging his eyes. “You’re proud of what you did, aren’t you, bastard? Even now that you’re Mr. New and Improved, strutting around that stupid agency of yours like you’re a changed man who serves the greater good-” Chuuya snorted with derision. “You’ll never apologize for what you did to Ryuu. He’s dead, and not only will you not admit that it’s your fault-” Chuuya sniffled, wiping his nose on Dazai’s blanket. “-but even if you did, it wouldn’t bother you. Not for a goddamn second.”

Chuuya stood, clutching the edge of the couch to steady himself, and began walking out of the room. He was still weakened by Corruption, and his vision swam, blurred by pain and tears, and every nerve in his body ached, but he would have walked ten thousand miles on a path of broken glass as long as it led away from Dazai, who made no effort to stop him.

Sooner or later, Chuuya found himself in Kouyou’s arms. She said nothing, but led him to bed, gave him a warm cup of proper tea, and stroked his hair until he managed to sink into a restless sleep haunted by terrible dreams.

Weeks passed as one nightmare faded into the next seemingly without end. Chuuya ate little and spoke less, only leaving bed when Kouyou made him. Even then, he didn’t leave the house, but only laid on the couch staring blankly at the ceiling.

Revenge had done nothing. Yelling at Dazai had done nothing. There was nothing Chuuya could do to bring Akutagawa back.

Tears pricked Chuuya’s eyes. Without Akutagawa, life was nothing.

Then, on a day like any other, Chuuya left bed of his own accord and informed Kouyou that he was leaving. “Business to attend to?” she asked, effortlessly keeping her tone nonchalant even as her eyes shone with relief.

“Close,” Chuuya replied. His voice held none of its former passion, but he was speaking. His eyes had not lost the appearance of being haunted. “I’m going to visit a friend of mine.”

III

It was fall.

Summer had given way to autumn, and the world was fading, already anticipating the arrival of winter with a prolonged exhalation. A chilly gust of wind rustled the dying leaves on the tree just outside the window, but Edogawa Ranpo was concerned by far more pressing matters.

Ranpo rolled his eyes. “I’m telling you for the last time, Poe, ‘sepulchered’ isn’t a word.”

Poe crossed his arms, sulking and staring down at the Scrabble board. “It’s called literary innovation, Ranpo-kun.”

“Literary innovation, my ass,” Ranpo retorted. “I don’t need my ultra-deduction to know that’s a load of-” A knock at the door cut Ranpo short.

Poe vaulted across the table, knocking over the Scrabble board, and darted into the kitchen, closing the door behind him. “I’m not here,” he called.

Ranpo shook his head, but there was a smile on his face. Athough the agency had more or less accepted Poe, he still insisted on hiding every time someone came to visit Ranpo, more out of shyness than necessity. However, in this case, the visitor wasn’t from the agency at all.

Ranpo raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Fancy Hat? What brings you here?”

Chuuya looked up at Ranpo with shadowed eyes, silent.

“You should sit down,” Ranpo said, linking arms with Chuuya and leading him into the living room. He let Chuuya have the softest chair and sat on the coffee table across from him, studying his face and waiting for him to speak.

Chuuya wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the ground. “It’s cold in here.” His voice was fainter than Ranpo remembered it, and he shivered despite the warmth of the room.

Ranpo shrugged off his pancho and draped it around Chuuya’s shoulders. “Does that help?”

Chuuya’s only response was a blank stare. Then, some light seemed to flicker on inside for a moment, and he nodded. “Thanks.” He slouched over so that his forehead was practically touching his knees, crumbling in on himself, as if his bones were turning to dust beneath his flesh.

“So, Nakahara-kun, any, um, reason you’re here?” Ranpo asked, scratching his head.

Ranpo and Chuuya had bonded in the time they had spent together in the book; they had to, in order to keep their sanity in Poe’s literary labyrinth, in that shifting world populated by unrealities. Chuuya had a passion and dedication Ranpo could admire, even if those qualities were often the cause of his greatest weaknesses, and the fiery young mafioso had in turn grown to respect Ranpo’s intelligence. Grudging respect had given way to a sort of comradeship over time, but Ranpo had not expected to see Chuuya again, particularly not with Chuuya looking as if he had just crawled out of his own grave.

“He’s dead.” The words came out of Chuuya’s mouth in a short, percussive burst that seemed to leave him breathless for a moment. “Ryuu.”

It took Ranpo a moment to realize Chuuya must have meant Akutagawa, the mafioso Dazai had paired up with Atsushi, the one who had been killed by the virus ability user. “You never mentioned him before,” Ranpo said in a feeble attempt to break the oppressive silence. “I didn’t realize you two knew eachother.”

Chuuya made an effort to lift his head and look Ranpo in the eyes. “I loved him.”

Ranpo felt his mouth go dry. “Oh. Yeah, that’s. . . that hurts.” Ranpo was at a loss; he had lost his parents before, and he understood the depth of pain and grief Chuuya must have felt, but he had no idea how to communicate any of this to Chuuya. “Sorry.”

“Remember in the book,” said Chuuya, abruptly flaring back to life. A manic gleam stole into his tear-swollen eyes. “Remember being surrounded by all those people?”

“Characters,” Ranpo corrected.

“They felt real, didn’t they?” Chuuya insisted, leaning forward so his face was inches for Ranpo, his fingers tigging into the plush arms of the chair. “Like real people? Remember? Remember how it felt after a while when one of them was murdered? Like a real death? Like a real world where real people lived and died?”

Ranpo felt a shudder of apprehension trail down his spine. “Nakahara-kun, I-”

As suddenly as the burst of energy had struck, it faded, and Chuuya sank back down into the chair, his eyes dulling like dying embers. “I miss it in there,” he whispered, allowing his eyes to close. “I felt lighter there. My head was quieter.”

He was talking about Corruption. Ranpo wasn’t sure what that had to do with Akutagawa dying, but, figuring Chuuya wanted to change the subject, decided to go along with it. “Well, I mean, you know it’s different with my ability,” said Ranpo with a shrug. “It sets me apart from everyone and makes it hard to connect, but it’s a part of me- without my ability, I’m lost. I don’t know who I am.”

“That’s it! That’s it exactly!” Chuuya eyes burned with manic fire. “I don’t know who I am without him! All the best parts of me were tied up in Ryuu, and now- a-and now-” Chuuya’s shivering had grown more intense until he shook so violently that the chair creaked and groaned in protest beneath him. “I don’t want to be who I am without him.” Chuuya stared up at Ranpo through haunted eyes. “Ranpo-kun, your friend, with the books, do you think he could-”

“No!” Ranpo exclaimed, horrified. “Nakahara-kun, you can’t be serious!”

“I can’t live without him,” Chuuya whispered, at last allowing his gathered tears to fall. “I can’t live knowing I failed him. I have to see him again! I need him! Ryuu!”

As Chuuya began to cry in earnest, Ranpo leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his friend’s shoulders. “Hey, don’t- it’ll be- I-” Everything Ranpo could think to say sounded hopelessly impotent in the face of Chuuya’s raw emotion, so he fell silent, holding Chuuya and hoping physical gestures alone would give him some kind of comfort.

Though the crying gradually slowed to a halt, Chuuya never lost the haunted look in his eyes. He ran out of tears; his pain was unending. “Ranpo-kun, look at me,” Chuuya breathed. “Can’t you see I’m not the same?”

Much as Ranpo hated to admit it, even to himself, Chuuya was right. The broken man before him bore little resemblance to the Chuuya he had known in the book. In the span of a few weeks, Chuuya seemed to have aged decades, to have lost the spark of passion that sustained him, that kept his eyes burning even in the darkness of life. The Chuuya Ranpo knew would have threatened and coerced and stopped at nothing to get what he wanted; this Chuuya wept and pleaded and seemed seconds from total surrender.  

What would happen to this Chuuya in the mafia? Without that guiding flare in his heart, the drive that carried him so far, how would he survive? Ranpo doubted the mafia would take kindly to this version of Chuuya; sure, they had tolerated him up to now, but sooner or later, they would try either to re-ignite his flame by imbuing him with a lust for vengenace or, should that prove unsuccessful, he could be found a liability and disposed of.

Ranpo sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll talk to Poe.”

IV

It was spring.

A soft breeze rustled the trees, and pale flower petals descended through the air like angels cast out of heaven, spiralling toward the ground, toward ruin. Without knowing how he understood, Chuuya knew it would always be spring here. Never again would summer sear his soul, nor harsh winter air grate against Akutagawa’s fragile lungs; here, they could always be together, always at peace, always safe and always in love in this world of eternal spring.

When Chuuya lowered his gaze from the flowers above, he saw a dark figure standing alone where the trees began to thin out, staring at the edge of the sky as it faded into the sea. Akutagawa had always admired the ocean from afar although he despised the cacophony of crashing waves up close. As if on cue, Akutagwa turned around, offering Chuuya a soft smile. “I’ve been waiting for you, Nakahara-san,” he said, his voice a bit gentler than it had once been. “Don’t you want to come over here?”

Chuuya’s breath caught in his throat, and his heart began beating so suddenly and wildly that it felt as if it was beating for the first time. Tears clouded his eyes, but he swiped them away, desperate not to lose an ounce of clarity as he gazed at Akutagawa’s pale face, imbued with a look of peace it so rarely had in reality. “R-Ryuu-” Chuuya tried to smile but his lips were trembling. Despite his best attempts to keep himself from crying, tears started falling. “Oh, Ryuu!”

Akutagawa’s eyes widened as he took in Chuuya’s tears and he began moving toward Chuuya, not walking so much as gliding, like a ghost, but when he put his hands on Chuuya’s cheeks, they were every bit as cold and rough as Chuuya remembered. “Nakahara-san, what is it?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”

Chuuya shook his head. “I’m okay. I just-” Chuuya sucked in a deep breath. “-I was thinking about what would happen if you died.”

“Why would you think about that?” Akutagawa’s voice was tinged with annoyance, but his hands were gentle as they stroked Chuuya’s hair. Akutagawa sighed, wrapping his arms around Chuuya. “Well, no matter, Nakahara-san. I’m here.”

No, you’re not.

Chuuya managed a shaky smile, and he wrapped his arms around Akutagawa, pressing his face close to his bony chest and inhaling his familiar scent. “I know, baby. I know.”