#dazai and chuuya letting you strip them down so you can finally take a look at them

[sxlver-sweet]

HELP I JUST WANNA SEE CHUUYA SHIRTLESS WITH ALL HIS TATTOOS

sigh. *opens google doc*

OKAY WAIT WAIT. what about when you can see the FAINTEST flash of black ink over their shirt collars or peeking from beneath their rolled-up sleeves? like you KNOW it’s there and everyone else does too, but they never show it off so it’s just a mystery.

[sweet-cynical-writer]

Zai's notes: Hello, hello~ finally I finished a wonderful Angst collab with my lovely daughter @soukokuwu ! I'm very pleased with how this came out. I had fun writing this with her as well. I hope we can collab again soon~!

rachel's rambling: — thanks for being patient, father, this could have been done ages ago but i’m horrible XD it was a pleasure to work together on this & i hope you guys like it too ^.^

Genre: Pure Angst!

Pairing: Soukoku

Warnings: Heavy Gore, Cursing, Death!

He’s supposed to be happy, isn’t he? This is what he’s wanted for so long. So why? Why isn’t he excited? Why is it that all he feels is a certain... longing?

The sharp edge of the blade is pressing against his neck, with a force strong enough to hurt but not hard enough to pierce his skin. A video camera is atop a tripod, a few feet away from him. And as the criminal asks him, “any last words?”, Dazai finds himself staring vacantly into the eyes of the camera, wishing he could see the clear azure eyes of his friend, his lover, on the other side.

No, this is all wrong, he thinks to himself as he ignores the cold steel against his throat. This isn’t the death he wants. Not like this.

Dazai hates the fact he’s going to die by the hands of a common criminal. He decides against confessing his feelings — that’s probably not what the redhead needs. No, what he needs is a message of some sort, to keep him intact after the inevitable happens. Dazai knows it; he’s not going to make it out of this alive.

"Don't lose control. Stay level headed."

He says it so calmly, so smoothly. It nearly makes the killer shiver in disgust. This man truly is a suicidal maniac — who else would look so calm in the face of death? No matter, the kidnapper is happy to oblige as he grasps at a fist full of brown hair, angling it for the perfect cut.

With a swift motion, the sharp edge of the blade slices easily into and across Dazai’s flesh.

It’s horrible, so horrible. Dazai can feel the unbearable pain as it happens. It hurts. Deep shades of red spills from his open gash wound. He sees it. It burns. It stings. Overwhelming sensations fill Dazai's body as he bleeds out heavily from his head being ripped off. No one would doubt if the culprit says he’s a butcher, not with such deft knifework. No one would doubt that he’s despicable either, from how he laughs like a maniac in right into the camera.

And on the other end, a redhead looks on in disgust as that man — no, that monster — holds his lover’s head so carelessly; his frenzied laughter the only sound ringing in the still air.

Gloved hands bang the table in front of him. Grief, frustration, helplessness; they all meld into one as the video stills on the frame of Dazai’s dismembered head.

The sounds of Mori and Kouyou calling after him as he trudges out of the meeting room doesn’t register in his head. Neither do the tears streaming down his face.

“Don’t lose control”? “Stay level headed”? What the fuck kind of last words were they to say when you knew your lover was on the other line? Even if he did want death, no ‘I love you’s? No ‘I’m sorry’s?

The lack of affection — no, the lack of emotion behind his words makes Chuuya upset. He doesn’t even try to contain himself. How can this suicidal maniac be so damn selfish?!

"I'm going to fucking track them down...” He growls between gritted teeth. Chuuya can feel the anger consuming him. But he doesn’t care. “They won’t get away with killing off my partner like that!"

Their hideout is easily found, given the poor effort in hiding the background in the tape. Such an obvious skyscraper that nestled in the middle of Yokohama. How can anyone miss it? It’s a visible pathway, an easy task for someone brave enough to hunt them down.

A mere half hour and Chuuya’s figures it out. How much easier can they make it for him? Chuuya knows that something is fishy here — it’s never usually this easy. But he’s too blinded by his own rage, by the will to avenge his lover’s death. He doesn’t care, nothing else matters. Not even the question tugging at his brain — why was it that they made it so easy?

But one thing he definitely knows is that the enemy isn’t stupid, no. They’re highly intelligent and positively ruthless; to be able to catch Dazai and — Chuuya has to gulp at the thought — kill him in the same night? They might as well declare war against the Port Mafia. And Chuuya is right here to deliver just that.

It still irks him, about the way everything was too easy. It’s like it was intentionally made so that they would be found. But why? What could their motives possibly —

And Chuuya stops in his tracks as he sees the pictures of a familiar face plastering the walls of the dilapidated warehouse — a face that he would never forget. The face of a man that was the victim of the first double black assassination.

Why is his face all over the walls?

Suddenly it all makes sense to to him. This is an act of revenge. Of course the culprit wants to be found. It’s all a scheme; a scheme to get Dazai alone first then lure Chuuya in, not just by killing off his partner but to deliberately make his hideout so obvious that it’s impossible not to be found. Adding in the fact he laughed in the footage. He wanted to antagonize Chuuya to come fight him.

And the enemy knows what Chuuya can do. And they don’t care either. They know it’s a suicide mission — that’s how much this means to them.

Even having realized the enemy's plans, Chuuya continues to walk onward in a powerful stride. It doesn’t change the fact he’s still pissed off. Now more than ever. Do they think they have the upper hand here? Do they think that Chuuya wouldn’t dare abolish them without his partner? No, if anything — he’s even more motivated. They’re not the only ones willing to throw their lives for revenge.

"I'll let gravity crush you, you son of a bitch."

Chuuya knows what Dazai would say if he was still here:

“You’re playing right into their hands, Chuuya.”

But there’s one thing that Dazai would never understand — the amount of love he harbours for the brunette. He grits his teeth as he continues the hunt. He’d never felt more human than he had the moment the dagger slit his lover’s throat. Ironic, how they finally met in the middle ground, making each other feel human, and then having that stripped away not long after. And now look where they are — Dazai is human no longer.

And neither is Chuuya.

No, in this moment, Chuuya knows he won’t let his humane side control him. Tonight, he’ll let Arahabaki take control.

Tonight, he’ll let the powers consume him.

It doesn’t take him long to find the perpetrator. His calculations are correct.  The man stands there, as if expecting Chuuya for a while now as he smokes his cigarette.

“It’s about damn time. You shouldn't keep an important man waiting, Nakahara.”

Chuuya doesn’t care to respond. Nothing matters anymore — besides taking out the target that killed his other half. Chuuya took a powerful stance that shook the ground around him.

“Grantors of dark disgrace, you need not wake me again.”

His vision turns red and he can feel the burning hatred for that monster take over him. Chuuya doesn’t want to feel how he does in this moment, but he can’t control it. The anguish it brings him — to be reminded of the image of Dazai’s throat being slit — it’s larger than any monstrosity Chuuya knows.

As if it can’t get worse, the man has something dangling in his free hand, one Chuuya doesn’t quite notice at first. Until he brings it up against the dim lights of the warehouse.

It’s his lover’s severed head.

“I thought you might like to say some last words to your friend here~”

That is it. That is all it takes. Not that anything can stop him anyway. The only one who could had his head hanging by a vengeful man’s hands. But he feels something bubbling up inside him, surfacing in the ocean that was his anger. Chuuya winces slightly as the sight of Dazai registers in his head. What is this feeling?

It’s usually anger and power he feels as he lets Arahabaki take control. But now? As he’s destroying the entire place? Why does he feel something else?

Tears prick in his eyes. That asshole has his fingers in those brown locks he loved. How many mornings had Chuuya spent waking up with that hair in his face, tickling him awake? His gaze shifts down to his eyes, closed. Fuck, he already misses those judgemental stares of his, or the rare look of utter adoration in his eyes when they would become one. And his lips, oh his lips, the way that bastard was so sweet-tongued, Chuuya could never outwin him.

“Don’t lose control. Stay level-headed.”

Chuuya screams as he continues his rampage. What kind of fucking last words were they? He knows what it means — that Dazai doesn’t want Chuuya to follow him to the afterlife, at least not so quickly — but he doesn’t appreciate it. How can he expect the redhead to live without him? How can he expect Chuuya to be able to look himself in the mirror everyday and not want to kill himself?

No, this time, for the first time, Dazai would not get his way, Chuuya will see to that. And he does. All he remembers as his vision fades to black is the mangled body of the enemy, Dazai’s head still in his hands.

[drabblesanddreams]

Enemy lines- part 2 Chuuya x reader

Part 2 commissioned for the lovely @moonlittxger!

If you would like a comission ill have my guidelines posted soon :)

“Wait,” you huffed in between breaths, clearly out of energy as you struggled to keep up with your fellow mafia-friends, “Why are we doing this alliance again?” you asked, staggering to a stop as your newly made friend Junichiro stopped as well.

He spared you a glance, clearly annoyed with your repetitive and bothersome questions. Hey, it really wasn’t your fault. You were still trying to adapt to this new lifestyle after six months, there were parts of this world that were still… hard to get used to if you will.

Your special abilities , on the one hand, were the most difficult thing to get used to. Your wings paired with your slight regenerative ability threw you off your moral-balance, one routine that could never be the same ever again.

“Because weirdly enough there’s been another god damn threat in the city again,” he rolled his eyes before shoving his hands in his pockets as he carefully eyed the city square the both of you were in, “That’s gotta be like the third time this month I swear,” he mumbled, eyes twitching.

Your lips twitched upwards in a smile, clearly amused at your fellow friend’s irritation. Even though you hadn’t met any of them personally, you were quite eager and a tad nervous to meet the members of the Armed Detective Agency; so very veered in the eyes of the public of Yokohoma.  

While the Port-Mafia guarded the city in the depths of the nighttime, the Armed detective agency was more tasked with crime in the daylight.

“What the fuck are you two doing standing around like idiots?” at the sudden insult, both you and Junichiro turned around to see Chuuya flanked with members of the Mafia.

Scowling, you tried to ignore the heavy pounding that was occurring in your heart every time you saw Chuuya. Over the last three months, the both of you had become closer, weirdly enough though you did still throw insults at each other.

“What do you mean ‘standing around’? We’ve been waiting for everyone else to show up but you guys are literally so late.” You defended yourself, crossing your arms over your chest in protest to his accusing remarks.

Junichiro agreed, and shouted a few insults to the already hot-tempered ginger which honestly was probably not a good choice on his part.

After all, having two ginger hot-headed fighters go for each other's necks would only end in pure chaos, and most likely war.

But before the two could actually start throwing hands, you saw a group- Port-Mafia, alongside Mori-san who was leading said group. When they arrived, you averted your gaze from Mori’s cold, calculating gaze. He never failed to make you nervous.

The two orange-haired boys finally shut the hell up, much to your relief and the three of you went to go stand alongside other members of the mafia.

Once you made your way to stand beside some unassuming fighter, you sighed and gazed into the distance of the park, hoping for any sign that the armed detective agency was on their way.

You nimbly checked your watch, seeing that they were just a few minutes late so far. When you raised your head, you were surprised to see a small group of interesting-looking characters walk towards you.

When they finally reached a few metres in front of your group, they stopped in their tracks. You were surprised, they only had three people on their side compared to the big group on yours.

Well…they certainly had style. The leader was tall, with a stern expression as his metallic blue eyes were fixed on Mori’s figure. He had long silver hair that ended just above his shoulders and donned a green yukata under what seemed to be a black haori.

The person flanked to his left was another tall man, with golden hair caught into a ponytail and silver-rimmed glasses that he pushed up his nose. He was wearing a beige vest with pants in the same colour. He didn’t look at all impressed with the situation which was a reaction that you couldn’t really argue with.

Then, on what was on the leader’s right was another tall man. He had curly and messy brown hair that fell over his forehead delicately. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his trench coat and it seemed like he to was wearing a vest underneath that jacket? Although you couldn’t really tell. He looked at your group with a smirk, as if they were all beneath him.

So, you thought, this must be the one that Chuuya liked to rant about daily.  He caught your stare almost immediately and sent you a smirk, to which your eyes widened. You felt your cheeks heat up immediately and you dropped your gaze to the ground.

Mori opened his mouth, no doubt to let out a greeting- or in his case, something purely scalding so that he may get on the armed detective agency’s nerves.

But before he could say anything, a loud explosion suddenly went off.

You were startled, for starters, as you felt the hot wind blow across your face as suddenly the park was filled with smoke and debris. You no doubt would’ve been blown away if it wasn’t for the sudden pull of the back of your shirt. You yelped as you were yanked back.

Once the smoke cleared, it seemed like everyone was scattered as you heard an explosion go off some four hundred metres down the street that led into the city.

You gingerly opened your eyes, turning around to catch Chuuya’s eyes as he stared at the mess in front of you.

“The enemy is here,” he simply retorted as he narrowed his eyes, scanning the area for danger.

“What?” you said panicking, eyes wide, “Like here? Like now?”

“Yes, like here like now!” he hissed and you felt your own face pull into a scowl as you shook his grip off of you.

“I wouldn’t yell at the pretty lady, Chuuya, after all, it’s a fair question”

Both of you turned your head to the right only to see the brunet from before.

Chuuya groaned, tilting his head back in frustration, “Shitty Dazai…” he muttered, before looking at the man whose name you now knew as Dazai, “Stay away from her, ya hear?!”

Before Dazai could say something back, something, or better yet, someone interrupted the both of you.

“Hmm, it seems like my plan did not go according to what I had in mind,”

The three of you snapped your head forwards to see a hooded figure, with his hands in his pockets.

Almost at the same time, the three of you armed yourselves. Dazai took his hands out of his pockets while both you and Chuuya activated your abilities.

You felt the familiar rush go up your spine as you felt the extension of your butterfly wings sprout into existence.

“Hm. Butterfly wings?” Dazai remarked, russet eyes taking in the structure of your wings. You felt almost naked under his pointed stare, a gaze that seemed to strip away the layers of your existence almost immediately.

“A rare ability like this would do wonderfully at the ADA, miss,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief as his eyes as he reached forwards for both of your hands.

“Uhm no thanks,” you half-heartedly said, pulling your hands away as your eyes were already on Chuuya’s figure who was fuming already at Dazai’s comment.

“Hm, I see,” Dazai narrowed his eyes as he followed your gaze before you were interrupted once more.

“You’re right, a rare ability like that would be simply…fantastic to have.” You tensed at the hooded figure’s words. Chuuya moved protectively in front of you, “It’s simply something I ought to have in my possession,” the enemy cocked his head, “You understand, don’t you? The meaning of wanting, (Y/N)”

You couldn’t help the shiver that ran through your body at the use of your name.

“Shut the fuck up already!” Chuuya growled before sprinting forward and activating his gravity so that he could land a gravity-heavy induced kick to the man.

To all of your surprise, the kick seemed to dissipate through the man and you watched as Chuuya go literally through the enemy.

“What the hell?” you exclaimed, exchanging glances with Dazai.

Suddenly, the man appeared between you and Dazai and the both of you jumped away.

“We don’t have to fight, it's simple really,” he stated before turning to you, “You have something I need and I have something you need,”

“I purely doubt it,” you snorted, using your wings to propel you off the ground so that you could land a punch on the man. However, your figure passed through him like smoke and you gasped as you roughly hit the ground.

On instinct, your wings curled around your figure, and through hazy cerulean wings, you could see the enemy leap towards you.

Thankfully, Chuuya managed to use his gravity to get to you in time so that he could pull you away, you yelped as an explosion went off, propelling the both of you backwards.

You winced, opening one eye as you felt the hard, structured body of Chuuya behind you. You rolled off of him and the both of you got up. You could feel the small burns on your body heal ever so slowly and you were thankful for your ability. You really did not like pain.

You flapped your wings, effectively getting rid of the extra smoke that sprung up.

You then rushed towards the man, flapping your wings aggressively in the air so that dirt from the ground could arise, when the debris filled the air, you smirked for it meant that his view was temporarily obstructed. You raised your fist and manage to slam it into his gut, pausing for a moment before he suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled it above so that you flew in the air.

You scowled as you used your wings to propel against the momentum and flipped backwards.

Both of you stared at each other a moment before he opened his mouth, “26.4 by 32.8 by 1.2”

You felt your blood freeze. Your eyes widened and your stance went slack. No one could have known about those coordinates…not unless they were from the same world-

“All you have to do it accept and you can go home, to your other home,”

“Like hell she’s-“Chuuya angrily started to retort but you cut him off easily.

“I accept.”

“What?!” Chuuya spun towards you and you flinched at his stare.

“No fucking way in hell are you going with that man (Y/N),” he hissed, taking a step towards you and you took a step back in response.

“You don’t understand Chuuya!” you spat back, shaking your head, “My home isn’t even here, if this is the only way I can go.. then I hav- I mean I..”

“I just want to go home…” you trailed off bitterly, clenching your fists at your sides hard enough to draw blood. You had gotten used to the sensation of drawing your own blood in order to ground yourself and maintain your calm demeanour.

“No,” he shook his head before reaching for your hand, “You can’t leave me (Y/N) I won’t let you get away from me again.” Your heart ached at his words and if this was a better place in a better time you would’ve pulled him in for a kiss.

“Not to interrupt, but I think we should finish defeating this man before we can take his answers”

Dazai’s cool response snapped the both of you out of your little bubble. You exchanged glances before turning back to the enemy.

You would get your answers one way or another, with Chuuya at your side.

[musicprincess655]

Atsushi is covered with dog hair, soaked to the bone, and his ribs ache from laughing.

His shifts with Kyouka do that to him. She’s not particularly funny, but something about trying to wrestle a wiggling dog through a bath sends Atsushi into fits of giggles, and the warmth in Kyouka’s eyes every time he laughs like that is enough for him to keep the habit.

“I’m home!” Atsushi calls as he enters the bunker. The doors are reasonably soundproof, but the bunker has started to feel like a home to Atsushi, and he’s used to announcing himself when walking into his home. Atsushi makes his way back to the shared bathroom, stripping his wet clothes off as he goes. It seems like no one is home, so a towel will do for a run back to the room.

When Atsushi steps out of the shower, he expects the hallway to be just as empty as it was when he went in. Dazai in the hallway makes him jump.

“Hello, Atsushi-kun!” Dazai waves. Atsushi takes in his position, squatting against the wall as if he were sitting in a chair. Atsushi doesn’t want to know. He, in fact, knows better than to ask.

“Dazai-san, what are you doing?” he asks. He’s still wrapped in just a towel. He’s exhausted.

“New suicide method,” Dazai says. “I read it in one of the books we stole a while back and I’ve been thinking about trying it out ever since.”

“Why are wall sits a suicide method?” Atsushi asks.

“Wall sits?”

“They used to make us do them at the orphanage when we broke the rules,” Atsushi says. Sometimes his thighs still burn from the memory. “They’re hard on your legs, but I don’t know how they would kill you.”

Dazai considers him for a moment, and then he pounds his fist in his hand.

“This wasn’t a suicide book!” he exclaims. “It was a torture book.”

Atsushi is exhausted.

“Why would you try to kill yourself now?” Atsushi asks. He grabs Dazai’s hand when Dazai reaches out and pulls him to his unsteady feet.

“Chuuya had some business on the other side of the West Block, and he’s most of my impulse control.”

“Please never explain your relationship to me.”

“Well, now that I’ve failed to kill myself yet again, can I get you some tea?” Dazai asks. “This place gets too quiet when everyone leaves.”

Atsushi is once again suddenly aware that he’s only wearing a towel.

“Let me get dressed first.”

When Atsushi steps into Dazai and Chuuya’s room with a quiet pardon the intrusion, now appropriately clothed, Dazai is doing his level best to burn everything to the ground.

“You don’t need the heat that high to make it boil!” Atsushi says, shooing Dazai away from the stove and instead turning the burner down to a reasonable level, one that isn’t threatening to lick the walls. “Is this another suicide thing?”

“Chuuya makes it look easy,” Dazai pouts. “He never lets me do anything. Except chop vegetables. With supervision.”

Atsushi has a new appreciation for Chuuya’s patience. He’ll never call Chuuya short-tempered again.

“You’re not much for cooking?” Atsushi asks.

“Never really learned,” Dazai says. “I didn’t have much of a reason to before I left No. 6, and once I was out here, there wasn’t much occasion.”

“I keep forgetting you grew up in No. 6,” Atsushi says. “And you knew Fukuzawa-san. What happened?”

“It’s kind of a long story,” Dazai says. Atsushi waves his hand at the kettle. They’ve got time. “Well, as we’ve discussed, I had limited tolerance for my guardian. He was fine, I guess, but I was a rebellious teenager with parents that didn’t want me around. If I’m fair, I was a nightmare.”

Atsushi can see that. Dazai’s a bit of a nightmare now.

“So you used to hang around the detective agency?” Atsushi asks.

“Fukuzawa-sensei taught me the tricks of the trade,” Dazai says. “It was just him and Ranpo-san back then. They found Yosano right before I left.”

“You left?”

“Was taken. Semantics.” Dazai shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Like I said, I was rebellious. My parents were No. 6 officials, really high up. They didn’t have much time for a kid, but they decided they should have one anyway. Something something do our duty something. Mori-san is a distant relative, so he looked after me. But as you can imagine, the perfect outlet for me was poking at No. 6’s secrets.”

“Oh no,” Atsushi says, because he suddenly understands very well what happened to Dazai.

“Oh yes,” Dazai says. “I have to admit, I’m surprised they were able to list me as a suicide victim. I figured they’d say I was executed for crimes against No. 6. Then again, maybe my history preceded me. If it had been suicide, it wouldn’t have been my first attempt.”

“Really?”

“Like I said. I wasn’t an easy kid.” Dazai sighs. “Anyway, they dragged me to the Correctional Facility, threw me in with Chuuya, gave my parents the chance to get me out, they refused to sacrifice their positions in No. 6 for me, Chuuya and I escaped, and the rest is history.”

Atsushi freezes, because there is so much to unpack there that he doesn’t even know where to start, much less the fact that he’s pretty sure the rest is not just history. It takes him through pouring hot water over teabags to decide where he wants to start.

“Why was Chuuya-san in there?” he asks. Dazai leans in, tea clutched between his hands, a conspiratorial look on his face.

“Chuuya was a science experiment,” Dazai says. “They were trying to figure out enhancements. I’m not sure what they were trying to do with him specifically, but what ended up happening was superhuman strength.”

“How superhuman?” Atsushi asks.

“I know you’ve seen him pick up things around here,” Dazai says. Atsushi nods. They’d been moving some furniture around in the room he shares with the Akutagawa siblings, and he’d gone to offer to help Chuuya lift a bookcase. Chuuya had done it on his own, easily, without looking like he was doing more than picking up a book. “That’s not even a fraction of his strength. He could probably punch down the wall around No. 6 if he set his mind to it.”

Dazai and Chuuya have quite the backstory. But they’re not the only ones here who do.

“Akutagawa and Gin, what happened to them?” Atsushi asks. He knows it has to have been something. Akutagawa showed up in a typhoon, shot and running from No. 6. Gin has burn scars on her back. Atsushi has seen her pull up her shirt to put ice on them on particularly bad days. He’s not sure how the two are connected.

“No. 6 killed their whole village,” Dazai says. “I don’t know why, and the two of them were too young to remember. All we know is, No. 6 went into their forest and burned it down, and as far as we know, those two are the only ones that survived.”

“And No. 6 hunted them down for it,” Atsushi says. Dazai nods.

“Gin managed to make it out of No. 6, and we found her,” he says. “Akutagawa wasn’t so lucky. They took him to the Correctional Facility for a few months for testing.”

“Just long enough to implant a tracking chip in him,” Atsushi says.

“We got that out as soon as we found him,” Dazai says. “And all’s well that ends well, as they say.”

“What could one village have that threatened No. 6 enough for them to burn it down?” Atsushi muses, more to himself than to Dazai.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Dazai says. “Why? The siblings were too young to remember much about the people they grew up with, and they spent years on the run before they were finally free. If they knew anything, they’ve forgotten it by now. So what was in that village that meant it had to be torched?”

“It was outside No. 6, right?” Atsushi asks.

“Far enough away that No. 6 still hasn’t expanded enough to take that land in,” Dazai confirms. “As far as the siblings remember, and as far as we can tell, the village never interacted with No. 6.”

“Maybe they weren’t a threat,” Atsushi says. “Maybe No. 6 wanted something they had.”

“An interesting theory, and one we can’t pursue,” Dazai says. “There’s no records to be found.”

That makes sense, even if Atsushi’s sense of curiosity keeps turning the new information over and over, looking for new connections.

“No wonder Akutagawa hates No. 6 so much,” he finally says. “No wonder he’s so angry.”

Understanding Akutagawa isn’t a comfortable feeling. Sympathy is even less so.

But with a story like that, it’s almost no wonder that Akutagawa sees the world as cruel, as a place where the right to live must be taken. Akutagawa has spent his whole life fighting for his survival, and it might be easier for him to see the world as a zero-sum game. Maybe admitting that what happened to him was horrific, was cruel and unusual, maybe that hurts worse than just thinking this is how the world must be.

“He’s actually gotten a little better about that temper since we found him,” Dazai says. “I really did think I was going to end up having to kill him in his sleep.”

“Isn’t that a little extreme?”

“He’s angry, and when his anger takes over his mind, he gets reckless,” Dazai says. “That makes him dangerous. He was a threat to us all. That was what I thought then, and it’s what I thought until recently.”

“What happened recently?”

“Well, you, first of all.” Atsushi must be making one hell of a face, because Dazai laughs. “You didn’t inspire some change of heart in him, that’s not what I meant. Akutagawa…well, he has his shortcomings, but he’s got a good brain in that head of his. His kneejerk emotional reaction might be violence, but if he can override that, he’s good at thinking on his feet, and he’s good at a support role.”

“And I make him override that emotional response?” Atsushi is pretty sure he causes that response half the time.

“Akutagawa is someone who needs an emergency brake,” Dazai says. “Gin works a little bit, but she’s nearly as angry as him. And Chuuya enables them both, but they probably need someone like him. I can admit Chuuya is better at dealing with Akutagawa than I’ve ever been.”

“An emergency brake?” Atsushi asks.

“You make him think twice,” Dazai says. “Especially since you can take point enough for him to step back and think, but also because you challenge him. And that deal you two made? If killing as an option is taken off the table, he really does have to use his head. It was a stroke of brilliance. I never would have taken you for such a manipulative person, Atsushi-kun.”

“Isn’t that a little bit of the pot calling the kettle black?” Atsushi asks. Dazai is the last person he wants calling him manipulative.

“The pot happens to be right,” Dazai says. “I’m not trying to insult you. I’m trying to say the two of you are good for each other when you’re not trying to kill each other. Maybe even when you are. It’s good to have someone who challenges you, right?”

“I guess,” Atsushi says.

That sympathy for Akutagawa squeezes in his chest again. Even though the boy Akutagawa used to be is long gone, Atsushi still remembers the vulnerable look in those too-big eyes all those years ago. There was a time they could look at each other without fighting, and Atsushi is old enough to recognize that most of the fights they’ve had in the last month are fights he’s picked. Akutagawa largely leaves him alone, and it’s getting harder and harder for Atsushi to convince himself he still hates Akutagawa.

It’s very nearly like they’re friends, although Atsushi has never had a friendship like this.

“Oi, Dazai, what trouble did you get in while I was gone?” Chuuya is back, throwing the heavy door open easily. “Oh, Nakajima. What are you doing here?”

“We’re having tea,” Dazai says, holding up his mug to demonstrate. Chuuya turns to Atsushi.

“Did he try to burn the place down again?” he asks.

“I took over the kettle,” Atsushi says diplomatically. He respects Dazai, but not enough to save him from whatever wrath Chuuya has for him.

“Good man,” Chuuya says. “Clear out so I can kick my shitty husband’s ass.”

“You’re abusive,” Dazai whines. “I didn’t even get in any trouble today.”

“Likely story. Get over here.”

“No!”

Atsushi ducks out. He’s almost certain that was foreplay, somehow. He really never wants either of them to explain their relationship to him.

“Oi, Jinko.”

Atsushi might still be caught up in his conversation with Dazai, but rather than the automatic response he usually has to Akutagawa, this time, he actually stops to listen.

Akutagawa throws a piece of paper at him.

“Your dad says he’s glad you’re alive,” Akutagawa says. Atsushi unfurls the paper with shaking hands to see familiar handwriting.

“You told Fukuzawa-san I’m here?” he asks, voice gone high and breathy.

“It’s not that big a deal,” Akutagawa scoffs. “I wanted his help with something. That’s all.”

Atsushi lets that go, because this is a kindness from Akutagawa, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to keep up their dynamic when Akutagawa can be kind, when Akutagawa inspires sympathy, when Akutagawa is human.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Akutagawa turns, and Atsushi swears his cheeks have flushed a little from the acknowledgement. “Do you think Gin will make stew tonight if we ask?”

Atsushi follows Akutagawa inside, already preparing to help him wear Gin down by asking.

[misstinfoilhat]

The Boy in the Belfry, part 14. A Bungou Stray Dogs fic

It was another week before Dazai was lucid and able to stay awake long enough to actually answer a couple of the many questions that Kunikida had written down in his book of Ideals (without scowling at the chair at his bedside and accusing it of judging him- Dazai really didn't react well to being medicated), while Fukuzawa lingered in the back. Ranpo was there too, as an observer and had gotten the task of calling out Dazai if he tried to bluff. Atsushi was there mostly as moral support.

Dazai sat propped up by pillows, wearing a metal back-brace, and his leg had finally been properly dressed in a hard cast. His head was bandaged after a couple of stitches to the back of the head, and Yosano had tried her best to replicate how he wore his other, usual, bandages. 

Old wounds, new wrappings.

Dazai sported his trademark crooked smile as Kunikida stared him down, waiting for the answer to his first question; what the fuck?

Dazai scoffed. "Yeah, I know, right?" 

He rolled his eyes wryly and shrugged his shoulders as mundane as could be. 

"Leave it to Dazai to be kidnapped by an old demented paranoid schizophrenic preacher," Dasai tsk'ed and shook his head in such disappointment of himself.

Dazai's inability to take anything seriously enraged Kunikida more than he could put his words to, but he had to keep his temper under control if he wanted to avoid being kicked out of the room by Dazai's doctors, and keeping his ass from being kicked by Chuuya (or Atsushi for that matter, who was staring at him warningly).

Kunikida's dissatisfaction with him was clear as day, which Dazai obviously had expected.

"Stupid questions get stupid answers," he concluded, reaching his tongue out.

"To be fair, it was a pretty... vague question," Ranpo added carefully.

"Don't you have some glasses to polish?" Kunikida snapped back, receiving a mournful look from Ranpo, being reminded of the grave loss he had experienced when he couldn't figure out what was going on with Dazai.

"Kunikida..." Fukuzawa warned.

"I'm calm!" 

… 

"Okay, I'm not calm." 

He took a deep breath and held it for ten seconds as he walked a couple of laps around the room.

"Dazai-kun, there's really no need to withhold any information anymore. We already know more than I know you would like us to... The only thing we really need to know is why," Fukuzawa said calmly.

Dazai's smile didn't stir, but there was something sad that shadowed over the usual twinkle in his eyes and dulled them considerably. He chuckled, but there was nothing humorous in it.

"Yeah, I-" he tried. 

Something in him wanted to tell them everything. At least everything he knew or could remember. He really wanted to... be understood. He wanted them to know why he was the way he was. Why he couldn't express his feelings, because, it wasn't that he didn't want to express himself, he just didn't know how to. 

Every emotion that once possibly had come naturally to him, he had been stripped off before he could even remember.

No crying, no laughing, no smiling, no anger, no sadness, no happiness, no weakness, no fear, no love, no hope.

His stomach started to feel queasy and he realized that he had been glaring at his feet for way too long. They were all looking at him, With the expressions, he knew was 'worried', which, they probably could feel for real. 

All the while, he was still smiling, which was the wrong expression,

He mentally swift through his "emotional library" and tried to fit the situation to his facial expression, but it was all too much and his stomach was feeling bilious and the feelings that he did have, that he had no control over, completely overturned him as his heart started to race and the bile was halfway up his throat. Panic. A feeling that turned physical, that he couldn't wean, only hide.

What happened next, he didn't know if was a blessing or a curse. 

But vomiting, he didn't need to fake. That came naturally.

He threw up all over the bed, panting with raspy breaths in a mix of discomfort and pain between the dry-heaves, as Atsushi tried to keep a straight face while stroking his back and Fukuzawa ordered Kunikida to do- something- Dazai didn't hear, didn't care, as Kunikida ran out of the room.

...

The following hour went by with a bath and a change of rooms. Dazai was reminded of how much of a pain in the ass it was to get clean with a cast on, and he tried his hardest not to react to the way the male nurse who was helping him watched his bare skin as he undressed the bile-covered bandages with that compassionate and surprised look they always got. 

He was so, so sick of it. Wished he could crawl out of his skin, shed it like a snake, and rid himself of it once and for all.

All the fuzz had made him tired, as well as the strong pain medication he had gotten when they had to move him around as much as they had to. His co-workers had left, but he knew they'd be back tomorrow to try again to get the answers they wanted, probably armed with barf bags.

Dazai didn't know how he was going to be able to tell them, rubbing his face with frustration, as he heard a strange knock on the window.

It could only be one person, as his new room was on the fifth floor.

Dazai's bed was placed next to the window by his own request, and he pulled the curtain away and cracked the window open, letting Chuuya manipulate the gravity to pull the security lock open himself and climbing in.

"There's a perfectly fine door over there, you know," Dazai said tiredly.

"The receptionist told me visiting hours were over," Chuuya answered nonchalantly and very carefully crawled over the bed- to not repeat the disastrous 'butt-to-fracture action’ he had caused a couple of weeks ago. 

"Also, you know I have a love for the dramatics."

Dazai smiled, for real. Chuuya could sometimes bring that out of him, which he appreciated.

It made him think...

"Chuuya, I need to ask you something."

"No Dazai, the hospital gown doesn't make your ass look fat," he sighed jokingly, looking in the mirror that was placed over a sink on the other side of the room, fixing a couple of stray hairs that had gotten loose from his pony-tail on his way up the side of the hospital.

"I know. I have a bony ass. You've told me," Dazai said exasperated. Maybe Chuuya wasn't the right person to talk about this with after all.

Chuuya seemed to sense Dazai's tension and regretted his ill-timed joke. 

"I'm sorry," he said and turned back to Dazai. "Are you okay? Kunikida-san messaged me about the incident with your... stomach contents."

Dazai's lips twisted into a slightly curved smile. "You and Kunikida-san seem to message each other a lot recently," he commented, acting hurt.

"Yeah, well, it's hard to have joint custody of a twenty-two-year-old."

Chuuya placed a chair next to Dazai's bed and sat down. 

"So, Dazai-chan," he said softly in a slightly higher pitch, as if he was talking to a child, receiving a tired smile from Dazai, and returning the smile calmly.

"What's going on?" he said, changed back to normal. Or, maybe a bit nicer than his normal, normal.

Dazai seemed to search for his words.

"I think- I think you are my oldest friend," he started. Chuuya's arched an eyebrow.

"I also think that, except for Mori, you're the person who knows the most about me, and... the stuff that has happened, you know, before..."

Chuuya nodded, unable to look Dazai in the eyes, knowing that Dazai probably looked the other way too. When Dazai didn't continue, Chuuya assumed he was stuck.

"Kunikida also told me that you blanked out..." he told him, realizing without much effort that there had to be a connection between Dazai's sudden sentimental statements and the events that had unfolded earlier that day.

"Yeah, I guess I did. Chu... I-I don't know why it happened. I actually wanted to tell them everything. Is that weird?" He looked on the other with genuinely questioning eyes.

"If you're referring to blanking out to the point that you puke- yeah, a bit. But, about letting your friends know what's been going on with you? No. Not at all. I think it'd be good for you to tell them."

"I couldn't. It felt like it got caught in my throat and when I finally got it unstuck- it came out as bile."

Chuuya sneered. "Well, I guess the imagery is pretty accurate."

Dazai only hummed in response, and leaned back in the bed, watching the city outside of his room.

They sat like that in silence for a little while, both reflecting on the years that had led up to this moment, where they were finally able to sit by each other's side as friends again, somewhat fucked up and complicated friends, but, there was nothing that wasn't fucked up and complicated with anything in their lives.

"Maybe you could write it down," Chuuya suddenly suggested.

"Huh?" Dazai turned to face him again, confused and weary.

"Write it down, what you want to tell them. If you're not comfortable with saying it... without spraying it," Chuuya looked way too smug about his own joke, "then maybe you'll be able to write it down."

Dazai grimaced. "I'm on a sick-leave for another 6 to 8 weeks. I don't want to write a report. Also, you know my handwriting looks like chicken-scratches."

"Yeah, you don't have to remind me. I'm sure you remember who wrote all of our hand-written reports for three years. But, it's not going to be like a report. It might actually put some weight off your back, and you only have to write what you want to write. I can bring you your laptop tomorrow."

Dazai thought about it for a second. Then, he looked back up at Chuuya with an undecipherable smile and gave a faint nod.

"Yeah, that's- that's actually a good idea." ...

The next day, before lunch, Fukuzawa was a little surprised to find an email from Dazai in his inbox. Even though the title said "DO YOU WANT TO INCREASE YOUR PENIS SIZE BY 51%?! WE HAVE AN INSANE OFFER FOR YOU!!!" he decided to open it. His anti-virus program was pretty air-tight, after all.

Also, he knew Dazai.

I am sorry about yesterday. I can't seem to actually talk about this whole mess, even if I kinda want to. So, I'm going to try to write it all down instead. Please tell Atsushi that I truly am sorry for puking on his shirt, and to Kyouka, who probably had to clean it. And to you, Fukuzawa-senpai, if you're insecure about the size of your penis. 

(Fukuzawa edited this part out of the email before printing it out).

I don't know my father's real name. I've only ever called him Father. Neither do I know my mother's real name, but my father told me to call her Yariman -Slut.

She died when I was eight. I also had two older sisters, which both died before I was born. Father only wanted a son. They are buried with my mother under unmarked graves in the Shinja graveyard, I've never known where.

Much of the events of my early life are not relevant to the case. I might be ready to share some of it with you someday, but not today. What is relevant, is that Father's ability is called A Sinners Chagrin. As you might have guessed, it's the ability to make anyone's greatest fear appear before them. He spent most of my childhood making sure that my greatest fear was of God. Which it was, for a long time. A child's mind is easy to corrupt, and his ability started in the form of a generic boogyman and slowly turned in to my own depiction of God. After that, he was able to prove all his horrifying tales of what God would do to me, as he manipulated his ability to do just that.

(Fukuzawa: I ask that you are the only one who reads this next paragraph and that you remove it before anyone else can read it).

I'm sure the question all of you are dying to know the answer to, is how he was able to use his ability on me, and I'm afraid that the answer isn't as exciting or spectacular as you might think. It's simply because I'm afraid. And when I'm afraid, my body shuts down and disassociates, which apparently leaves me open for attack. I have never experienced it with anyone else but Father, but then again, he is the only one that has ever made me truly scared. Except for myself, apparently- considering the latest form of Father's ability. No idea how that happened... Nope. Guess that one will remain a mystery.

As you probably understand, this is information that leaves me in a pretty vulnerable position if fallen into the wrong hands, which is why I ask that no one else reads it.

(…)

(Baha! I just explained to Fukuzawa why Father's ability works on me and asked him to delete it before any of you scavengers can read it, suckaaaas)!

I guess where to go next is how I came about to join the Port Mafia. I have my suspicions that there is a little more to the story than I know for sure, but anything other then what I can actually recall will be speculations.

As Father was able to make 'God' appear by using me, he started to do exclusive performances to the elite of the extremist Christian societies around Japan. You all saw what the man had become- a deranged and utterly useless preacher that actually believed his ability to be a miracle, but he didn't start that way. He was a con-man. He knew what he was doing from the day he started doing it.

Sure, some of the pure insanity was there from the start (runs in the family I guess- so don't come for me), he did kill his wife and two daughters after all. I'm not an expert on family dynamics or anything, but I'm pretty sure that that is a kind of thing that isn't supposed to happen in the stereotypical nuclear family.

Anyway, the former main physician- turned boss of the Port Mafia, Ougai Mori, somehow got a whiff of Father, and decided to arrange a showcase of his "ability to make God appear" in front of the former boss, with the pretense of recruiting him. I was ten at the time and had recently started to develop some issues with Father's ramblings of how there was nothing worse than the wrath of God, which I guess somehow had been a pretty big part of my entire life at the time.

We did our usual shtick, and, I screwed up. I had no fear of his 'God' anymore, but I did have a great fear of him. Father.

The pain he had caused me was very real and very much caused by him and him alone. So, that was who showed himself that day, and ruined everything for him.

I don't know what happened the next hours. I have no recollection of it what so ever until I awoke in the belfry the next day and let myself drop to the ground.

I have never tried to hide my wish of dying. This was the day I first tried actively to make that happen. The day I decided that I wanted it to happen by my own hands.

As I am writing this, it won't come as a surprise to any of you that I failed. Whatever happened the next couple of days are as defuse to me as what happened the hours before. I woke up in Mori's care and stayed there for a very long time. He told me during that time, that I did not need to worry about Father anymore, and later told me that he was dead. Clearly, he was wrong.

One thing that both Father and Mori both had in common, was the fact that their goal was to make me unable to feel anything. Not physically (far from it), but emotionally. This is the reason I am writing this. Because as much as (this is hard for me to even write) I know I have overcome, the part of real emotion is one thing that I can not...

I'm sorry. I just don't know. I can't.

(Chuuya is threatening me with releasing a video of me while I was going through puberty online if I don't leave that last part, and I just realized that severe self-consciousness is a feeling I have gotten back).

The Port Mafia trained me to be a numb pawn purely made for withstanding torture without giving in, and killing. That is my design. What I am. Or was. I don't know.

That leaves me to address what happened the night I was injured, when this whole mess started.

During the night (I actually do sleep sometimes), a letter was slid through the crack under the door of my room at the dorms. If you want to see it, you can, but in short terms, it said that he was back, and wanted me to come back to him. I don't know what made me go- the feeling of terror I guess (another feeling I guess still lingers). So I did. I was instructed to go to the belfry, so I also did. I blacked out, and I didn't understand what had actually happened until that day we were all in Shinja. He had used his power, and as it took the form of myself at ten years old- I did get scared. I didn't think it was real, which was my mistake.

I told everyone that I was pushed off the tower, which I was, technically. I pushed myself off. I don't know if that counts as another suicide attempt, but that is what happened.

…leave it to Dazai to be a suicidal maniac while trying to survive an attempted murder on himself, committed by himself.

And I think you all kinda know what's been going on after that. Except that- yeah, I did know what Mori was planning. I also knew that Chuuya was in on it. But don't tell Chuuya.

(Chuuya just hit me).

(and he told me not to write that, so I did). Fuck you, Chuuya.

I'm going to finish this off with a request that the contents of this letter are never to be read out loud.

Whoever within the Agency that wants to read it can read it, but after that, it is to be burned and never spoken of again. I don't want to know who reads it, and I don't want to see traces of its content in any of your eyes. I'm still shitty-Dazai, bandage-waisting-device, the office slacker and an annoying piece of shit.

I hope this answers all of your questions, Kunikida. This is the best answer I could make of 'what the fuck?'

Within the next hour that Kunikida read Dazai's letter, he stood by his bedside. Dazai was apprehensive, as the stern man walked steadily to his side.

The first time Kunikida actually believed that Dazai relaxed, was the first time he ever hugged him. "Dazai, you are so, so, so wrong. You feel plenty. I know you don't understand it, but you do. You are a good human being."

Somehow, Dazai did believe it. Even if it wasn't true, really. But, if Kunikida believed it- he wouldn't prove him otherwise.

[joeys-piano]

How can I walk away? You’re falling down

Rating: Teen Word count: 787 Notes: BSD Dark Era Trigger Warning: a mention of Dazai’s suicidal tendencies and a scene of him trying, but it fails. If y’all are going through a rough time, just want you to know that you’re not alone. There is at least one person that you can reach out to for help. If they’re a good person and they care, they’re going to do everything that they can to help you.

Summary While walking home one night, Chuuya notices something odd about Dazai.

If hope was to come from ashes, Chuuya wished he had known. He wished he had known before that night as dark clouds rumbled over Yokohama. Neither the city nor its inhabitants were spared from the onslaught of rain. The pitter patter of droplets teetered down the edge of Chuuya’s umbrella as he was walking home from one of the city’s trains.

A few raindrops managed to touch him, either by a ricochet from a larger puddle or by the turn of his umbrella. Simply put, his hands were cold that night and they decided to take turns at holding the handle until things felt alright. By what definition of ‘alright’ — surely, Chuuya would’ve said if he knew. But he didn’t know and he had no reason to know; he was merely one life out of many that walked through Yokohama that night.

All around him, it felt like the world was passing by in a blur. Glaring tail lights from the stop-and-go traffic did nothing to assure. Assure what, exactly? At the time, Chuuya had hardly anything on his mind. Questions were questions, and it didn’t matter if they had an answer. They were just coming in and out, almost like a distraction, until Chuuya noticed that Dazai was standing in the middle of the road.

No umbrella, no coat, not even a shred of decency for the cars that swerved passed him. The thin strips of his bandages danced as they unfurled from his arms and followed with the wind. He looked neither concerned nor pleased at where his predicaments were. He looked more like an empty book, soggy and nearly falling apart at its seams. It was almost like there was a game going on between him and the drivers on the street, to see who would stop the other first. Oh, Dazai had no intentions of moving.

He made that fact very clear — the operative word was ‘very’ when he didn’t flinch as a car narrowly avoided him. For all his talk about death and dying and waiting to meet his end, none of that was funny — and, it never was funny — when Dazai left his chances to another’s hand. Now, he was just a mouse playing chase with a cat. And instead of a feline, his options were cars screeching through the night beneath the onslaught of rain.

Chuuya didn’t know if he should do something when all he could do was stare. This was just Dazai being Dazai, right? Despite his rationale, Chuuya could sense that wasn’t the case. Breath hitched as his throat, he could barely call out Dazai’s name. It came out as a whisper and nothing more, too quiet to be heard and too easy to ignore.

Something possessed Dazai that night, and he looked happier thinking about death than trying to survive. This was real. He truly wanted to die. Instead of by his own hands this time, maybe he looked up to God to see this through. For there, about twenty meters away and closing in, a car was coming fast. It didn’t look like it was going to swerve. Perhaps that was the only time Dazai dared to move, dared to lift his head to see the coming of his own demise.

Alas, he didn’t get what he wanted. Not when Chuuya rushed to his side.

Time must’ve froze, for a moment, when Chuuya’s umbrella collapsed at where he was before. Just before the car could leave its impact, Chuuya ran across the street and whisked Dazai out of harm’s way before the world turned black. Where all Dazai heard were desperate breaths and someone calling out his name before he came to, finally realized that he was in Chuuya’s arms and Chuuya could never let him go. He buried his face against Dazai’s chest, an ear pressed so that he could hear Dazai’s heartbeats and know that he was still alive.

No question or any train of thought echoed from the back of his mind when Chuuya realized what he had done. All he knew was that he saved a life, all he knew was that the man in his arms wasn’t going to die. Not today, not tomorrow. For as long as they were standing now, Chuuya wanted to catch him before he’d fall.

Though cars continued to pass, splashing puddles over both of them, Chuuya never parted from Dazai’s side. This was his gift to him, a gift that Dazai didn’t have to go through whatever was bothering him all alone. While Dazai didn’t voice what was going on in his mind, he voiced it through touch when he leaned against Chuuya’s side. He was so, so tired.

[fraink5-writes]

Human Qualification- Chapter 17

February 14

For such a special occasion, I present you with fluff (and, of course, existential dread)!

As always, I want to thank @missmizpah​ @gracieuxetoile​ and @deathly-oreos​ for reading it over!

Summary: To slowly lose all your functions until you are nothing but a trapped mind in a deteriorated shell, that’s what it means to be ‘No Longer Human.’

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

Dazai woke up to a cold silence. Where Chuuya would normally lie, the bed was empty. There was a notable difference—the bed felt spacier but colder. The apartment felt emptier too; if Chuuya wasn’t pressed warmly against Dazai, he was normally moving around the apartment, a tune on his lips more often than not. But, it was silent. Chuuya must have went out.

Sure enough, there was a note on the nightstand: ‘Dazai, I’m going out. I should be back soon (probably). See you then! -Chuuya.’ The vague contents of the note weren’t all that reassuring. Where did he go? And what did “probably” mean? It’s not that Dazai minded Chuuya going out—in fact, he was glad (Chuuya seemed miserable at home). But, normally, Chuuya would tell Dazai where he was going, and even invite him along (depending on the day, Dazai would accept or decline). That morning, Dazai had no idea where Chuuya was—and he was stuck in his bed.

Dazai couldn’t move—not enough for it to matter. Sure, he could wave his left arm, crane his neck, and, if he really wanted an abdominal work-out, he might have been able to sit upright. But his right arm was useless, and so were his legs. Dazai was prisoner in his own bed, and there was a weighted ball tied around his ankles, except his legs were actually the weight. They weren’t entirely dead and detached; they had just enough sensation to ache. Their muffled screams urged Dazai to roll onto his side, to take their own weight off them—but that was impossible.

Dazai leaned back into his stack of pillows, making his legs groan. He stared reluctantly at the ceiling. How horribly dirty… Dust and dirt hung down like failed stars on an inverted sky. Slowly more particles came into view as his eyes fine-tuned their focus. 1, 2, 3, 4… Dazai was stranded alone in his sordid world; everything else seemed light years away.

Eventually, unwanted thoughts would creep into the empty space. They emerged from Dazai’s useless limbs, like insects feasting on his slow decay. He couldn’t resist them—he couldn’t move. And that was the problem. Dazai was useless without his wheelchair, and what good was his wheelchair without Chuuya to lift him in and out everyday? Without them, Dazai could do nothing.

Dazai was half-alive, half-dead, and he wasn’t sure which side he wanted to be on. If this was living—lying alone, counting the dust bunnies on the ceiling—Dazai wanted nothing to do with it. If living meant leeching off Chuuya’s pity like a parasite, then he wanted to stop. But if this was death—lying alone with pain as your only companion—Dazai was repulsed. If dying meant being stripped of all his power and left vulnerable, then he rejected it. Even if he wanted neither, somehow being in the middle was so much worse. He was caught in a tug-of-war between life and death; neither side wanted him, but they wouldn’t give him up, tearing at him relentlessly.

“Hey, Dazai.” At least temporarily, the struggle subsided: Chuuya had finally returned. Briefly, his faint smile seemed to outpower the dark shadows below his eyes. “Sorry if I kept you waiting long.”

“Where’d you go?”

Chuuya held his finger to his lips. “It’s a secret. Now, do you want me to help you out of there?”

“Yes, please.” Dazai tried to wear his nicest smile despite the overall feeling of dread. Even if Chuuya was strong, he seemed worn out from constantly lifting Dazai to and from his wheelchair.

Nevertheless, Chuuya moved Dazai swiftly with ease. “I hope you’re feeling lively today. I have something special planned.” Once again, his body language seemed to betray him.

“Wait—why?”

“What do you mean ‘why?’ It’s Valentine’s Day.”

Huh?

Dazai waited on the couch with increasing dread. His left hand—his empty left hand—fidgeted in his lap. Why was he empty-handed? Because he was a fool. Soon enough (too soon, in fact) Chuuya would return, and Dazai would have nothing to give him. As he waited, he wished he could make a gift (anything would suffice) appear in his hand.

“Why are you making such a weird face?” Chuuya plopped on the couch next to Dazai.

“Nothing,” Dazai faked a grin.

“This should make you smile. Here, for you.” Chuuya handed Dazai a red box, trying visibly to be casual.

Dazai wanted to be happy, but his guilt stood in the way. “Did you make these yourself?”

“Yeah, I made them. For you.” At this point, Chuuya facade had broken down, and blush took over his face. “Well, Ane-san helped. But I did most of the work.” Did Chuuya want to take credit or not…?

“Thank you, Tsuuya.” Dazai gave Chuuya his most sincere smile, which only seemed to fluster the redhead more.

“It was nothing, really.”

‘Nothing?’ If either of them did nothing, it was Dazai. He waited anxiously with nothing to give, nothing to say. What could he say? Chuuya, who had already been working so hard every day, had went out of his way, despite his exhaustion, to make chocolates for Dazai, and, in return, Dazai had forgot. Surely, Valentine’s Day was, at its core, a Western commercial holiday, but that only added to the list of reasons Dazai should have managed something. In return for all that Chuuya had done, Dazai couldn’t even do the most basic thing for him.

“Huh, Dazai, what’s wrong?” Dazai hadn’t realized Chuuya was staring at him. “I know I’m not the best cook, but I don’t think it could be that fucking bad to warrant such a reaction.”

Well, this is embarrassing. Dazai really preferred to be unreadable, especially in times like this. “It’s not that—not at all.” Dazai lowered his eyes. “I don’t have anything to give you.”

Suddenly, Chuuya burst out laughing like he hadn’t in weeks. “That’s what you were worried about? Oh my fucking god...”

“What?” The color of embarrassment began mixing with the shame on Dazai’s face.

“After everything… a box of fucking chocolates...”

“It’s the least I could do.”

“You fucking idiot.” Chuuya threw his arms around Dazai in his laughter. “If you insist on giving me something, you have until White Day, okay?”

Dazai nodded. As relief sunk in, the beginnings of a smile floated up.

“Man, I haven’t laughed this fucking hard since who-the-fuck-knows-when.” Chuuya placed a kiss on Dazai’s forehead. “Thank you for that.”

Chuuya’s kiss, his laugh, his smile—in that moment, Chuuya was right—the chocolates were the least relevant thing.

“Voilà!” Chuuya gestured grandly to the mini-feast on the table. “Crabs and sake, your favorites~”

“Not when you make them,”  Dazai muttered. The food before him actually looked rather appetizing. Chuuya’s cooking skills had improved a fair amount since Dazai had moved in—not that Dazai would let him know.

“Hey, look here. I don’t have to give you any.”

“Oh, are you going to spare me?” Chuuya had fallen nicely into Dazai’s trap.

“.. Bastard.” Chuuya cleared his throat. “Now, before you start eating—which I know you’re dying to do—we should take a picture!”

“Like this?” This was the last way Dazai wanted to be preserved in Chuuya’s memory: helpless in a wheelchair.

“Yes, like this. This is our first fucking Valentine’s Day, and we should record it.”

“Fine.”

Chuuya went into the other room and returned with the camera, tripod, a box chocolates. “What’s that for?” Dazai asked.

“Hold it.” Chuuya dropped the box into Dazai’s lap. “We didn’t get any pictures earlier, so this will do.”

“Okay.” Dazai picked up the chocolates into his usable hand, which trembled lightly. Chuuya leaned in from behind and then whacked him on the back of the hand. “What?”

“You better smile.”

So Dazai did smile.

The photo, despite their smiles, was largely unhappy. Weary shadows dulled Chuuya’s eyes. Dazai’s picture depicted mainly the things he lost: a fair amount of hair, muscles, fat—anything which had previously cushioned his skeleton. Even if they smiled, it was a ghastly image.

Chuuya seemed pretty content with the photo, so Dazai didn’t say anything.

“Shall we eat?” Chuuya chimed, drawing Dazai’s attention back to the food. He sat down in the seat next to Dazai. In one hand, he took Dazai’s motionless right hand, in the other, the chopsticks. Taking turns, he would put food in his mouth, then in Dazai’s. It was a stupid game they played when they wanted to forget. Over time, Chuuya would get more and more creative in his attempts to feed Dazai. When he succeeded, that was a point for him; when he missed or made a mess, that was a point for Dazai. Although the objective (to feed Dazai) suggested that Chuuya should have usually won, more often than not, he lost, especially when alcohol was involved.

“Really?! How could you say I lost?!” Chuuya gaped at Dazai, a drunken red on his cheeks.

“I was keeping score. You undeniably lost.”

“I say you were fucking cheating. You used the alcohol to cheat!”

“You brought the alcohol, remember? And it’s not my fault you have no tolerance,” Dazai shrugged. “Oh, and before you pass out, don’t forget to help me to the bed.”

“Oh, I’ll help you to the bed, alright.” Dazai’s back stiffened with dread before Chuuya scooped him up into his arms, bridal-style.

“You’re going to carry me from here?”

“Today you get special treatment.” Chuuya carried Dazai into the bedroom and lowered him unto the bed with a kiss on his forehead. “How’s that for the end of a romantic ending?”

“It’s not over yet.” Dazai grinned with a yawn.

“Oh?”

In a few minutes, Chuuya had changed out of his clothes. He turned off the lights and slithered into the bed next to Dazai. “What did you have in mind, sleepyhead?”

“You took too long. I’m going to bed.”

“How romantic...” Chuuya wrapped himself around Dazai’s arm and quickly nodded to sleep, a rare, peaceful smile on his lips. It was romantic, Dazai thought—way better lying alone.

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