Pink Skies pt. 2
Title: Sirens
Part One
Also posted on AO3
The electrical buzzing of the blinking 'VANCANCY' sign outside the motel was hypnotizing. Chuuya stared blankly down at his hands, splayed open in the red light, then splayed out in the darkness when the sign blinked back off again. Again and again, his hands appeared in a haunting cycle, each time the same. Nothing changed. Nothing he did afterwards changed the fact that his hands were stained red.
It was a day to celebrate but Chuuya couldn't fathom the happiness the others felt at his first successive kill. He had to leave. He had to escape. So, he ran back to the motel room the first opportunity he got and he spent the next two hours burning his skin under a hot shower and wasting all the soap in trying to clean the red from his hands. But no matter what he did, he couldn't erase it. Couldn't wash the stink and the stickiness away. That red clung to his skin as if that person's soul haunted him for what he had done.
His hands trembled, or maybe it was his entire body. He didn't know. He wanted to cry but the shock and disgust and the urge to scream all warred within him that no tears were able to be shed. So he just sat there, on the floor next to the single bed, staring at his hands. He couldn't look away from them, didn't want to look away. Afraid that looking away would dismiss the act that he had committed. That it would devalue a human's life even if that human was rotten to the core.
He didn't know how long he had stayed there but before he knew it, the sun was rising and the red light was washed out. The only thing left were his clean palms.
Just like that.
--
Chuuya peeled a hand away from hugging his knees to stare down at them. Without his gloves on, they were the same as back then, clean and devoid of any blood. But he knew better.
The guy he managed to track down went down easily enough. It was easy to set his death up like a suicide. So wracked with guilt about putting an innocent man in critical care that he ended up hanging himself. Too late to be saved before the cops descended on him to arrest him for the drunken hit and run. He only hated that he couldn't have made a mess out of him, for Dazai.
For Oda.
It's been a whole week since Oda got out of critical care. Ango and Kunikida have been taking turns watching over the kids, with Dazai helping out whenever he wasn't by Oda's side at the hospital. The first 3 days, it took both him and Ango to drag Dazai out of the hospital room in order for Chuuya to take him home to sleep. It became easier to convince Dazai to leave once Oda woke up to tell him himself.
True to Chuuya's prediction, the first meal Oda asked for was curry. Thankfully, the nurse scheduled was able to dissuade him from breaking doctor's orders. From then on, all the nurses assigned to him had to keep an eye on the visitors to make sure none of them brought in contraband food. They kept a very strong eye on Ango, much to the man’s chagrin.
Despite the emergency surgery Oda had to go under, he escaped the crash with internal abdominal injuries, a broken arm and leg, bruised ribs and a heavy concussion. He would have to undergo physical therapy once his arm and leg healed, but the doctors were hopeful that there wouldn't be any lasting damage. Chuuya was glad. He didn’t know how he would have handled Dazai if there had been lasting damage. The scars and disabilities reminders about how they both had failed to protect family.
The noise from the shitty TV suddenly rose in volume as the characters on screen screamed at each other. He wasn't really paying attention to it, having it on as background noise. It was one of those rare days that their neighbors were away and the floor was blessedly silent. The thin walls left little to the imagination and privacy a thing to be missed. But that night, he couldn't take it. The silence. So, the TV was on.
It helped to distract his raging nerves and anxiousness. But it could only help for so long. Flipping through the limited channels, nothing caught his attention that he could fully immerse himself in. Even the game system he and Dazai scrimped and saved up for, for a joint Christmas present to themselves (and to be honest, the kids for when they visited), didn't seem enticing. He sat there, watching the over acted drama play out on the small screen. By the time the protagonist was making her exit, he had fully chewed his thumb nail down to the skin.
His partner was still visiting Oda and would probably stay there until the nurses kicked him out after visiting hours were over. Maybe he had time to go out and buy some cheap wine before Dazai came back. He had finished his stock yesterday, using liquid courage to help him finish his plan. Perhaps he could get drunk and go to bed early, forget about today and not worry about tomorrow. He means, Dazai knew he was planning something like this right? Chuuya wasn't part of the goody-goody two shoes agency so he didn't have to feel guilty over what Dazai would think. If anything, he knew almost exactly what Dazai would think. That wasn’t the problem. No. What was the problem was that he killed when he didn't have to. He killed when he promised Oda that he wouldn't become a killer like the rest of the gang. He killed when he knew for a fact that Oda wouldn't have wanted him to kill the guy that ran into him. He would have wanted Chuuya to leave it to the police and let the justice system get justice for him.
But he had promised Dazai first. He had promised himself first. That he would do anything in his power and position to keep the two of them safe from the shadows of the underworld. He stayed in the Port Mafia to thwart any and all future attempts at the two traitors should they become a target again. He stayed to keep an eye on other organizations that might deem the agency an enemy.
Dazai might argue that Chuuya was doing exactly what he was supposed to do. Nothing more and nothing less. Chuuya would be deeply inclined to agree with his partner.
Still. What was done, was done and Chuuya had to live with that for the rest of his life. He was prepared to carry that burden. Maybe he could coerce Dazai into keeping this fact a secret between them. What's one more amongst many?
His other thumb nail was gone now too. His spiraling thoughts had taken him out of the false calm he had acquired from the mindless reality TV he had settled on. He was fidgety. Angsty. He couldn't quite stop the bouncing of his leg as he stared hard at the grainy screen. God, if only he had a cigarette to chew on…
"I'm home!" Chuuya strangled a curse. He let it loose anyway once he saw the blood beading up on his thumb.
Dazai stood in the genkan, brown eyes focused on him as he removed his shoes. Chuuya ignored him, sticking his thumb in his mouth to suck the blood away. He made a face at the metallic flavor that coated his tongue. He didn’t think he had bitten so hard.
"Chuuya's not going to say 'Welcome home'?" Dazai whined, hefting the takeout bag onto the coffee table. "Even after I went out of my way to bring him food?" He directed a pout at the redhead, hoping for some sympathy.
"Welcome home, asshole." Chuuya grumbled, rummaging through the food containers to sort out their own. It was Dazai’s turn to pick up food anyways, so he got no pity from him.
"Hm."
It was Chinese that night. Peeking into each of the cartons, he found sesame chicken, pork fried rice, white rice, kung pao beef, egg rolls and some lin yueng bau. He claimed the fried rice, kung poa and lin yueng bau for himself, pushing the rest to the other side of him for Dazai. He dug in.
"Chuuya." Dazai called, still standing from the spot beside the couch.
He grunted, mouth stuffed with spicy kung pao and eyes glued to the TV. He knew that tone of voice. He was the ‘we need to have a serious talk’ voice because they were doing that now. Talking. No more secrets between them, they had decided. He was going to try to waylay the inevitable but Dazai hadn’t been known as the Demon Prodigy for nothing.
"Chuuya." Dazai called again, reaching a hand out to turn the red heads face towards him.
Chuuya swallowed down his food, lips pulling down into a frown. "What."
Dazai stared at him intently, getting that furrow between his brows when he was displeased with something. The look made Chuuya bristle. A callus free thumb swiped the splattering of sauce off of puffy lips. A pink tongue couldn't help but dart out and lick the digit. Appalled at his own tongue, Chuuya ripped his chin away from Dazai's soft hands.
"What?" He asked again, annoyed.
"What's wrong with Chuuya." And wasn't that a loaded question.
"Nothing's wrong with me. Sit down and eat already." He took his own advice and went back to eating.
Dazai sat down, but didn't make any moves to eat. He was still staring at Chuuya and Chuuya had no doubt in his mind that Dazai was figuring things out. He always did. He was the only person in the whole world who understood him to his core and he him in return. So he knew that Dazai was gearing up to have a serious talk, but honesty? Chuuya didn't want to have it. Yeah, he knew he would have to discuss this at some point, but not right now. Not tonight. His refusal to look at Dazai signified that.
The slender hand reached out again, this time, grabbing for the takeout carton. Chuuya made a noise a protest, but ultimately had to let it go if he didn't want the beef and bell pepper to fall from his chopsticks. He watched as the container was set back onto the table with the rest of the food. He slowly ate the rest from his chopsticks to prolong the conversation.
"You killed someone." Dazai stated, not asked. Because he knew. Chuuya didn't have to ask how he came to that conclusion. Dazai's seen him plenty of times after missions where he was forced to kill someone in self-defense and Chuuya was exhibiting those habits right in front of him. "Who was it?"
"No one you know." His leg started bouncing again. ‘When had it stopped?’
"Liar."
Chuuya glared. "It's true! It's not someone you know." Technically it was true. Dazai didn't know that guy's name. Chuuya didn't know either but to-ma-to, to-mah-to.
"But I know of them. You're more…keyed up than usual. That only happens when it's someone we have in common." A light seemed to go off in his head. "It was that guy."
"What guy?" His heart beat faster. He knew.
"The one that hit Oda." One look at Chuuya's face confirmed his answer. He smirked lightly. "I'm right."
"Whatever." He mumbled, reaching for the food.
Dazai stopped him. Chuuya groaned, leaning back into the couch.
"How did you do it?" Chuuya didn't like the look that infiltrated those brown eyes. ‘He shouldn’t have those thoughts’ he remembered thinking once. More than once because old habits die hard, and yes it was a habit. Until Dazai taught himself better, he knew the other would still be having them. And hadn’t that been the part of the reason he had stayed in the Port Mafia in the first place? To protect the both of them but also to help foster that new outlook on life; that life was worth something more than the pain and suffering of others at your hands.
Discussing this situation was going to be hard without bringing Dazai’s bloodlust back out from wherever it was buried. But Dazai had agreed to Chuuya’s terms of handling the guy himself, so it was a start.
"No. We are not going to talk about this. I'm not going to tell you how."
"I can always look it up." He threatened.
"Not if I ask you not too. And not if you want to keep this just between us." Chuuya fired back.
"Are you?"
"What? Going to ask you not to look it up?" Dazai nodded.
Chuuya remained silent, thinking about his answer. He wanted to say yes. Keep everything buried deep down under, and he knew that Dazai would take his request seriously. But that's how things ruined. It would fester and fester until it was eating him up inside. Until there was nothing else left inside him. Didn't they say the best thing for a wound to heal was to let it breathe?
Letting Dazai look up the information saved him from having to say everything out loud. And wasn't he just a right coward for thinking it in actuality.
He wasn't a coward.
"No. No I'm not." And Dazai smiled at him, pleased. They've come a long way into their relationship. "But I am asking that you not do it right away. I'll tell you. Later. Just…not right now, okay?"
"Okay." Dazai slid the hand that was holding Chuuya's arm, down until he was holding Chuuya's hand in his own. He gave the smaller one a reassuring squeeze. "That’s all I ask."
Chuuya silently nodded.
"Are you still hungry?" Their food was probably already cold.
"Not that much, no." He lost most of his appetite at the mention of his heinous deed.
The leg that was not curled up on the couch supporting their hands was still bouncing. It stilled briefly at the heavy sigh that escaped from Dazai. The other's hand left his for a moment, fishing in his back pocket for something. Chuuya silently missed the warmth.
Dazai pulled out an unfamiliar packet of cigarettes. He shook one out, gripping it with his mouth and pulling before shaking another out and offering it to Chuuya. It strangely reminded Chuuya of the morning in front of the hospital.
‘A lot of things are.’
Curiously, he took the cigarette, holding it up to his nose to sniff it. There was a fruity scent about it, different from the spice and tobacco from their usual. Seeing the question on his partner's face, Dazai told him, "They're new. The company just came out with them a month ago; fruit flavors. That one's strawberry." The painted ring underneath the filter was red. Looking over, Dazai's was yellow. Lemon.
Dazai pulled out a lighter and lit his, taking a deep breath to get the smoke going. The scent of lemons surrounded them as smoke escaped those parted lips. Intrigued and impatient, Chuuya leaned forward with his own cigarette tucked between his lips, pressing the tip against the smoldering end of Dazai's.
He didn't notice the deep inhale from Dazai, or the widening of his brown eyes. Instead, he focused on keeping the tips pressed together, trying to light his own. After a few seconds, the cigarette started catching. He moved back a little to see if it was enough when his eyes caught Dazai's. Blue eyes took in the heated look that covered Dazai's face.
The scents of lemon mixed with strawberry wafted into their noses as Chuuya's started burning. Slowly, Dazai reached out to pluck the stick from Chuuya's mouth and his own before crashing his lips onto the shorter.
Chuuya could have sworn he heard Dazai mutter into his mouth, "Beautiful" as he returned the kiss.
The kissing didn't last long and the strawberry stick was shoved back into his mouth. Rolling his eyes, he took a drag, tasting the flavor on his tongue. It was tart from the taste of Dazai and lemon, and Chuuya couldn't bring himself to hate it.
"I like the strawberry." He said at last, taking another taste.
He felt a weight on his left side as Dazai tipped over, resting his head on Chuuya's shoulder.
"Hm, I like the lemon." Dazai smiled, releasing the smoke in Chuuya's face.
"It's sour like you, no wonder." The redhead teased.
"And you're red, your point?"
Chuuya rolled his eyes. "Shut up, shitty mackerel."
They spent the rest of the evening bickering and watching trash TV, cuddled into each other. They didn't talk about the drunk driver again that night, thankfully. When they crawled into bed around 2 in the morning Chuuya felt like himself again. He peeled his hands away from Dazai's back to look at them once more. They were clean. Sighing, he cuddled Dazai closer to himself, burying his face into fluffy brown hair. There will always be blood on his hands, whether they were clean or not, but he had Dazai there to help with the burden of it. That was all he could ask for.
The distant sound of sirens, filtered faintly into their bedroom.
