#you can pinpoint the exact moment the story stopped making sense lmao

[altaiiriss]

(tw suicidal thoughts)

thinking about dazai and chuuya slowly doing better together.

they're gradually healing, thanks to therapy. they're happier, thanks to their little domestic life. they are each other's comfort person, the family they never had, the crying shoulder they always had to be to protect others, never allowing themselves to break. they learn how to live together, to open up, to trust the other with vulnerability.

everything's going rather smoothly, you know?

until dazai suddenly relapses.

there's no particular reason. your brain just does it, sometimes.

one day you open your eyes and suddenly nothing makes sense anymore.

he does his best to hide it, because chuuya is actually smiling now—he rarely saw him wearing a genuine smile on his face back in the mafia—and he wants to protect the sweet sound of his laughter.

dazai osamu wants to protect nakahara chuuya from the neverending darkness that claws at his soul and melts on his skin until he's one with it.

until you can't tell dazai osamu apart from the parasite that infests his brain and slowly devours the remnants of fond memories.

so he gradually distances himself from chuuya (and everyone else, really).

he stays at the agency after work hours, his body becoming one with the rough edges of the couch while his thoughts echo in the empty room.

he goes to bar lupin, sharing drinks with the ghost of odasaku until he's coming home so late that chuuya has already left for his night shift.

he starts turning down his coworkers' offers to eat lunch at the restaurant together, preferring to sit alone in the darkness of his dorm room and ignore the way his body is begging for food.

until one night he's coming home half drunk—whisky is way more alluring when it tastes like self-destruction—and he finds chuuya standing in the middle of the living room, arms crossed over his chest.

"i'm not leaving for work until you tell me why the fuck you've been avoiding me for weeks." he says, voice rough.

dazai chuckles. thank god there's plenty of alcohol in his system right now. he wouldn't be able to deal with this while completely sober.

except the alcohol makes him say stuff he doesn't mean, and it doesn't protect him from the harshness of chuuya's words. they're scarring dazai's flesh, cutting through that thick black layer that became his second skin and his first home. chuuya's voice reaches the most sensitive parts of dazai where not even the alcohol is allowed to go.

but it's all going according to plan. chuuya is angry—no, he's furious at him, and dazai can tell he's about to be kicked out of his apartment.

until chuuya breaks down.

"i don't know what to do with you," he says, and the desperation in his voice hits dazai all at once. "you're killing me, dazai."

no, no. this—this isn't part of the plan. why is chuuya hurting this much? why is he cradling dazai's cold cheeks with trembling hands? why is he holding on to him instead of letting him go?

"i never meant anything to you, did i?" he mutters, and dazai feels something in his throat snap.

"chuuya," he breathes, and his name tastes like a curse on his tongue, "i want to die. i want to die."

he frames chuuya's freckled face with his bare hands, holding him so tightly that the redhead's bones might shatter at any time.

because that's dazai osamu—when he finally stumbles upon something he likes, he holds on to it tightly with bruising force because violence is the only form of love he's ever known, until he swallows the object of his desire whole, until it becomes black, until he turns to nothing, just like him.

"i can't die knowing that'll hurt you. i need you to want me dead."

which is ironic, isn't it? they've been bragging about hating and killing each other since they were fifteen, and yet now that they can feel the weight of their words on their hands, it feels inexplicably wrong.

they can't dance around the truth anymore.

"i'm already hurting," chuuya whispers, and he makes sure that the resentment in his words is heard loud and clear, "you're hurting me so much."

dazai's breath gets stuck in his throat. "what can i do to make it stop?" he asks, and he hasn't heard that hopeless tone coming from himself since he held odasaku's dying body close to his chest. "i really want to go, chuuya."

"stay," chuuya pleads, hands shaking as he grips dazai's shirt as if that could prevent him from disappearing, "stop hiding—stay with me."

"to stay is to be hurt," he tries to offer a defeated smile, "i think one of us is destined to hurt."

and i wish it weren't me, dazai thinks.

and i wish it didn't always have to be me, chuuya thinks.

"stay," chuuya says again, as if the world alone could make dazai truly stay, "stay. fucking stay."

"i ca—"

"stay."

ah, it's been a long time since chuuya felt the animalistic urge to claim someone as his.

"i'm not letting go until you change your mind. stay." he says.

"you can't change my mind on this, chuuya."

"stay," he pleads, "stay, stay, stay! don't—" his voice breaks, and dazai knows they've hit the point of no return, "don't leave me."

there's something interesting about the way chuuya remarks the word 'me' rather than 'leave', dazai thinks.

"don't you dare leave me." chuuya says through gritted teeth. he cannot pinpoint the exact moment desperation turned into anger.

"i have to go," dazai mutters firmly, removing chuuya's hand from his crumpled shirt, "let me go, chuuya."

"i—"

the words die in his throat, stabbing his insides like a thousand tiny needles.

his eyes fall to the floor, and in the blink of an eye he's surrounded by darkness.

"you make me want to die." the redhead mumbles, and suddenly his skin is coated in black, and dazai isn't in his grip anymore.

he's been swallowed, hasn't he? at least that implies he's not alone.

how relieving.