#they used to meet at the pier and smoke and its where they both confessed they liked eachother

[pixel-bloom]

Yeah my sims are happily in love, despite everything. What of it? 🥲

[joeys-piano]

Title → Meet Me Where You Are Rating → Teen W/C → 1,050

Summary → During moments of uncertainty or when he felt especially lost, Dazai would dial Oda’s number and carry a conversation through voicemail. Although this pales to the real deal, hearing him speak means a lot to Dazai.

                                                          ~~~~~~

Out from the ashes came a memory, no heavier than the cigarette laced between his fingers. As fire sprung from a well-lit match, Dazai felt it waver within his hands. Like a tiny bud or a fledgling dove, it was small and folded over itself. Gone with the wind, as it would, had he not been here to look after it. Had these hands not cupped and cherished it: caressing so tenderly, mistaking this for something else.

For a hand or a face or perhaps, even a coat. For anguish or a stare or even, a ghost. Because smoldering at the end of this brittle wick, burning as brightly as red around a bone, were all the features of a friend. Soon lost to the wind when Dazai snuffed them with his mouth. Breathing quick and breathing slow, the smoke shrouded him like a coat.

Muddled between bourbon aged in oak and the bitterness of black coffee, Dazai nipped at his cigarette once more. Savoring the heat, flushed against his lips. Not an ounce of it would escape until there were clouds, billowing from his nose or unfurling from his mouth. From a corner he couldn’t close, there was a hole in his frown. Gaping and as tender as a wound, twitched upward like the remnants of a smile. Forever fixed there for as long as this cigarette was in his mouth and even after it grew cold, Dazai didn’t pull it out.

It would mean lighting another stick and striking another match. Both of which seemed too soon as Dazai dragged another cloud. By then, his cigarette was no longer than his thumb and hitched like a toothpick when he bit into the nub. And in doing so, he fiddled down into his coat. Meandering past a matchbox that was barely two-years-old, a number already dialed as he pulled out his phone. Once there, his thumb hovered above the trigger. Seconds away from making the call had his cigarette remained where it was.

Twice bent when it struck the pier, ash spilled through the cracks while the rest scattered behind his heels. What remained in Dazai’s mouth was a sliver of the filter, torn at the end when the rest had fallen off. And like a peppermint, it scrunched all of his senses before he turned and spat it out. Considering where he was, this was oddly appropriate.

Because from where he stood, the ocean waved at the city while the sunset met his eyes. His bangs fluttered across the horizon, mere ripples beneath the sun. Fastened over him were the beige of a long coat and the earnest of a bolo tie. Quite a contrast to the dark plumage, once ruffled down his sides. Even his bandages seemed lesser somehow, dossaled on without a care in the world. Like pinstripe curtains, rather than the meticulousness of a robe.

And if it bothered him at all, Dazai didn’t show. His gaze snatched elsewhere as he picked at the cigarette nub. Rubbing soot under his bandages, watching it bleed down his palm. Fingers curled like a fly-trap before he leaned, initiating the call.

At the first ring, he was undecided. At the second, he wanted to leave. At the third, he deliberated. At the fourth, he didn’t breathe. Fading like an afterthought were the sunset and the sea, as if nothing else mattered when he heard Oda speak.

“Hi, you’ve reached my voicemail. Please leave a message here. I’ll get back to you soon.”

Dazai would’ve traded anything to hear that promise follow through. Even as his mouth began to quiver, he forced it into a smile. Like fissures running through every lie down his guile, threatening to undo him were the clenches from his heart. Like tender scars spiraling out, coiling around anything that wouldn’t falter to their touch. Because what he needed — wanted — no longer existed in this world.

If he could wish for one more thing, he’d want Oda back in his arms. For the sun did him no justice, for the sea was not as fine, for the wind was too fleeting, and for this call was anything but kind.

Even when he was years younger than the self that had died, Oda was ever silent with his words. Beyond stingy at times. Never saying more than what he meant, never saying more than what he’d confess. He followed that principle until the very end. Even as he bled, as the light vanished from his eyes. As a hand sunk down, dragging bandages along with it. Breathing softly and breathing slow, he smiled a little with a cigarette in his mouth. Even after it grew cold, Oda didn’t spit it out. For it was one and if not the only thing that he carried as he grew still in Dazai’s arms.

And even after the silence, Dazai still held on. Clutching his hand or his face or even, his coat. Begging him to stay, not leave to where he couldn’t go. However, there was only so much he could say to a man that was already gone. By the time Oda had grown cold, Dazai had to part. And in doing so, he carried another hole in his heart. Eventually, stuffed with every unsaid thing he thought they had time for. And perhaps, that was the most frightening thing for him to experience for there wasn’t a single word he could use to define it. All he knew — what he knew — was that he had fallen into a cavernous pit, later learning it was merely a grave. Dug there by a bullet, calling itself love.

So where was this love — all the love he never knew — where was it supposed to go? And these words, flourishing within the cracks of his heart, what was he supposed to do?

If grief had been easy, he would’ve figured it out a long time ago. But here he was, crouched with a cigarette, beckoning for the sun to come a little closer so he could rest his head against its shoulder. And breathe as hints of the salty breeze caressed him like smoke, wafting from the sea.

In closing his eyes, he leaned tenderly into his phone. “Hey, Odasaku. It’s been a while.”