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ashleyh713fanfics · 9 months ago

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Dazai X Odasaku!Sister Ch9

Chapter 9: "You Are Not A Good Man"

Summary: Dazai fights between the darkness of what he has always known and what Odasaku wanted for him. Oda's sister finally meets Chuuya, our favorite angry ginger.

Warning: pm! fifteen year old dazai, Dazai self destructing, Odasaku death mentions, Dazai torturing himself and everyone around him, manipulative behavior from both sides, Mori mentions and grooming themes, underage drinking, talks of suicide, pm! fiftten year old Chuuya being a good boy. I gave Oda's sister a name but you can imagine it as y/n.

(This is chapter nine of my fanfic "Timeless" which is now on A03. It carries on from the three part intro I posted a couple days ago. I'll link it below to fully understand the story. Oda's death has been moved up to when Dazai is fifteen for plot purposes. Asagao's ability is to stop time for up to six seconds.)

Three Part Intro Here: (just cause the first chapter is so long)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

A03 Version Here:

Word count: 7k total

Moving down the familiar port mafia base, Dazai shoved his hands inside his pocket begrudgingly, his feet shuffling as he thought about the annoying conversation he was probably going to have.

Yet the one thing that occupied his mind the most was the red haired dork he had left behind.

And yeah, the last thing he probably should’ve done was leave Oda’s sister unattended in a port mafia owned building, knowing that she had a habit of not following directions and staying put. She had run away from Ango three weeks ago after all, what was to stop her from doing the same thing here?

It was no secret that she liked to cause trouble, in more ways than one.

But unlike the agent, Dazai didn’t underestimate her. Yes, leaving her alone wasn’t preferable but he also knew that she was fully capable of handling herself if someone did decide to step out of line and mess with her. Hell, she could probably outsmart and kick the asses of every incompetent subordinate in the building if she wanted.

The truth was, she didn’t need his protection, not in the way that Ango thought she did. Asagao was calculating when she wanted to be, even if she was limited by the effects of alcohol currently. She was still a force to be reckoned with and the boy wasn’t worried in the slightest at the fact that he had just left her in a den of wolves.

And in some sort of way, the boy looked at this little opportunity as a kind of test, wanting to see just how the girl would react to his way of life. Most people wouldn’t have been able to handle his port mafia lifestyle but Asagao, he knew that she could.

And not only that, he knew that she could thrive in it if given the opportunity.

Was it wrong to think that though? Was it fucked up to hope that she would be in danger while he was gone just so he could see the full extend of her capabilities? That was probably not something a good person was supposed to do, but what could he say? The situation was too perfect to pass up.

Humming to himself at the thought, Dazai then frowned at the shift in air only to vaguely feel a burst of air approach from his left, causing the boy to quickly duck in order to just merely miss a kick in his direction. “You piece of shit, there you are! I’m gonna kill you!”

Already groaning at the sound of his voice, the brown haired mafioso simply closed his eyes before turning in order to meet a very familiar head of ginger

Ah, right on cue. “Aww Chuuuuya, did you miss me that much? And thanks for the offer but dying by your hand doesn’t really interest me at all.”

Watching Chuuya shake his head in exasperation, the boy grumbled back, clearly bursting at the seams from unkempt anger the entire day. “Shut up! You left me alone to take down those losers by myself. Do you know how outnumbered I was because you decided to ditch?!”

Dazai only raised an eye though, mocking his pathetic partners immediately.. “Oh boo hoo, I thought the famous gravity manipulator could handle a few measly thugs, but it looks like you are more incompetent than I thought if you’re complaining about this much. Pity, I thought you were at least a little useful to me..”

The boy then shrugged his shoulders only for his partners to immediately wrap his gloved hand around Dazai’s jacket in order to shake him around as usual. “Screw you, I did take down all those idiots by myself! They didn’t stand a chance!”

Dazai then replied halfheartedly, his finger in his ears in order to block out the ringing from Chuuya’s shouting. “Then what’s the problem? The job was done, wasn’t it? Unless you just like yelling to hear yourself talk?”

That only seemed to make the hot headed mafioso even more angry though, his fingers tightening on his partner's jacket before yelling even louder than before. “The problem is that you ditched for nothing just to make me look like an idiot!”

Scoffing in response, Dazai smirked. “Oh Chuuya, you don't need my help for that, you do that to yourself..”

Then the bandaged boy simply lifted his hands out in defense before smiling in wistful memory of today's events. “And if you must know, I was very busy. I told you, I promised a lovely young lady a good time. What kind of man would I be to deny such a wonderful request?”

Dazai then thought back to the adorably drunk Asagao that was waiting for him back at his apartment. And though he loved pissing off Chuuya, tonight this was the last place he wanted to be.

Closing his eyes in exasperation, Chuuya then caught the silence in his idiot partner's gloat before forcing himself to let go of the boy with a grumble. “Listen, I don’t care about what kind of fucked up disgusting shit you do in your free time or what kind of brain damaged girls you manipulate for your own selfish whims. Just know that if you pull that shit again, you’re gonna regret it.”

Dazai only raised an eye in amusement though. Calling Asagao brain damaged, what a way with words he had. It’s like he was implying that he was forcing her to date him. If only Chuuya knew just how wrong he was, about how opposite he had everything.

How would he react to knowing that Asagao was the one who pushed him into this relationship? That for once, it wasn’t the demon that had made the contract but rather the angel.

So much so, the mafioso felt his lips curve upwards before a short chuckle escaped his lips at the idea, causing Chuuya’s head to turn in angry confusion. “What? What the hell are you laughing about, mackerel? What’s so damn funny?”

Shrugging his shoulders in response, the boy then forced his lips closed before shaking the thought away. Nah, this slug didn’t deserve to know about her, at least not yet. “Oooh it’s nothing. But really, you’re so scary Chuuuya. I’m practically shaking from fear..”

Then all at once, he watched the red haired kid start to get wound up again, his words practically seething through his teeth in order to point a finger in his direction. “I mean it, dickhead! I’m watching you..”

Dazai only rolled his eyes though, responding in a millisecond. “How can you watch anything? You can't even see that high..”

And just like that, the momentary calm was broken as Dazai watched Chuuya’s control completely snap, much to his satisfaction. “Fucking basard..!”

Yet that’s when a new voice seemed to enter the space, stunning the two bickering children immediately as he strolled up behind them rather unbothered. “Dazai, there you are.”

Widening his eyes, Chuuya then turned to the voice before immediately falling to his knees in a sign of respect as Dazai simply remained silent. “Boss..”

Mori simply nodded his head in return, unbothered by the bickering he had just witnessed. “Ah, Chuuya, you’re here too. Seems like you two are just as explosive as ever.”

Crossing his arms over his chest in a huff, Dazai frowned, knowing that the reason he was stuck with this little brat was because of the boss in the first place. “It’s your fault for making me deal with something so unpleasant all the time.”

The port mafia boss didn’t seem bothered in the slightest thought, his lips giving a cruel short chuckle before seemingly getting right to business. “Yes, well I suppose you’re right. Now Chuuya, if you would excuse us. I must speak to Dazai alone.”

Almost immediately, Chuuya responded, his body snapping back up before giving another small bow of his head in response. Whatever the boss wanted, he would gladly do.

Besides, it finally got him away from the bandaged bane of his existence, and that was a blessing in itself. “Yes boss, of course..”

The boy then turned around only for Dazai’s mocking gaze to follow his steps before calling back to him all at once, almost like he wanted the last victory. “See you, Chuuuuya. Maybe the next time we meet you’ll be able to reach the top shelf! I highly doubt it though, petite mafia!”

All at once, Chuuya felt his eyes twitch, his fingers curving through the leather of his gloves in order to force his feet to continue to move and obey their boss’s wishes. But that didn’t stop him from muttering cruel obscenities inside his head all the same.

Stupid annoying little prick, picking on my size like that. He’s lucky the boss is here or else he’d be dead! God, I hate him so fucking much!! Why did I have to be stuck with a guy like him?!

And even though his threats were unsaid, Dazai still gained a sense of satisfaction from them, his lips twisting into silent victory as he watched his favorite little toy stomp away.

------

Mori led the boy straight to his office as Dazai watched him descend into his usual chair, virtually unbothered in order to turn towards his favorite little executive with his usual calm and collected smile. “Now Dazai, could you please share with me why you were absent from the job I assigned to you and Chuuya today?”

And although his smile was seemingly unbothered, Dazai sensed the threatening aura that always laid beneath. Too bad for him though, the boy was never shaken by his attempts of intimation.

Because of that, Dazai simply shrugged his shoulders, his own lips showing hidden intent, like he was up for the challenge. “Easy, cause it was boring and I didn’t wanna.”

The port mafia boss only frowned though, his expression dropping to a disappointed pout in order to lace his fingers under his chin.

Perhaps to anyone else his response would’ve been seen as unacceptable, but Mori already knew Dazai’s cruel mannerisms like the back of his hand. “Now that’s not very nice. I thought we had an understanding between each other when I offered you the executive position.”

His voice came out scolding, like you would do to an unruly child but the executive knew better to take his words at face value and think it was that simple. Nothing about Mori was simple after all, he had learned that the day they had first met.

Because of that, the bandaged menace called him out on it, Dazai’s fingers crossing around his own arms with a huff. “Oh please, we both know the real reason why you offered me that job. It was so you could keep an eye on me and protect your dirty little secret.”

And for a moment, Mori paused, seemingly taking in his answer before his fingers dropped from his chin with a simple nod. “Right you are, Dazai. You are the only one that knows the truth after all. That I killed the precious boss and took his place.”

Normally the man wouldn’t have ever admitted such a thing but he knew it was pointless to continue the charade, especially since it was Dazai that had figured out his true intentions long ago.

Why he had given him the position of executive, why he held the boy so highly, it wasn’t without reason.

Dazai only nodded back though, his eyes rolling in exasperation. “And I’m your accomplice for it all, I was the only witness to the previous boss’s demise. I know I know. I get it already. If you’re really that worried about it then you should just silence me permanently and get it over with.”

It was something that had tied the two together long ago. Dazai could still remember it like it was yesterday, the day his tiny little eyes accidentally caught the sharp metal scalpel as it slid across the previous port mafia boss’s throat.

After the event it was concluded that the old boss’s will was for Mori to take over but only he and Mori knew the truth, that the doctor had lied to the entire place in order to take the boss’s position.

And since that day Mori had regarded the two of them as partners in crime, always reminding the boy of his place in all of this over and over again like a broken record.

It was almost like he was worried that Dazai would ruin everything with just the slip of a tongue. Instead he used that little secret to try and tie him down to his side.

Mori simply waved the idea away though, almost like he had already read the boy’s mind. “Don’t be silly. There would be no benefit to kill you like that. If I really wanted you dead then it would already be done. I’ve already stopped multiple of your suicide attempts in the past year, I’m not going to let all that taxing work go to waste.”

You see, that was one thing the port mafia boss had figured out fairly quickly. For as much as he wanted all the loose ends of his little evil deed erased, the man knew it wasn’t that simple.

In a sick way, he needed Dazai, he needed him to keep their little lie going because with the boy gone, the old boss’s members would suspect him of the murder.

But that was easier said than done. When he had proposed his little plan Mori thought he was tying himself to a sad pathetic weak and stupid suicidal kid that he could manipulate to his own hand.

Yet almost instantly the doctor realized he had made a mistake, a grave miscalculation on his part.

For you see, Mori had learned very quickly that a monster like Dazai couldn’t be tied down. He couldn’t be manipulated as easily as he first thought. And now by putting himself in this deal he had also undoubtedly tied himself to an evil even he himself couldn’t predict.

But then again, that also made everything all the more enticing.

Dazai only pouted his lips though, not liking his annoying response. He knew that the guy had stopped his fair share of attempts and the boy still wasn’t happy about it. “Boo. You’re no fun, Mori.”

Mori waved his childish manner away though, his eyes planning in clear calculation in order to go for the nearby teapot that was just out of reach. “Everything I’ve done has been for the benefit of this organization. I will always do what I think is best for the port mafia, and that includes the assassination of the precious boss. A change of power was necessary, and when the time comes for another change, I will allow the transition wholeheartedly.”

The bandaged boy then watched as the boss tipped over the pot into his cup as Dazai truly thought about the meaning of his words. Was he saying what he thought he was? Was the guy really that dedicated to the mafia?

Narrowing his eyes, the boy questioned curiously. “So you’re saying that you’ll allow someone to murder you in cold blood and take your position just like you did with the old boss?”

It was an interesting idea, being aware of your own humanity and your own imminent demise. Was that how Mori lived his life, knowing it was a fleeting moment, that he was just a small chess piece in the grand scheme of the port mafia’s legacy?

Mori then closed his eyes, thinking about Dazai’s accusation before simply putting the teapot down onto the table in order to turn back towards the clueless boy with a knowing look. “Precisely. But only if it is someone worthy enough to do so. Everything has a time and a place, and when that moment arrives, my executioner will be hand picked by my own design.”

The air was silent then but the boy could feel his skin prick with devious unknown intent as Mori stared through Dazai’s nonexistent soul for what seemed like forever.

And though the kid was curious about his plan in all of this, the only thing that could stick in his mind was one perplexing thing. For someone so against suicide, you sure have thought a lot about your own death. What a hypocrite you are, old man.

Yet before he could truly stew on the matter, Mori waved the idea away in order to change the subject completely, or so the boy thought at the time. “Now, onto other matters. How are you holding up? I’m sure Oda Sakunosuke’s tragic death has taken quite a toll on you. It truly was an unfortunate event after all.”

At the sound of Oda’s name, Dazai then felt his entire body tense without permission, the words dying in his own throat all at once. Just the mere mention of his old friend was enough to make him internally unravel.

And he suspected that was the point, that’s why Mori had brought him up. To gain a reaction, to put him in his place and take control of the conversation for the first time since their meeting. Dazai hated it, he hated the kind of power anyone had on him with just one simple name.

So much so, the kid’s words came out bitter, not wanting to talk about this. “Why does it even matter to you? You don’t care that he’s gone. He was a low level lackey in the port mafia. Odasaku had no value to you.”

Dazai knew that was the truth, Mori didn’t care. Because of Odasaku’s morals and his refusal to kill, his position in the mafia was bottom tier at best. He was the equivalent to an errant dog, doing odd jobs here and there. He meant nothing to the organization and therefore he meant nothing to Mori.

That’s right, the boss was only bringing him up to get under Dazai’s skin, to make him squirm and act out. There was no other reason for it then to shove his own weakness straight into his face.

Mori took the boy’s reply with a collective air though, almost like he knew the kind of response he would get. “That may be true, but he certainly had value to you, did he not?”

And he did, to the boy, Odasaku was the most valuable person and thing to have ever existed. He was the closest thing to a friend or a family he had ever had. No one would be able to understand that, not even Oda’s own little sister.

Feeling his own lips screw shut in order to hide an emotional reply, Dazai shoved his hands into his pockets with silent despair. He didn’t want to pour his non-existent heart out to Mori but he also didn’t want to lie and tell the man that Odasaku was insignificant.

Because he wasn’t, he would never be.

Mori eyed the reaction silently as well, his expression unchanging before finally looking away from the boy in order to stare down in silent thought. “I must say, you are taking everything quite well, better than I expected.”

There was something different in the man’s tone then, something that Dazai couldn’t quite pick out. It was like there was something else laced in that sentence, something that sounded like..disappointment?

But why would Mori be disappointed in his reaction to all of this?

Wanting to dig deeper, Dazai frowned. “And what did you expect?”

Mori then snapped his gaze back up before speaking distantly, like he was listing off some sort of checklist in his mind. “I expected that I’d be saving you from another suicide attempt, that I’d find you in some sort of ditch alone and broken beyond belief. That’s usually how people grieve the deaths of important friends and family.”

And for a moment, Dazai paused. Was that what he was supposed to be doing? Was that the proper response to grieve someone’s death? He didn’t know, considering the boy wasn’t anything resembling normal.

He was already broken beyond belief though, even before Odasaku’s death. He had always been a sad amalgamation of what he should’ve been. How could you break what was already broken? How could the shattered be even more shattered? Perhaps it wasn’t possible.

Perhaps he was too numb to feel any of that.

But even Dazai knew that was a lie, that for a split second while holding his best friend’s dying body he had felt something. It had been what Mori had described for a split second. Grief, devastation, self-destruction, they twisted into him even more than before.

He felt the painstaking loneliness stuck to his skin whenever he tried to move around Odasaku’s apartment, he felt the numb pointless burn of the alcohol when he only poured one drink instead of two. Such human emotions, in those small moments Dazai knew what they were, even if he didn't want to admit it.

Yet if that was the case, why hadn’t he crumbled under it all? Why wasn’t his body succumbing to the pain of the loss? That’s what Mori expected, that’s what should’ve been the logical conclusion. Why hadn’t he given up all together and tried to kill himself again?

Then all at once, the boy had his answer.

Asagao.

Oda’s little sister, she was the reason he was just barely hanging on these last few weeks. She had fed him letters, memories and moments that were so new to the boy that it felt like Odasaku hadn’t disappeared from this world entirely.

Whether on purpose or not, she had given delusions to keep going, to wake up just in order to read another entry from his best friend’s fingers. Those letters, they meant everything to him. They were his lifeline, the boy depending on them just like Asagao did for her entire life.

And yes they were fleeting, they were just temporary spells in the end. He knew that, he knew that one day there would be no more words to read and Dazai would have to face that.

But not today, he didn’t have to do that today.

He wondered if she knew that, if she knew just how important Odasaku’s writing was to him? That they were just barely keeping him afloat even now?

And Asagao also, just her very presence filled a void that Dazai thought would never be filled again. Her living, breathing body, her tangible touchable skin, they filled his grief filled soul with a shaky wavering peace he knew wouldn’t last.

She wasn’t the real thing, but she was close enough to Odasaku for him to keep trying. To be a good man, a good person. That’s what both siblings wished, what they believed for him.

And he wanted to do that, for them.

Just then, Dazai’s internal thoughts were shattered as he heard Mori’s soft chuckle, the sound filling up the entire room in order for the man to sigh. “Then again, it should be expected that your reaction to grief and death would be different, considering you have always been different, Dazai.”

Not fully understanding, the boy then allowed him to continue, his voice coming out in a cruel edge. “Anyone else would look at you and see a child but you and I both know that’s never been the truth, not really. Not after all the blood and death you’ve shed over the years. Such an innocent yet simple term could never fit you.”

Sure, by looks and hypotheticals Dazai was a fifteen year old boy but Mori knew that was no excuse to underestimate him. The boy was young, yes, but he had already seen far more evil and monstrosities than an old man. Each experience had twisted and changed him into something more complex than just a sniveling child.

And Dazai agreed in a sense. He knew he wasn’t normal, he wasn’t like the happy and carefree Odasaku or Asagao. He never fit inside that box but in those moments with them the boy liked to pretend, to wish for another outcome then just the demon that resided in his heart.

This hopeful and trying side of him that he had displayed tonight with Asa, that wasn’t like him. He had never tried to be kind before, to give anyone anything like he had given her Bar Lupin.

And though it was selfish, Asa told him that it didn’t matter. That just the very act of trying was enough for her. It was so tiny so minuscule and yet Dazai wondered if that was truly enough? Could he really honor Oda like this? He wasn’t sure.

But the fact that he hadn’t completely disregarded the idea, that he hadn’t given up yet was new. It felt almost human in a way, his desire to keep going and prove to Odasaku and Asagao that their words about him being a good man could be true.

He would pretend, he would imagine himself as something more than a monster.

And maybe if he pretended hard enough, then someday it could be real.

Realizing he needed to say something, Dazai then turned his head, curious to hear what a man like Mori would have to say on the topic. “If I’m not a kid than what am I?”

The boss had his answer immediately, seemingly countering the boy’s delusions with sharp truth. “Why, the demon prodigy of course. It’s what you've always been. Anyone else would be foolish to think otherwise.”

It was like he was calling Dazai out with his words, like he was trying to shut down his silly little “pretending plan” but even still, the executive couldn’t abandon it. He didn’t want Mori to be right in any sense, but especially for this.

Leaning back into his chair, Mori then smiled once more, the corners not reaching to the edge of his face before carrying on his thoughts. “Speaking of which, I’m in need of your help. Chuuya successfully completed today’s raid and we were able to capture one of their colleagues. The thing is, it seems like he needs a little more..persuasion..to tell us the rest of his plans..”

Dazai knew what he meant immediately. Torture. He wanted him to be the demon prodigy and torture this guy for information.

And normally he would’ve jumped at the chance to play around with some pathetic enemies but Asagao was still waiting for him and he knew this job wasn’t going to be an easy one. “I see, and you want me to do it?”

Mori only nodded his head though, pushing his fingers back under his chin with a hum.“Think of it as your makeup assignment for missing the mission.”

Oh, so that’s how he was playing it. He was blackmailing him for missing that stupid boring raid by asking this. And Dazai knew that if he refused then Mori probably would look into the reason on why he missed the raid in the first place.

And that would lead him back to the pretty little redhead that was in his apartment right now. Long story short, if he didn’t do this job, then there was a risk that Odasaku’s sister would be found out.

He was giving him this option as a way out, as an alternative instead of digging into his life. And though the boy wanted so badly to counteract his little game, the risk was too great. Oda would be horrified if Asagao ended up in the port mafia.

Because of that, Dazai simply took his hands out of his pockets before smiling back in challenge, just to push his buttons. He couldn’t be too eager about this either, or else it would raise suspicion. “And if I say I don’t wanna?”

Mori seemed to find amusement in the question though, his eyes narrowing in victory before reading his favorite port mafia executive immediately.

“Oh, I think we both know that’s a lie.”

-----

Stomping his feet in pure lingering frustration, Chuuya made his way back to his place, still muttering under his breath because of the dipshit encounter with his least favorite person in the entire world. Fucking Dazai, always putting him a bad mood like this.

What was that guy's problem anyways, always pissing him off like this? It’s like he enjoyed it or some shit. Hell, he probably did, that little asshole would.

Thinking back to their unpleasant conversation, the boy then turned the corner before shaking his head with a new list of obscenities.

Just what was that guy saying anyways? There was no way he was out with a girl all this time. What kind of brain dead freak would ever hang out with him anyways? Nah, he was bullshitting him, he had to be.

Chuuya then turned back around in order to put his arms up in a huff only to feel his hand connect with something solid on accident as a small female groan was heard to his left. What the hell was that?

Yet that’s when the boy’s eyes widened as he caught the sight of a hunched over figure in front of him, the strangers hands covering their face as Chuuya felt his stomach dropped in guilt. Ah, shit, when did she get there!? He didn’t mean to hit her like that!

Panicking almost immediately, Chuuya hunched over, his hands moving in all sorts of directions before speaking at a million miles a minute. “S-Shit, are you okay? You came out of nowhere. I didn’t see you.”

The mystery girl only waved her only free hand away though, seemingly unbothered that the ginger had almost knocked her out. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it. This happens a lot..”

At that, Chuuya felt him raise an eye. “You getting hit in the face happens a lot?”

What the hell did that even mean? Why wasn’t this chick yelling at him like he deserved? He had just hit her, unintentionally or not he was still in the wrong.

She only seemed to laugh though, finding humor in the sentence in order to lower her hand a little bit so he could see her large round framed glasses on her face. “Yeah ha ha..I don’t have the best eyesight…”

And though the glasses were surprising, it didn’t change the facts. The way she was still holding her face was concerning itself. “Still, it’s my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you sure you’re okay?”

That’s when the girl simply nodded her head in order to put her hands out in defense with a goofy little smile of reassurance.“Yeah, of course. Look, I’m perfectly fine! No need to worry!”

Yet just as soon as she said that, Chuuya watched a thin line of blood trail down from her nose in response, his eyes hollowing in horror as she simply touched the sight with a nervous laugh. “Ah..ha ha..would you look at that..”

All at once, alarm bells started to go off in the boy’s head, running through every horrible possibility. He did hit her pretty hard, what if he broke her nose or gave her a concussion? Oh, he hoped not. Then he’d feel even worse than before!

Reaching his hands forward, Chuuya’s fingers then swept under the blood in a panic, ridding himself from the sight only for more to take its place. Oh, this was bad. “Ah, damn it. You’re bleeding!”

The glasses girl only shrugged though, still giving him that goofy unbothered smile in order to reply softly. “Just a little, it’s..”

Yet Chuuya was done hearing her downplay the situation, the boy simply grabbing onto her hand in order to pull her off the ground with a frustrated huff. “Is your brain broken? Come here already..!”

With the way she was acting he was sure that she had a concussion of some kind. No one would ever act this calm about this mistake, especially here in a port mafia owned building.

Dragging her over to the lobby bathroom, Chuuya quickly threw open the door before pointing to the fancy plush waiting area sofa with hastily command. “Sit.”

She complied a second later with the boy practically pushing her shoulders down in a rush only for her to put her hands up in reply. “Hey, I promise. I swear I’m okay. You don’t have to..”

Yet that’s when her words were cut off immediately by Chuuya’s hand, his thumb and forefingers latching against her nostrils in order to make her dip towards him with annoyance. “Lean forward and don’t move. The bleeding should stop in fifteen minutes or so.”

It was a trick he had learned from an early age while in the sheep. A lot of the younger members would get nosebleeds fairly easily so this was basically secondhand nature to the boy.

And it seemed like the mystery girl knew that as well, her voice coming out rather nasally and strange considering his hold on her. “You’re really nice.”

Chuuya couldn't help but scoff though. “Did you forget that I caused all this?”

She only pouted her lips in response though, not at all bothered by the truth. “You didn’t mean to though. You said it yourself. Besides, it’s kind of my fault too. I’m not the best with new places. It was bound to happen.”

Shaking his head in exasperation for her answer, the boy then caught something else in her sentence. “Speaking of which, who are you? You port mafia?”

He had never met this girl before after all, and though he was fairly new to the port mafia himself he knew he would’ve remembered her. She was too odd not to.

And not only that, she seemed way too nice to be in a dark place like this. A little naive and stupid also. Definitely not good traits to have in the mafia. Which either meant she was new or she didn’t belong here at all.

A moment later, he had his answer, the girl giggling to herself in a cutesy manner before smiling back. “Me? Oh no, not at all. I’m just visiting Osu.”

And because she didn’t use Dazai’s last name, Chuuya had no idea who that was, his head lifting in confusion. “....Osu?”

She then attempted to nod under his fingers, beaming with child-like excitement. “Yeah! I’m gonna surprise him with a sleepover! Ah, I really hope he likes it. I want to make him just as happy as he makes me.”

Her feet then began to kick happily underneath him with hidden joy as Chuuya couldn’t help but wonder who this guy really was. Sleepovers seemed kind of childish for the port mafia but then again she seemed so happy about it. He hoped it went well for her.

Feeling her tilt her head up without permission, the red haired girl then added. “And what about you Mr. Ginger? I take it that you're port mafia.”

It was a conclusion that was fairly obvious given the place that they were in. So much so, Chuuya barely gave much thought to her clever deduction in order to latch his fingers even tighter around her nose in order to pull her head back down. “Yeah I am, so you better listen to me and quit moving or else..”

She took in his threat immediately before another apologetic smile crossed her fingers. This guy was really serious, huh? “Okay okay sorry.”

Then all at once, Chuuya felt his shoulders relax, the anger dissipating only for that same heavy guilt to sink in. “I’m sorry too, for hittin you like this. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

This girl wasn’t even a port mafia, she was just some guy's girlfriend or something. She had probably never even seen blood in her life and he had done something so horrible to her. A thousand apologies would never be enough.

She only batted her eyes though, still not angry or spiteful in the slightest. “What were you thinking about?”

Almost immediately, her words brought back the annoyances of the night, Chuuya still hearing Dazai’s ear grating insults in his ears. “Just an annoying bandaged dumb ass I have to work with. He pisses me off, that’s all.”

What Chuuya didn’t notice though, was the way Asagao perked up at the sound of his description, her voice coming out rather curious and coaxing. “Bandaged dumb ass?”

Nodding his head in fury, Chuuya then grumbled to himself before forcing the distaste down his throat. “Yeah, but it’s not something you gotta worry about. That guys not worth anyone's time, especially yours.”

God, he knew that Dazai would’ve eaten this poor girl alive if he was here. She was too good for everyone in this place but especially for a monster like him. He would crush her innocent little soul into nothing.

If only he knew, right?

But naive little Chuuya didn’t know, his lips fixed into a frown only for the female stranger to say something rather out of pocket. “Sounds like you two are close..”

Close? What kind of joke was that? Yeah, the boy guessed he was close to Dazai in some capacity but not any he wanted to be. They were partners, forced to be stuck together. That’s it. Just what was this girl saying, what was she inferring from his words?

She didn’t think that two were…friends…right?

Because that was disgusting.

And he wanted her to know that. “Close?! You gotta be fucking kidding me, I hate that guy. I’m just forced to work with him, that's all. Calling me a dog all the damn time.”

Seriously, just what was this girl thinking? The day he actually became close to a guy like Dazai would be his last fucking day of earth.

Yet there was something in his sentence, something at the end that caused Asagao’s head to tilt back up against his hand as her lips parted open in some sort of delicious realization. Oh, so this is your dog, Samu. I can see why you love him.

And for a moment, Chuuya paused, sensing something different in the air.

Just why was this innocent girl looking at him so deviously, like a predator finding a new prey? It kind of creeped him out, like a horrible case of deja vu. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Yet just as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared, the girl’s head tilting back down in order to kick her legs back and forth with some sort of hidden delight. “Oooh nothing. Just thinking, that’s all.”

The way she said that, it sounded so similar to Dazai that he couldn’t help but cringe, pushing his fingers away from her nose all at once.

But that was silly, that bastard was just getting in his head. The two couldn't be alike. She was too nice to be that twisted.

Shaking the idea away, the ginger haired boy then took a step back before running his hands under the sink next to him with a huff. “Right..well that should be good enough for now. When you get back to Osu or whatever, make sure he takes care of you.”

Then he watched as the red haired girl seemingly hopped to her feet before giving him a small smile in return. “Thanks..”

Her tone was open ended, like she was looking for his name. And because he didn’t see the harm in it, the boy compiled. “Chuuya.”

Nodding once, the girl then pulled her hand out of her pocket for him to shake before repeating the gesture. “Asagao.”

He took her hand reluctantly, shaking back and forth before the two kids made their way out of the bathroom only for Chuuya’s head to ring with concern. She wasn’t seriously going to wander around by herself, right? That was a horrible idea.

Pushing his hand to her shoulder, the boy then reeled her back in question. “You know, this isn’t the kind place you should be walking around alone..”

Yet the girl simply put her hand up before laughing at his worry, almost like the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. “Oh, it’s okay! I’m not alone, I’ve been getting some help. And here they are now. Did you find everything I asked for boys?”

Then Asa simply lifted her hand up before waving a group of scary suited men over to her, their hands full of various pillows, snacks and other items that Chuuya assumed were for her supposed “sleepover” plan. “Yes miss.”

He couldn’t help but gawk at the sight though, seeing the small cute girl sandwich herself between them before patting their shoulders without a care in a world. “Perfect, now let’s go! We don’t have much time.”

Just who was this girl? And how had she commanded this group of mafia guys to do her bidding? There was no way, right?

Yet before he could come up with an answer he heard Asagao call back to him, her hand waving as she beamed joyfully from a distance. “Thanks again Chu Chu!”

Almost immediately he felt his lips twist in annoyance for the nickname, knowing that’s not what he said when he introduced himself. “That’s not..”

Although before he could finish the sentence, she was gone, leaving him to wonder just what kind of hurricane he had unknowingly got himself into.

“...my name..”

-----

Feeling his own feet carry him down the dingy steps, Dazai soon found himself back in the port mafia basement, his fingers lingering over the knives in order for his dull lifeless eyes to pick up the blade like a cruel cold welcome.

He had picked up these weapons hundreds of times before and this was no different. It was like muscle memory at this point and the boy fully knew what was coming next.

Dazai then seemingly slipped into his own internal thoughts, the warm lights of Bar Lupin and the soft blush that crossed Asagao’s face just a few hours prior. Such things were so lively, so real that he had almost forgotten the damp lonely feeling of where he originated from.

In Odasaku’s apartment, in the presence of Asagao he could block out the evil inside him, he could ignore the pull to destroy and to trample, but not here. Just by the shift of the air he knew that here there could only be darkness and corruption.

He couldn’t be a good man here, it was impossible to be.

But perhaps that was the point, that’s why Mori had brought him here. Because he was getting too comfortable, he was beginning to delude himself from reality. He had told himself that he could change, that he could be more than a monster.

And the boy still wanted that to be true, for Odasaku and Asagao both.

Pushing open the rushy hinges, Dazai then made his way to the shackled prisoner before him in order to immediately dig his knife into the man’s shoulder and twist and blade in muscle memory as he cried out in agony.

And as he felt the familiar sickening joy course through every single one of his muscles, the boy knew that it was wrong. That he shouldn’t have felt such satisfaction in making this man squirm. That’s not what a good person was supposed to do.

Yet he did, his body, his fingers, his muscles all twitched in satisfaction with the only thing that had accompanied him since he was a child. It was familiar, pulling him further away from his original goals by the second.

Simply because this was what this fucked up world had made him to be.

That’s right, he was the demon prodigy, he was shaped and misformed to be this way, a perfect monster of the port mafia. If Asagao saw him then he would think so also. She would take back her belief in him.

And though he tried to keep that fragile hope of change, with every stab and scream he physically felt it begin to slip away from him. This isn’t what Odasaku would’ve wanted, it’s not what Asagao thought he was..but this was all he had..

As a boy, as a child, Dazai was never given love, he never knew a gentle touch or a kind word. He didn’t grow up with normalcy or any sort of mundane. He went to bed with murder woke up with blood on his fingers and the sound of deafening screams.

Sometimes his own, sometimes not. But the fact remained clear as day even so..

This was what he was good at, whether Dazai liked it or not.

And that only showed just how different he truly was to Oda’s precious little sister. The things that Asagao had lived through were great but she had gotten away where he couldn’t. She could see more than his pathetic little world.

She was free where he would never be.

Another stab, another trail of blood seeped across his fingers only for a dark mocking voice to fill his ears and drown out his victims screams, his own thoughts and guilt corrupting him to insanity.

You are dishonoring his memory.

He knew that. He knew that so well, that by doing this, by torturing this guy he was going against everything that Odaskau wished for him. But he didn’t know any different, he couldn’t know any different. He wasn’t worth anything else but this.

You are making his little sister's words useless.

Damn it, he knew that also, okay?! A haunting memory, a foolish statement, that’s all it was. She called him a good man but what he was doing was in no way the truth. He knew she’d be disappointed like this, seeing him bathed in blood, torturing this man because of own inability to change.

Fuck, he hated it, he hated himself for being so incompetent.

What did she possibly see in him? Why did she call him precious? He wasn’t precious, he was a joke. A pathetic unfunny fucking joke. Didn’t she see how he was crumbling, how much of a failure he truly was?

Gritting his teeth against his own chaos, Dazai’s own demons tormented him once more.

You are not a good man.

And as his bloodied knife raised into the air once more, the demon prodigy knew the truth, his mind screaming it like a death sentence.

No, I’m not. I’m sorry.

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hitmyheadagainstthewall · 1 year ago

Text

The light covering everything in yellow, orange and red

Summary:

Dazai himself was there beneath the dim light from the sign, leaned against the doorframe, his partner was wearing a hospital gown—looking recklessly pathetic.

“Hey," Chuuya acknowledged.

“Hey,” Dazai responded.

or, Dazai got captured and Chuuya takes care of him on the aftermath.

In less than an hour the stool where he was sat was left empty, and Bar Lupin was ten-yens in debt. He never liked sake, anyway.

For weeks, or months, perhaps—long enough for Chuuya not be able to say with the tip of his tongue and quick thinking—, his colleagues in Port Mafia were not able to organise a reunion, or just talk with each other outside of a bloody mission, the heavy weight of lives over their shoulders, the aroma of madness, and grief.

Somewhere inside Chuuya, deep in his guts, at the bottom of his mind, he missed it.

The warmth that domained his chest when he was around his people, familiar faces everywhere he gazed, he missed it; the heat of the alcohol sliding down his throat and sitting wrong into his stomach, as his organs had shifted placement, however it was mixed with himself amid of his drinking companions—felt like home.

(One day, in his forsaken life, he will outgrow it. He will find comfort at his own singularity, and trust no-one but himself, because nobody is worth it. There , he was sixteen, and he was human.)

God knows that he had not been able to enjoy it for at least a year. He doesn’t have the time.

Dazai. Dazai Osamu.

The contradictions of his partner made him capable of appearing in the rushen encounter of his friends at the Bar Lupin, in the first place.

Dazai had become a enduring partner, not only because of the boss orders, where neither of them had the whim to disobey, but because Chuuya started to understand the person fighting at his side better than his own skin—and it was not the easiest—, and he was determined to learn even more of Dazai’s depth, as well the weight of his mind.

It had maintained him occupied.

They had been tossed back and forth, mission after mission; days, weeks, closer to months, where they had the misfortune to spend together with no outside communication, stuck with each other in hideouts scattered everywhere, and locked inside cells into enemy’s territory. Just so Mori would give them a tap on their shoulders (or a punishment—even though he never received much of those, and he was not as stupid as Dazai liked to pretend he is.)

Chuuya hated him.

His partner; annoying at the best, with his talking and with his gestures, just altogether provocative. They could (and would) wrestle for days, non-stop. Nevertheless, Chuuya had seen Dazai build brick-by-brick of a new wall of his facet towards foreign people, but keep the old, chipped on the borders ones towards him—all masks made from clay, sagging within the heavy gravity.

(He will understand, in the future, that he had mined on dead soil. Nevermind Chuuya gave Dazai his truth, and his soul, Chuuya never gave Dazai purpose.

How selfish can it be? Expect compassion from the inhuman. Fortunately, he expected nothing at all.)

Chuuya was not the most academically gifted person to wonder the Port Mafia’s paths, no matter how much it hurts him to admit; he, as well, struggled to understand the simpler of schoolarity subjects, biology, quimics, mathematics—he understood physics, nonetheless, or at least the most important slice of it.

“Osmosys,” Dazai had humbled for Chuuya once. His provocative tone falling into a soft sigh, more thoughtful, “is the easiest way to learn about anything on this planet.”

Himself, was the gravity pull, and he comprehended easily, with the littlest complies, as he fell into Dazai Osamu’s orbit. Albeit, every object with mass has the urge to fall.

He needed a fucking break.

Their operation—the one that Dazai commanded from afar, and Chuuya obeyed because in some point between trying to crack his partner’s cranium open against the wall but also preparing hot cocoa for their sore throats during nights neither of them were going to sleep, he gave Dazai his life—was a success, at least for their superiors.

His partner gave the command to evacuate their man, despite Chuuya’s angered barks towards the enemy’s base (how antagonic to say, considering what he is). That day, Dazai muttered towards him, “Take control of the mission— don’t question it at least, alright? Be back here when I give you the sign.” He might have added a “Good dog!” he doesn’t remember.

The mission was for the recovery of leaked confidential files; it took weeks, and yet Chuuya was not aware of what those files contained. Leaked, a formal way to say the papers were transferred from the underground by a traitor, unknown, that was able to come out clean.

Dazai was able to track down those documents into a building disguised as a Nonprofit Organisation amid the crowded urban centre. Chuuya knew that attacking a “light-hearted” business was not close to being one of the cruellest things the mafia could do to protect its own interests.

But they did not.

They did not, and Dazai disappeared for a weekend after that short command.

The sign came as a phone call. An exchange: his partner’s life or the precious documents he knew nothing about.

Chuuya and his men were at the building’s entrance not an hour after, and he invaded with nothing more than a knife on his left hand.

It was the scent of blood, and the loose track of footsteps that led Chuuya towards Dazai; the gravitational pull, where he keeps falling, falling, falling, all the downsteps from that mouldy staircase, and guides him towards the centre.

Albeit, Dazai is almost unrecognisable. He found Dazai inside of an interrogation cell, lacking his coat, and his tie. Dazai stayed, as still as a marble statue, handcuffed to a metal chair.

All he could think was: “This fucking idiot…”

No self-destructive behaviour of his would condicionante him to be tortured from own whim—but, again, Dazai was just something else, with an impressive lack of surviving skills.

The door crinkled with his gravity, dented as a soda can within his hands. He was not capable of seeing the cell’s depth—he could only curse towards the walls he couldn’t gaze, and hoped the dim red-light from his ability was enough to guide him frontwards, and it was, until it flickled.

His right foot stepped over a wet, sticky puddle.

Chuuya was comfortably familiar with the No Longer Human. Chuuya could explain the feeling as sinking, misstepping, or just jumping and never finding the floor, Dazai had explained to Chuuya his ability was as bugs crawling beneath thin skin. He felt the urge to call his partner dramatic, however he couldn’t, not when Dazai looked at him like he was gazing himself through Chuuya’s eyes.

It was impossible for him to not shiver, the couple of seconds after he realised he had sunk his feet is partner’s lake of blood; the chair in the middle of the puddle like the centre of a spectacle.

“Dazai,” he begged. Chuuya’s hands drew his companion’s head upwards, who had lolled back and exposed neck; and he jumped, heart dropped into the bottom of his stomach (falling, falling, falling), and the distant whir from No Longer Human, as he accidently gaze directly on Dazai’s open eyes, no bandage around his useless eye, as looking towards the bottom of burnt caramel. “Snap out of it!”

The absent mist covering Dazai’s eyes cleared as he shook his partner's head back and forth—he did not want to think how terrifying it was, the body heavy within his hands, looking lifeless, his partner.

Dazai blinked, slow, and Chuuya could almost see the boom of his pupils, enlarged unnaturally, it almost hid the bursted capillaries from his sclera, through the murky cell.

Dazai grinned. “It took you enough time.” Dry blood that had flowed from his nose flaked.

“I should leave you here.” Chuuya leered.

He did not. The tramble of his hands proved it as he moved towards the handcuffs, winced as his knees sank on the bloody mess, just to figure both thumbs were dislocated, and the metal slided down his nude wrists.

As soon as Dazai could move, he stood, rapidly, and stumbled a few steps towards the door before stilling.

“Hell, you must be out of your mind,” Chuuya mumbled and straightened his legs.

His hands drew towards Dazai’s back right away; he felt the body slightly swing against the palm of his hands, as how buildings wobbled during wind storms. “Oi!” he said, and Chuuya snapped his fingers in front of Dazai’s nose, anxious to clean the dissociated gaze that worked as a cloud, it had prinprinks of light that he could recognise on the same eyes when Dazai drunk cheap whiskey after three days without eating nothing more than chips and peanut.

Before he could think—Dazai’s eyelids, looking so heavy, sluggishly closed—, his partner’s body slumped.

He seized Dazai’s both arms and dragged the limp body towards his chest, fixing his sprawled limbs on his hold, the elbow pierced his shoulder (he ignored, for his own sake, as his hand ran towards the neck, as his breath hitched before he could find the constant beat from the heart, and he swallowed the lump of panic stuck on his throat, because Dazai felt dead. Dazai collapsed as he had his strings cut, and he felt so, so scared.)

“Fucking bastard Dazai,” Chuuya swore, whining. Dazai’s weight firm against his back, lanky arms wrapped on his neck, and Chuuya pretended not to eye the nails chewed to non-existence, as he climbed the staircase, the warmth of hot blood spilled on his jacket as wine was able to make him wince, but all he felt was too lazy, too slow rise and fall from his partner’s breathing.

Mori appeared, like he always seemed to do to leer Dazai at his worst, and most vulnerable parts, however it only made Chuuya sick on the stomach rather than confidence that his companion would be safe within his boss’s gloves.

Beneath the moonlight, accompanied by the stars, he could hear the distant whir of sirens from vehicles he was so used to the sound, Mori hoisted Dazai from his hold as someone picking a feral, stray cat, and tapped his shoulder two times—Chuuya blamed the burnt to his aching limbs, and not because the touch from his boss was so foreign to him, and the presence was so hefty, that he was terrified of the superior gaze.

“You did a good job, Chuuya-kun,” Mori sang. “I think you deserve a break, don’t you think? How about a commemoration?”

The Bar Lupin was filled with known faces, nonetheless the stool he commonly sat was empty. He soon became familiar with the side-looks he received, no matter how much liquor he had drank. One small talk with a group of friends he engaged with was enough for him to realise he knew none of these people—and the heat from the partnership was only the burning throat from a quick shot he took to ignore how he felt misplaced.

“The warmth that domained his chest when he was around his people, familiar faces everywhere he gaze, he missed it”— and, yet, all he was capable of thinking was Dazai Osamu.

Leave the stool as more of an easy decision than he wanted it to be. He wanted to struggle with it for a while, he wanted the urge of following his partner to hell and back to be difficult, a pin in the back of his head; nevertheless before he could think straight, his legs were wandering the Underground paths, where he knew his partner would be awaiting for him.

Chuuya had called himself independent—he never bent under superior’s wishes without bickering, without fighting back. His partner’s contradictions conditioned him, in some way, to not give up his will, and never give people the force to fold his power. Yet, his loyalty was never something he could work with, carved on stone and his flesh as the burning swirl pattern from Arahabaki, both Dazai and him knew that outstandingly well.

Wind blew and tousled his knotted hair, and he still wrinkled his nose with the smell of salt poured on his face; he dwelled in Yokohama’s pathways since the first thread of his memories, snuggling with homeless, pathetic kids to expel the deadly cold from their small bodies, and he lived exclusively for the city, for those people, however he never got used to the sour whiff streaming in the air, too familiar, almost nostalgic, even that he never left.

The way his veins ran inside his body are the same from the streets that contrived the nerves of his home town, and he had ranged those dropping-drunk, bled out, with blind eyes—he arrived just in time.

When his face got lighted with more than the thin veil from the moonlight and now with the neon sign from a foreign clinic, it being the only enlightened structure into the whole street, he was already shivering. The dry blood from Dazai on his back created a cold crust on his jacket that sent shivers down his spine.

And Dazai himself was there, which made him release a chuckle, beneath the dim light from the sign, leaned against the doorframe, his partner was wearing a hospital gown— looking recklessly pathetic.

Dazai’s skin was ashen, and the bandage around his face was loosely back but not on his arms—Dazai was a mosaic of scar, stained glass teared until it returned to sand—then he scraped the harsh skin until it drew blood—suddenly it wasn’t as funny. He looked lanky without them, sprawled limbs and joints pointed out from the muscles.

“Hey,” Chuuya acknowledged.

He noticed the black and blue bruises, fingerprints and memorable sore from punches that gave Dazai life, nevermind how unbelievable it may have sounded.

“Hey,” Dazai responded.

His voice was rough on the edges, like the burnt ledge from a paper, and weary. Chuuya strode towards Dazai and cupped his corned hands—he ignored the constant quivering, since he knew Dazai, when Chuuya weared such a thin jumper he could see the skin beneath the cloth, his hands were the only organs he could not control, always gesticulating and shaking…

“Huh,” Chuuya breathed. “I expected for you to look more–”

Dazai sneered. “Fuck up?”

A nose tugged on his scalp, the faint blow of his partner’s inhale made his guts wiggle with joy, something as stepping over hot sand with bare feet, and something like pride, because he knew Chuuya was the only that Dazai started contact with; Chuuya was the one who Dazai talked about nightmares, and Chuuya was the one who Dazai snuggled when he was sick—not Ango , not Mori.

(Not Odasaku—it would be a lie.)

He tightened his hold on the hands, and Dazai rested his cheek above his tousled velvet hair, just breathing. “Yes, jackass.”

Dazai hummed, “They’re more into waterboarding, you know?” he drawled, “and a little bit of carving, but they’re so, so bad at it, Chuuya, and too talkative, as well–”

“Carved?” He interrupted his partner’s humbleness.

“Oh,” Dazai breathed. Swiftly, he withdrew—Dazai’s nose wrinkled after the light itch from his hair, and he absolutely, utterly, abnormally hated how his heart stuttered, too fond and with beyond care—, then moved way slightly the fabric from the gown and showed bandages that balled from his chest to his stomach: scattered slashes of blood leaked from the white bandages, distant from each other, but still near for Chuuya to understand a pattern.

It remembered him a little excessively like Mori…

He leisurely brought the tip of his finger towards the woven cotton, but stopped himself as Dazai winced.

Dazai must have, too, Chuuya wondered. He was not the one to miss irony when he saw it.

Dazai’s right hand attempted to escape his loose grip, going towards his free arm, however Chuuya stopped him by clutching the fingers.

“Ouch,” Dazai verbalised, suddenly remembering Chuuya from the dislocated thumbs from earlier that night. “I can’t believe you just did this to me, Chibikko–” Chuuya growled. “Hurting me like this. When I’m already miserable. When at the verge of death.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Chuuya groaned, “you can’t shut up. You just can’t.”

They kept humbling at each other, insutes and words they can barely hear, or understand leaving their mouths. Nevertheless, at every moment, at every bastard mackerel, petite mafioso, fucking wimp, shorty slug they leaned more and more against each other, until the point where he sustained the slim body from his partner with his own, and dug his heels onto the paved street.

In some minutes, or hours, perhaps, it was going to sunrise, and the last thing he wanted was to be standing on a random pavement in front of a clandestine hospital clinic Mori must had built with the money he gathered from a million others clinics, scattered through all Yokohama, with the limp body of his partner, and Chuuya was tired.

He was tired— tired from the investigation that endured days alone, from the sleepless weekend, from seeing Dazai teared as a ragdoll, and of sitting on a stool thinking about his partner. He got tired from the feeling of home Dazai had brought, of thinking of him, and talking about him, and the lack on his heart where his idependency used to live, of a past where he did not knew Dazai; he missed it, whole-heartedly missed it, but could not bring himself to live like that again.

Chuuya, then, lazily kicked Dazai’s left leg, and he fell hitting his shoulder onto Chuuya’s chest, as his leg shook and bent. Dazai whimpered, loudly and childish, and Chuuya rolled his eyes even though he was only fifty days apart in age.

Inhaled, they still smelled like blood, like madness, and grief. Exhaled, the sky became pink in front of his eyes, a ray of sunshine, light piercing the heavy clouds and the injustice from the silent nights.

“I waited for you,” Chuuya said.

“I know,” Dazay muttered, “me too.”

The trip towards the apartament had them panting—Dazai puked once, and Chuuya had to stop merely three times to not do the same due pure and unfiltered exhaustion, his limbs costing all his energy to simply lift. They sat against each other as the lifter climbed through ten floors, and Chuuya did not even live in the penthouse.

As they arrived the sun was glowing outside, the sunrays covering everything in yellow, orange and red like oil paint, leaking through the gaps underneath doors and narrow windows.

Dazai looked as ashen as he did before, eyes closed and leaned against the wall from the hallway as Chuuya attempted to open the lock from his own apartment, and he could see the veins that contrived beneath the eyelids, as well the rapid back and forth spasms from his pupils; oily hair clung on his forehead and pale lips like white marble—it made Chuuya wonder how much of a good idea was bringing Dazai from a hospital to his house.

Sleeping while standing up was not something that fitted well on Dazai, it appeared too vulnerable, and weak, for a mafioso with a nickname as cruel as Demon Prodigy, or a fame of a heartless, inhuman death-machine, and his partner would be contorting if anyone could see him in this state, but not with him— there, the pride again, warmer and more colourful than the sunrise.

“C’mon,” Chuuya mumbled after unlocking his door—on the third key, as well. His brain felt like cotton, or milk inside his scalp. “Get in, Mackerel, I’m not carrying you inside.”

He did.

They did not take off the shoes, nor his carmesin-covered jacket, then uneven footprints scattered over the carpet, of mud and dirt. “Heavy mother-fucker,” Chuuya lied, his partner was concerningly light, on thin ice for him to him to feel the ribcage. He carried his companion by the armpits, then Chuuya pushed Dazai onto the sofa, the body collapsed, slouched on the leather.

“You’re a meanie,” Dazai whined. “I’m very high,” Dazai added, for no particular reason, half-lidded eyes staring towards the dim yellow lights.

“Are you, really?” Chuuya arched an eyebrow. Dazai nodded. “Good, so I don’t need to waste proper medication on you.”

“Chibi–” Dazai’s hands moved towards his both bare arms—it was a habit that could not vanish, Chuuya was sceptical it ever would—, he firmly moved the hands away. “I’m itchy.”

“So put on some pyjamas, and go to sleep,” he growled.

“You know that’s not how it works, petite.

“You need to stop callin’ me that,” Chuuya humbled, finally, finally, removed the tight shoes from his feet, waggling his toes. He felt so relieved he pretended to not hear the giggles from when he lost balance and was close to stumble over Dazai. “I am growing, on my way to tower over you, I just need time!”

“Hum,” Dazai closed his eyes, “I bet your motorcycle that it’s not true.”

Chuuya removed his jacket, the blood flaked away, tearing over the fabric like clay. His face reddened, heated with familiar anger—more familiar than those people, than the Yokohama streets, a different kind of warmth from enragement only Dazai could have brought. “That’s not how bets work, dipshit.”

I am home, he felt, I don’t want it to end.

“Where are you going?” Dazai asked after Chuuya rubbed his feet on the carpet, grounding himself, and dragged his weary body forward in the living room.

“I’m gonna’ shower, what do you think I’m doing?” Chuuya stopped with a hand seizing his wrist.

“No, that won’t do,” Dazai hummed. He opened his eyes, poodles of burnt caramel, or toffee apple, and Chuuya got distracted by it— for some forsaken second he was lost within them, for a split second…—, swiftly he was being pulled over Dazai’s damaged body. “Now, sh, sh, sh, sh, calm down, dog.”

“What the fuck?” Chuuya yells, his head resting beneath his partner’s chin, he felt as much as he heard the heart beats constantly, and the rise and fall from his chest—the chin tugged on his hair, then Chuuya held his breath for merely seconds, exhaling accompanied with the soft breath from his partner. Tangled legs and sprawled arms, Dazai’s hand kept clutching his wrist, and other hand lolled outside the sofa. “Dazai, let me be, I’m disgusting.”

“I don’t remember you from havin’ such low self-esteem.” Dazai sighed. “Just go to sleep, Chuuya, we can resolve everything tomorrow.”

Gravitational pull: everything with mass has its own orbit, and everything with mass is attracted towards its force— it was the law of Physics, raw and bare, when Chuuya snuggled closer to Dazai, arms wrapping firmly on his back and Dazai did not flinch.

“‘Solve everything tomorrow’ isn’t just you being lazy until the problem is over?”

They breathed with one another. One soul from two bodies. He can feel every every flapped from his eyelashes, or every gasp from the narrow gap on the mouth, and the snorts, and the uneven pace from the heart—and it was not as overwhelming as it was supposed to be, it felt as a continuation of his body, it recorded him Dazai was alive beneath him.

“You know me very well! Now, sleep.”

The lights were on, and Chuuya spended the next ten minutes thinking about the stool, he thought if the people were already with their heads resting over the pillows, if there were family waiting from them wild awake. He thought about the blood from that cell, whether it was blown up, vanishing without remains, or whether it was cleaned new.

Dazai rested a lazy hand over his curls, and the thoughts suddenly didn’t matter.

“Good night, Mackerel.”

Dazai did not respond, because he was already asleep.

#dachuu #soukoku #skk #hurt dazai osamu #bsd #pm dazai #pm chuuya #protective chuuya #I love them I'm gonna step over them

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