"Oi. Dazai." Chuuya had snapped his gloved fingers in front of his face.
Perfume. Dazai could smell the scent of Chuuya's clothes.
Could it really be Chuuya?
Maybe it's another person-
"What are you doing here?" he asked, hands in his pockets, posture... elegant, and eyes that seemed more fascinating than before "Dazai?"
And Dazai wanted to talk, he really did. But he couldn't even make eye contact with Chuuya.
In the first ten seconds, he felt the need to run away.
But... he didn't. He just... diverged his gaze.
Chuuya's eyes narrowed and oh. Dazai noticed he had a ponytail and longer hair and-
Dazai put on the blankest face he could, even though his heart was beating at a crazy pace and his hands were warm.
"Chuuya." he said "Chuuya hasn't grown an inch"
The other lowered his eyebrows in threat.
"Go to hell." he said, rolling his beaut- just normal eyes, totally not special.
Nope, just a regular boy-
"So..." the glasses that were on his head, they fell forward and oh- it did suit him "... How have you been" he removed his sunglasses from his face with such an arrogant expression that- Dazai continued with his most empty expression.
He tried to stare at Chuuya, but his cheeks felt hot. He looked away.
"It's whatever." he showed fake disinterest.
Chuuya arched an eyebrow, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.
And Dazai noticed that he was wearing a black suit that... fit him... too well.
The shoes... everything looked good on him. Had him always been like this?
He swallowed discreetly.
"Not everything is about Chuuya. I... " Chuuya looked flatly at him.
Dazai slightly widened the collar of his shirt with his index finger, feeling a cold wind. He stretched his neck uncomfortably. "I happen to have a job here. That's all."
He hoped that it would work.
The boy looked at him with suspicion in his eyes for a few moments, but then sighed, waving his hand slightly in the air.
"Good luck then, I suppose..."
Ah, finally Chuuya was showing signs of embarrassment. But it was probably because of the awkwardness.
The two hadn't seen each other for weeks and it was really strange to see someone who was out of sight on a daily basis.
His eyes softened a little, and Dazai returned the gaze. He swore he saw the corner of Chuuya's mouth twitch, threatening a small smile.
A smile that never came to appear.
Chuuya did indeed look much more mature and his appearance- didn't made him justice.
He was older. He seemed someone Dazai could respect-
What the hell was he thinking?
Gloss? Did he wear gloss? Or was Dazai's imagination running wild- again?
Chuuya took a step forward, getting closer to Dazai.
And when he did, he seemed to have sucked all the breathable oxygen out of him.
Calmdowncalm- it's Chuuya, he's disgusting and Dazai definitely isn't thinking about caressing his hair-
No. He isn't. He isn't thinking at ALL.
Chuuya closed his eyes and opened them in immediate sequence.
Something that might be called blinking eyes in clear, distinct confusion.
Something typical of someone who is confused, which would probably apply to the boy's case.
Dazai didn't understand why his chest felt like it was being squeezed tightly, as if his lungs were being crushed by the overwhelming - not at all significant - proximity.
But... thinking about it better... maybe it was the consequences of spending so much time alone.
Seeing Nakahara Chuuya in front of him dressed in emotions and light made him writhe with embarrassment.
The embarrassment of thinking, once, of ruining such singularity and uniqueness.
Chuuya wasn't that close to him. He couldn't even feel the air he was breathing, warm and soft.
But, his eyes seemed to corner him against an invisible wall.
And worst of all, Chuuya would definitely not be aware of his vigorous presence.
Dazai then realized that he had been deprived of human emotions, stripped naked and been abandoned by them.
So seeing Nakahara Chuuya was like a blessing for his one eye.
And even the eye covered in bandages, moved with life.
He felt, even if for a moment, less empty.
And... admittedly Chuuya was... different. In a way that caused a peculiar tremor in his legs and sweaty fingertips.
Dazai really missed him.
He could admit it silently and he was capable of it.
But never chant it.
Suddenly, the looming heat radiating from his cheeks had become less uncomfortable and embarrassing.
He had become almost pleasant and he almost considered smiling at him as a thank you.
But...
The vowels, consonants, syllables, the words they formed and the sentences - had become stuck in his throat.
Even when, almost unconsciously, he parted his lips, all that came out was a very small, shrill sound.
Chuuya didn't seem to care much. The boy had looked away.
And in part, Dazai was grateful for that space.
Chuuya's eyes had always been very penetrating, sharp as shining knives. Eyes that were endowed with an intelligence imperceptible to the eyes of the superficial ones.
Well, Dazai thought, their loss.
A little smile painted his lips, when Chuuya wasn't looking at him. Face turned to the side and fiery red hair fluttering like light strips of velvet.
He was a true vision.
Dazai nearly lost his breath, just like he had lost his words.
He pressed his lips together in a thoughtful line.
Chuuya looked at him again, with that hard but open gaze.
And for a moment, he didn't speak.
And time stood still.
And time stopped.
The wind embraced both bodies like an encouraging caress.
Chuuya's expression was imperceptible.
A stone expression that was not rough, but maybe smooth like marble.
He unexpectedly noticed the choker around his thin and white neck. He sucked a breath.
He really didn't have the courage or mentality to direct a comment to him.
But then, Chuuya parted his lips slowly-
"Chuuyaaa!" a voice that Dazai had never heard before echoed.
And then, quick, excited footsteps that seemed to be approaching at great speed.
Chuuya's expression seemed to tremble a little as another figure clung to his shoulders, perching on him like a bird.
"Heeeey! Chuuya!" the other said "C'mon! We are all waiting for you!"
Dazai maintained his blank, dead expression. Chuuya, in turn, let out a frustrated and somewhat annoyed sigh.
"Get off of me!" he said, but he had made no effort to pull away from the other. It was just an annoyed, irritated tone. "Oi!" he smacked him on the arm.
"Hmm? You are not busy!" he exclaimed "You are not-" at last, the annoying person seemed to finally notice Dazai's existence.
Chuuya seemed to stiffen a little, looking down like a misbehaving cat.
The guy, who was wearing sunglasses, pressed his lips together and said:
"Oh."
The boy pushed him away from him and Dazai kept his blank expression.
The other stared at Dazai for a few seconds and then moved closer to Chuuya's ear, leaning his torso.
"Isn't him that kid everyone talks about?" he whispered to him as if Dazai couldn't hear him. Then he glanced at Dazai and turned to Chuuya who looked deeply uncomfortable "Dazai Osamu, righ-"
An exaggeratedly loud sigh echoed. Coming from Dazai of course.
"I see my reputation precedes me," he commented very indifferently, causing Chuuya to grimace in disgust.
Dazai smiled emotionlessly.
"Yes, it's me. " he paused, carefully and then added flatly "I am Dazai Osamu." he paused. Again.
Faced with Dazai's coldness, Chuuya just sighed in frustration.
Then, he pushed the other away with a chilled expression. And with some force, considering that the guy with glasses almost hit the glass door.
"Chuuya!"
But Chuuya just ignored him, casually putting his hands in his pockets.
The expression of arrogance and petulance did something strange in Dazai's stomach.
"I'll meet you inside." and as he spoke, he kept looking to Dazai who returned the gaze with the same intensity. A provocative smile appeared on Chuuya's lips and Dazai felt the same thing as seconds ago. "Go now, Albatross."
Albatross, as he was called, mumbled something under his breath regarding the push Chuuya had given him.
And, then, entered the bar.
The sound of the door closing caused Chuuya to sigh in relief, closing his eyes.
Dazai didn't tell him anything.
Seconds later, Chuuya fixed his gaze that seemed to crush Dazai - not that it was a problem, Dazai would let him-
No.
Nope.
He shouldn't go there.
He swallowed and Chuuya He flashed a smug, cat-like smile that didn't seem as irritating as it had before.
It seemed to him... how could he say it... captivating.
Crushmecrushmecrushme.
He should crush Dazai like he did when they first met-
"I am so going to beat you, watch me." he said, his tone drawling and threatening - he should have crushed Dazai - "I am going to become executive, first." confidently, he lifted his head, stretching his neck, showing how the choker hugged his skin. "Watch me."
He looked completely serious, challenging Dazai to... a bet? That he would lose... again?
Because Dazai knew very well that Mori would never make him an executive in the first place.
It was clearly Dazai's win, but...
Suddenly, Chuuya's confidence and arrogance didn't seem as irritating to him as it used to.
It seemed... attractive... somehow...
He could rule the world.
That little man- who cared if he was short, not Dazai could rule the world.
For the record, he could smash Dazai with his feet and he'd die happy.
Being short didn't stop Chuuya from being the greatest person he had ever laid his eyes on.
Power suited him. Chuuya was made to shine.
Oh Dazai really didn't mind not being an executive. He could lose to see Chuuya confident again.
It was refreshing.
He-
" 'have something to say just do it!" he snapped, annoyed that Dazai hadn't... answered him... ah...
The truth is, Chuuya or not, Dazai didn't want to be an executive.
But seeing Chuuya all excited and dedicated to defeating someone damaged like Dazai...
And Dazai wining against him.. gave him a certain satisfaction.
Chuuya could do anything with the dedication he had between his fingers.
And those eyes... that could crush him, strangle him, reduce him to dust...
And yet, Dazai would never understand why Chuuya wanted to defeat him.
He, someone broken and failed, who wanted to die.
And Nakahara Chuuya, fascination personified, wanted to defeat him.
Chuuya didn't know it, but he had long since won Dazai over.
Since he had become the storm, the tempest of the void that was Dazai's life.
But, Dazai was a fair person.
If Chuuya wanted to fight him, then Dazai would give that competition.
While he didn't mind being defeated by Chuuya, seeing Chuuya being defeated by him was equally fascinating.
That's why...
"Eh?" his blank expression had faded "But I thought Chuuya had already lost in the arcade!" Chuuya seemed to contain his irritation with a sigh. Dazai smiled at him almost victoriously "Chuuya did become my dog."
Chuuya stared at him for seconds, eyes that seemed to emit rays of light.
They could turn Dazai into dust.
"I. Did. Not." he hissed. Then he sighed and shrugged, "But anyway, I guess I'll see you around, bastard."
Shrugging his shoulders indifferently and disdainfully, he turned on his heels, leaving a trail of perfume that invaded Dazai's nose.
Dazai realized that his hair had been tied into a charming low ponytail.
He looked away, his cheeks felt hot again.
Chuuya raised a gloved hand, waving it nimbly in the air, showing off his slender wrists and long fingers -
What was wrong with Dazai today?
He swallowed hard, getting rid of the red in his cheeks and, just so he don't look like a complete idiot-
"See you never!"
Chuuya's grumbling could still be heard.
The bar door closed and Dazai released the air he had suppressed.
It felt like pounds had been lifted off his shoulders.
Feeling more in control, he sighed more serenely.
Chuuya was already a winner.
Dazai knew, ever since the first time he met him that he'd be trouble.
He knew, if there was anyone capable of defeating him, it would be Nakahara Chuuya.
Not someone like Mori Ougai or someone Dazai, himself.
None of these people.
Dazai had no interest in defeating anyone, knowing their every move beforehand.
Boring and useless, a waste of time.
But, he did wanted to defeat Chuuya.
He was the first person he'd ever wanted to bring to the knees.
Seeing someone so powerful, a victor, at your mercy was incredibly pleasurable.
And even if Chuuya's motives were different, Dazai's sole motive was just that.
It was much more interesting to defeat someone who had already defeated him, even without knowing it.
After all, defeating Chuuya would be the only reason Dazai would work to become an executive.
There was something different about defeating someone that made him feel... strange.
Dazai considered it as retaliation.
Just like Chuuya's presence, just his existence , crushed Dazai...
Dazai also wanted Chuuya to feel equally crushed by Dazai.
And the only way he had was to defeat him.
The effect Chuuya had on him was unfair, he had to return the overwhelming feeling.
And in these thoughts, Dazai smiled a little, putting his hands in his pockets.
He felt less alone now that he knew Chuuya was thinking about him.
Even if his sole purpose for that was to crush Dazai.
At this point, Dazai'd take anything from him.
Hate, friendship, rivalry.
Because, he knew.
He knew that anything Chuuya'd give him would make him feel less empty.
He'd make him feel more alive.
It honestly felt nice, when Chuuya hated him, was friendly with him, tried to defeat him, protected him...
Because for the first time ever.
For once.
And even if temporary, Dazai could feel less inhuman.
More like a human.
(He would burn the world, he'd kill and lie, just to keep that emotion a little longer.
He'd do anything to keep that feeling Chuuya caused him.)
Nakahara Chuuya had just returned from an overseas mission. For three and long months.
Although it hadn’t been an exactly problematic mission, it certainly had been a tedious one.
Chuuya was rarely sent abroad by the boss, but he was not someone to question.
Usually, he never had the inclination to question or contest his Boss' orders. After all, he was only meant—only expected—to follow them, without saying anything.
Besides, it was not that bad. Chuuya knew that Mori had the organization's best interests at heart.
When the man brought the subject to light, he simply nodded and bowed. The next day, he left Yokohama.
And at first, it had been a completely new setup.
There, Chuuya was not meant to kill, punch, or fight against anyone.
No.
His only tool was words, and the battlefield was a tedious conference room.
It was beyond boring, but he knew it was necessary.
Eventually, he learned.
He learned to be a diplomat and represent the Port Mafia.
Back then, before he left, his partner had told him that much.
He had also mocked Chuuya because he was sure he was unable to do anything but “bark” and “punch.”
Well, Chuuya proudly proved Dazai wrong.
There, a diplomat was born—a former fighter, now representing the Port Mafia.
And all of this had happened between alcohol, a few laughs, and insults.
Although Dazai's opinion on that had been clear, "Ugh, who am I going to annoy if Chuuya is not here?!"
It may have been his way of saying that he would miss Chuuya, but it's not that Chuuya noticed it—he was way too drunk by that time.
So, he simply grumbled, "Go bother someone else then."
"Buahhh, that's so rude!" Dazai whined with his annoying high-pitched voice. He almost pouted like a child. "Then I hope Chuuya’ll die there, so I will never have to see his face!"
And Chuuya was probably too drunk to answer anything back.
After this exchange, everything was a blur. He didn't remember anything about that night.
And this scene filled his thoughts when he returned to the Mafia building, with the intent to report his mission.
As he walked down the hall toward the boss' office, he wondered about what Mori's reaction would be like.
Chuuya was aware he had learned quite a lot during those months, especially when the country he had been in was France.
He had a whole meticulously planned and written report. Perhaps his good mood was related to it.
He was more than certain he'd be promoted to executive after this.
And the best part?
He'd finally read the documents about his past.
Lost in thoughts that he almost instantaneously had dismissed, he stopped in front of the door that gave access to Mori's office.
Then, two confident knocks were heard.
A melody reverberated after a brief and lingering silence.
"You may enter," the soft but cold voice like ice said.
He carefully opened the door and stepped in, bowing respectfully as he usually did.
In his hand lay the documents.
"Welcome back, Chuuya-kun." Mori talked with his elbows pressed against the table and his fingers intertwined, displaying a sluggish and uncharacteristic smile on his lips. "I hope you have good news for me."
Chuuya raised his head as his expression went rigid and serious.
After some time, he nodded. "Boss," he bowed once again, but this time it was just a slight one. "I have the report here," he lifted the papers slightly.
Mori didn't react as his eyes sharply hovered over his subordinate.
He didn't say anything for a while, and Chuuya didn’t move either.
"Oh well! You may leave them here," he nodded towards the desk. As Chuuya walked firmly toward it, putting the reports there in a gentle move, Mori watched it with a thoughtful expression. "I think you know what comes after, don't you, Chuuya-kun?"
Chuuya looked at Mori with an emotionless expression.
Mori continued, taking his subordinate’s silence as a consent to speak, “As the leader of this organization, I am forced to admit that you've become an extremely important asset to the Mafia.” his tone sounded exactly like a lullaby— but if one would ever fall asleep, one might, would never wake up. Mori smiled a little more openly and genuinely. “But before anything, I need to discuss it with the other executives, as you may have calculated,” he gestured into the air—slow and fluid movements.
Chuuya's expression didn't change—he said nothing for a moment. "I understand, Boss."
Mori smiled. "I am certain everyone will agree with it, but... ahhh, you know how the bureaucracy around here is, right?"
The answer was silent, but it was there—written all over Chuuya's stormy and lively eyes.
The man gazed at the other for a while, seeming to irradiate with expectations that he wanted to see if they were true.
Yet, that didn't make Chuuya very nervous.He was more than used to Mori’s mechanisms, after all. After a while, straightening his posture, Mori gestured toward the door with his typical neutral expression.
"If there isn't anything you think I should be aware of, you are dismissed."
A bow and Chuuya left—unaware of Mori's slow and mysterious smile that appeared as soon as he had turned his heels to leave.
And an agreement between the executives was, in fact, quickly obtained.
Everyone knew that Chuuya had been essential to the Mafia—he and Dazai Osamu, but that was another story.
Normally, a promotion was just a piece of paper, but for some reason, Mori decided to give Chuuya something else.
Well, actually no. It had been two... no, three things.
Two of them were surprisingly pleasant, and Chuuya benefited from one of them.
The third one was given to him, in the worst time possible.
It had happened just after Chuuya had accessed the documents about his past. Those pages were possibly the worst thing Chuuya had ever laid his eyes on.
But although extremely perturbing, it hadn't been surprising—Dazai once had told him about it, as an act of forgiveness for some stupid and precipitated action he once had made.
Speaking about Dazai... Where was he?
As he was thinking about it, Kouyou entered the room, bringing in the mafia elegance and a certain pleasant smell—her perfume. Light steps echoed around him as the woman rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it.
"Congratulations, lad," she greeted, her voice calm and elegant like a violin solo. Then she quickly—but elegantly—retracted her hand from her pupil's shoulder as she walked towards an empty seat at the table.
Chuuya looked up at her with a respectful nod.
"Ane-san…" he smiled a little, "Thank you," he nodded.
Kouyou smiled back and then sighed.
"Mm. I heard the boss has been thinking about giving you something... special..."
Chuuya's heart was still heavy, and his mind was spinning from reading such cruel reports.
"Is that so..." he said with no enthusiasm; he paused and then looked at her. "Was everyone in agreement with my promotion?"
Kouyou lifted a hand to her pink mouth, seemingly thoughtful.
"If I remember correctly... yes... everyone was in agreement with your promotion," she smiled—almost a fraternal, proud smile. "I expected no less of you, lad."
Chuuya reciprocated the smile, but then he stopped.
Something was not making sense here.
Because he remembered what Dazai had told him when he became an executive.
"Well, being an executive has its perks, you know? I can always vote against Chuuya's promotion!"
Although it had been a joke, Chuuya—more than anyone—knew how far Dazai would go just to annoy him. He was certain that Dazai would vote against his promotion, just to annoy him, and not because he was against it.
After all, he had been the one giving him clues about those awful documents. He made Chuuya’s pain a little more… bearable, and that was something that Chuuya was thankful for—not that he would ever say it to Dazai.
So, there was no way that Dazai had voted for his promotion.
But just to clarify his doubt, he asked Kouyou for information.
"What about Dazai?" he asked, and Kouyou narrowed her eyes. "Did that bastard vote for my promotion?"
"Dazai-kun?" she asked, then paused, pressing her lips together. "Oh, Dazai-kun was not there to vote, so don't worry," Kouyou smiled.
That caught Chuuya off guard. He wasn’t in the mafia? How was that even possible?
Dazai didn’t make overseas missions as he was the Boss’ right hand.
So why was he not in the meeting?
"Did that bastard skip the meeting?" Chuuya found himself wondering out loud.
Kouyou looked at him for a while, with a cautious expression.
Then she sighed. "In a way... yes," she said quietly; Chuuya narrowed his eyes.
"What?" he let out an incredulous laugh. "Did that bastard skip his obligations, again?" he half-smiled a bit, amused—as his partner, he was more than used to Dazai's irresponsible and indifferent behavior.
But still, Chuuya couldn’t believe the guy’s attitude—the disrespect. Plus, he lost a perfect chance to ruin Chuuya’s life, which was a bit unusual.
Kouyou stared at him with a doubtful expression—she was looking at him as if Chuuya was having a strange behavior. Inclusively, she even frowned with questions behind her eyes.
But then her face became increasingly more understanding and almost... apprehensive.
That was what surprised Chuuya—he waited a bit anxiously for her answer.
Then, it arrived.
"Chuuya, lad..." she sighed softly, closing her eyes with almost a sad expression.
"Dazai-kun..." she paused. "Is not in the mafia... anymore."
And each word, each interval between them, felt like a slap.
Leave it to Kouyou to make everything emotional with her incredibly silk voice.
Time stopped, and so did Chuuya’s mind.
He wasn't able to answer it.
So, Kouyou, looking at him, sighed and explained.
"Yesterday he was declared a traitor," she informed, then paused to give Chuuya some time to process the information; she added, "He is not in the mafia anymore. That’s why he was not part of this meeting." her voice was gentle, like a silent apology.
And Chuuya… Chuuya… he couldn’t quite explain what he was feeling at that moment.
If someone would ever ask him what he was thinking, he'd… be silent.
Because… he didn’t know.
All he felt was something similar to emptiness.
Similar to the collapse of the wall that was being built.
Something similar to… pain.
Pain... he hadn’t felt that in a long time. But it was an old friend to him, a familiar sensation. He could recognize the sword that crossed his own heart anytime.
Kouyou didn’t speak anymore—probably in respect—and she gave Chuuya the intention of wanting to leave.
But before she had the chance to do it, he spoke for the first time.
Straight as a narrow.
"Oh. Is that so?" his voice was not trembling or anything, but his heart was emptier than he had remembered. "I wonder why I was not informed of."
Kouyou sighed in concordance. Slowly.
"The Boss thought it would be something that would trouble your performance, so he didn’t tell you," she said.
The next words were not thought nor planned.
They just flew out of his lips, like it had been a shot.
"Then, the Boss was wrong," he said firmly, making Kouyou widen her eyes. He looked directly at Kouyou. "The fact that Dazai is not here anymore doesn’t make things any different," he said, not leaving her gaze. "I’ll be the same as I always had been," Chuuya declared, and Kouyou looked surprised for a while. Then she glared at him, trying to find—perhaps—a lie or an act—but there were none.
Therefore, Kouyou, visibly relieved, raised her eyebrows.
"I see... I am glad you are not letting your emotions take control of your obligations," and she was being genuine.
Once more, Chuuya didn’t think before speaking.
"Why would I even care about Dazai leaving? He is nothing to me. He was my partner, but from the moment he betrayed this organization," he tried to control his anger, "he has lost that privilege, and he is no longer part of my life."
Despite his notable emotional control, Kouyou noticed how he stood up and pushed the chair—noisily.
She smiled neutrally, understanding the situation—but she didn’t say anything about it.
Chuuya, however, continued. "I have better things to do than to worry about traitors," he said, and bowed his head. "If you excuse me, Ane-san, I have something to do."
Kouyou smiled. At that point, she didn’t know who Chuuya was trying to fool—her or himself.
She cleared her throat, hiding a smile behind her sleeve.
"Of course, lad," she said. Nevertheless, "I look forward to working with you as an executive, Chuuya," she said softly.
And he just offered a plain smile, but grateful anyway.
"I feel the same, Ane-san."
After those words, he left and didn’t look back.
His mind was empty, and he didn’t think about Dazai or the fact that he had left the mafia during the whole course.
Chuuya was pretty sure he was not thinking about what he was doing, just walking without a destination.
Perhaps it had been his inner voice telling him to meet his past.
And for once, he followed it.
His heart was beating quickly with some anxiety as he walked down the stairs.
He felt like he was seeing his past before his eyes.
Memories that were lost for years were coming back.
The Port Mafia basement.
He was in front of it.
He was feeling nothing and thinking about nothing.
Dazai had left; he was a traitor.
Okay, that was fine for Chuuya.
He had always known Dazai's poor loyalty to the Mafia.
That was totally fine with him, so... so why was he there?
If it had meant nothing, why was Chuuya looking for someone to talk with... if... if his departure meant nothing?
He shook his head, dismissing his thoughts, and he pushed the door that gave access to the basement.
The sound of blades clashing echoed, and a voice he hadn’t listened to in a while—but never forgotten—filled his ears and went straight to his empty heart.
Suddenly, the blades stopped, and he heard a muttering before the same voice said, "Chuuya, little brother... what a... pleasant surprise..." his voice was melodious as always, and for once, it felt like a blessing to Chuuya's emptiness.
He, indeed, had not felt like that in a while.
He walked towards the man he called his brother, then he looked at him, eye to eye.
"Paul Verlaine."
The man he had once wished to kill.
The murderer of his friends.
But also his savior.
The gradually visible light showed his brother's majestic features and his elegance.
Paul Verlaine had a beautiful and calm smile on his lips. It almost made Chuuya's heart break in pieces, seeing the warmth and adoration written in those eyes.
He felt incredibly weak.
Those cold and sharp eyes—the eyes of an assassin, who killed with no hesitation and whose hands were filled with blood.
But to Chuuya, the gesture felt immensely warm—a warmth that came from the man who had murdered his friends with brutality.
Perhaps it had been due to his current situation, but... Paul Verlaine's smile felt like a blessing.
Maybe, for once, Chuuya could see him as a proper brother.
He felt like a child who wanted to run toward his brother's arms and cry until the night came.
However, Chuuya didn’t cry.
He wouldn’t... cry.
Instead, he closed his eyes as he sighed.
And Verlaine immediately noticed something else behind his beloved brother's heart.
He looked like a child—small and fragile—who was struggling to admit that they had been responsible for breaking their mother's vase.
Struggling to ask for help, for a hand.
It reminded him of the day he saved Chuuya from that researcher.
He looked so vulnerable... he almost looked like a stray dog...
His face, polished like marble, was beautiful as always, lit by the illumination. But his eyes were like two polished jewels that didn’t shine with life.
Stagnant, yet beautiful.
Inside, Verlaine could see something that he knew no human could: solitude.
He sighed, closing his eyes.
"I have a table where we can talk," his voice was soothing, and it felt better than any caressing. "Walk with me."
And like a lost sheep, Chuuya followed Verlaine to the table.
As they sat down, he noticed the teapot and several cups, with the respective dish under each one.
Verlaine's artificial heart squeezed as he carefully looked at Chuuya, who seemed unsure of even perhaps his own existence.
However, Chuuya didn’t seem dead. If anything, it felt like... he had just seen someone dying.
And oh, he remembered the anger his brother's eyes irradiated... but now? He was more like a kicked puppy.
He didn’t want to kill, didn’t want revenge.
Chuuya lost someone, that was certain.
But lost someone to what... lost someone to who?
These were Verlaine's thoughts as he glanced at Chuuya.
"Tea?"
Chuuya nodded as he watched the man pouring the liquid into the cup; he did the same for his cup and then looked at him gently.
"So... what brought you here, little brother?" he paused as he noticed the lack of reaction from Chuuya. "Don’t get me wrong, it’s always a delight to see you, Chuuya, but... you must have something in mind right now... don’t you?" he said, as he mixed the sugar with the tea with a spoon.
Chuuya didn’t react. He really felt like a robot.
Empty and dead. Behind his eyes, there was nothing but empty and plain loneliness.
Finally, he looked down as he sighed.
"I came to you... because you are the only one who can help me," he said.
Verlaine’s eyes lit up and stopped mixing the sugar with the spoon.
All those years he had wanted to hear those words. Strangely, it felt wrong, seeing his brother’s face. But...
"No one will ever be able to understand me." his eyes were like sharp knives. As an assassin, Verlaine had seen less brutal looks. Then, Chuuya’s tone briefly palled. "No one... no one but you... brother."
He diverted his attention to the cup as he used his spoon to mix nothing in particular.
Verlaine did the same, and a smile appeared on his lips.
It was a sad, kind smile. The type of kindness Verlaine had reserved for his two favorite people.
His brother and the only human he was never able to hate.
No matter how much he tried.
The metallic sound filled the air, giving it a certain melancholy. A sad scenario that would fill Verlaine’s artificial heart for a long time.
"Well, then." he said as he lifted his gaze toward his brother. Then he opened another smile. "How can I help you, dear brother?"
It felt surreal how two people, such as them, doomed to the endless darkness and solitude, could be able to have such a moment.
Two brothers speaking.
And there was something incredibly poignant about two doomed souls—brothers not by blood, but by circumstances—speaking.
Something tragically beautiful.
Slowly, Chuuya raised his head and looked inside Verlaine’s eyes—deeply and dripping with feelings.
They were not empty anymore.
The jewels shone. They were shining as a storm, as lightning would severely punish the stormy sky.
It was a painful beauty.
There were no tears, no sounds, just an upcoming storm like his little brother was.
Verlaine loved him more than anything.
He had learned to love the stormy sky more than the rain... Rimbaud... he hated cold weather...
Verlaine never really minded a little storm.
Especially when the storm was about his little brother.
Named Nakahara Chuuya, cursed by birth, tortured by life.
Unwanted by death.
If he was human, which Verlaine knew he wasn't, Chuuya had stopped feeling like that a long time ago.
He was... no longer human...
And there was something beautiful about that.
"You said people often lie to deceive and to foul other people, right?" Verlaine nodded slowly. Because he had never been one to lie.
At least not to the person in front of him.
"I did. Humans are not trustworthy creatures." Then he added with a sigh after a pause full of past. Full of his past. "Every human but Arthur." Every word carried a lingering strain. "He was... an incredible human being." His smile illustrated the intensive and burning adoration Verlaine felt for his deceased ex-partner.
His dear, dear friend.
His inspiration during days of solitude.
It had been so meaningful that Chuuya had to swallow. He didn't think about the fact he had just lost his partner.
Dead? Alive?
Chuuya didn’t know.
Chuuya didn’t care.
Yet, he felt a staining pain on his chest.
Even so, he proceeded, like he always did.
"You can't trust no one but your allies." he said, slowly, almost as if diligently tasting his words. "Your partner included, right?" his voice was now a bit higher, but still not too high. Still controlled.
To anyone, it’d probably have been nothing, but to Verlaine, it was the confirmation he needed.
He stopped drinking his tea, with a cautious expression.
He was not looking at Chuuya.
There was no need for that.
Verlaine stayed quiet for a while, but then he took a sip of it and lowered his hand with the cup. He pressed his lips together, pondering.
Finally, he said as he gently placed the cup on the little dish, "I see..." The sound reverberated in the air. "...So this is about that guy..." he sighed. "What was even his name?" He pretended to think, not giving Chuuya any chance to answer. "Ah, I remember... Dazai-kun... wasn't it?"
Chuuya saw how Verlaine's tone changed.
Then, silence filled the air.
He didn’t confirm nor deny it. He dodged the conversation he started like an agile warrior would dodge the blade of death.
Instead, he took a silent sip of his tea. The hot liquid slipped down his dry throat and lightly burned his lips.
Then he placed it on the small dish with a tired sound, with a sigh.
"You were right," he said. But Verlaine didn’t react as he blankly stared at his brother.
Chuuya noticed it and he didn’t care. "You were right about thinking of the future and not the present." he ended up admitting as Verlaine watched him attentively.
It was not possible to see what the man was thinking.
"What I have today might not exist tomorrow or... it... it might turn out to be a complete lie." He paused, and his tone was painfully silent and low.
He sighed tiredly, full of regret.
"I was a fool to think that something could last forever."
He looked down at his tea in the cup.
His faint reflection was shown.
He tried to see more there, a light, a smile, his friends, life... but there was nothing.
No hope on the tea.
No hope for a quiet and normal life.
His life was like that hot tea—burning and ephemeral.
It would eventually end.
And it was often so sour.
Sometimes, not even the sugar could help.
Chuuya wanted little biscuits with the tea.
That way it'd be more bearable.
"People come and go," after his meditation, Chuuya spoke. He paused a bit.
"They do whatever they want, and they don’t give a fuck about the other’s feelings."
Verlaine looked at him with an apprehensive expression. His previous blank face melted.
"Humans... humans are, indeed, treacherous creatures," he said like it was obvious with his soft tone. His eyes were like the sea—blue and deep. "They can’t be trusted." he smiled and looked at Chuuya, placing his empty cup aside. "But I suppose this is nothing new... I told you this before, didn’t I?"
Hesitantly, Chuuya nodded. It was such a small reaction.
One could have easily missed it.
He looked like the child Verlaine met.
"You did." Solemnly, he agreed. "But I was too much of a fool... to hear it." Regret filled his words.
"You were right."
Verlaine smiled a little with his eyes.
"I should not give in to my emotions, nor should I think about the people who don’t... give a damn about me and... my feelings... my emotions." And the tone was significantly sadder.
No, it was not exactly sadness, it almost looked... disappointed.
"I shouldn’t have given in."
He should have not.
Because now, it was too late to tell past Chuuya that.
Now, he would just have to live with it.
Verlaine stared at Chuuya silently for a while and then opened his mouth, placing his forearms on the table.
"You... you don’t seem very surprised," he commented. "Deep down, you knew one day... this... would happen, right?"
He paused and then added softly, "You just didn’t want to think about that possibility, right?"
Oh.
Chuuya... Chuuya did know that.
Chuuya knew how far Dazai’s loyalty to the organization could go: it was not much.
But... that wouldn’t change what he was feeling.
And so, he looked away, away from his brother’s somehow curious gaze, a bit uncomfortable.
"I am... I am not surprised," he admitted painfully, and paused. "I have always known that bastard's loyalty was almost nonexistent and that... he was a selfish asshole." He paused after those words.
Because calling Dazai, his partner, that felt very real.
For the first time, he meant it.
Dazai was incredibly selfish and a disloyal person.
Those words didn’t feel like a source of anger or irritation like they usually did.
Now they just... hurt like freshly opened wounds.
His partner was a selfish asshole.
He was surprised how calmly he had said that. He was not even angry. It was almost... strange.
But then... Chuuya looked at Verlaine, who looked at him with slight curiosity and a cautious expression.
"But I trusted him."
And he did.
He trusted Dazai with his life.
Contrarily to the mafia’s popular belief, Chuuya knew Dazai would never, ever disappoint him.
After Verlaine and the fateful Dragon Head Conflict, Chuuya could have said that there was no one he'd trust more than Dazai.
Because... that’s what it meant to be a partner, right?
More than... a close person, Dazai was his partner.
They might never have had... something as pure and precious as a friendship... never have had a peaceful relationship... but...
Chuuya wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
Now that Dazai was gone, Chuuya noticed that.
And so, he continued.
"Dazai... I trusted my life to him and he... he was my partner. He was always someone that I knew I could rely on, no matter what." He paused as his eyes spoke what his mouth didn't. "And... I thought this meant something to him... at least... like it meant to me."
That was like a slap. It felt like one.
Verlaine stayed silent. His eyes were filled with memories from a distant past,
A past that Verlaine had not been aware of, and he could only dream how Arthur had felt when he betrayed him.
If it had been like Chuuya was... then... he didn't want to think about it.
So he stayed quiet. He had no word in the matter.
And Chuuya continued.
"But this was my fault," he said sternly "I didn’t think about the future and the possibility of someone... someone as dishonest as Dazai could leave the organization." He paused, merely to take a quiet sip of his tea. Then he said,"Without saying anything."
Verlaine simply looked at him.
That was all he did.
All he could do.
His brother was speaking, and he listened.
"And... and he probably even made fun of me." He laughed dryly, more dry than the Sahara Desert. "...leaving something behind to annoy me." He sighed, changing his tone, and it was the closest he could come to a cry. He proceeded like the warrior he was, with a decided tone. "So... after what happened... I decided to think further," he declared.
A pause.
"Because... I don’t want to think about what I’m doing at the moment. I don’t want people like... Dazai... to order me around like a sheepdog." His voice was intense and almost emotional.
Then he added quietly,"I want to be responsible for my own actions and thoughts."
After a while, looking at his barely emptied tea, Chuuya looked at his brother.
Verlaine saw a sixteen-year-old Chuuya there.
Aware of his demise.
Dazai Osamu was a human, and humans love excessively.
He wouldn't be the exception.
He knew too well that look when he glanced at Chuuya.
So, there was no way that he didn't care about him.
Still, he wouldn't say that to Chuuya, who seemed sure Dazai didn't "give a fuck" about him.
So, instead, he said,
"But you are right that you shouldn't expect anything from people," he said. "Chuuya... people will try to benefit from your weaknesses and use your feelings, that's... that's how humans are. I know it." He smiled bitterly. Rimbaud was not like that. And something told him Dazai was not like that... too. He continued calmly. "But sometimes... something, we should give the benefit of the doubt to people's actions..."
Dazai-kun certainly had a choice to leave," he added.
Chuuya looked at Verlaine.
It was not a sharp look, but it was not kind either.
"Yes," he said, "And I certainly have the right to clean him from my life."
It was the answer. Verlaine only nodded. Because he had that right.
"You do," he agreed. "And you would probably be correct, because that guy doesn't seem like someone you can trust." That was a fact. "But..." he sighed, "You shouldn't expect anything good from people. You saw what your sheep friends did, right?"
Chuuya stiffened, not expecting that. Verlaine continued, "You saw how the Mafia has been treating you... manipulating you... didn't you?"
Chuuya downed his glance. Verlaine smiled. "I have told you before, but... this world doesn't deserve you, little brother."
He paused. "You shouldn't give your all and your life to them: you have no guarantee that they will do the same for you."
There was no answer.
Because they both knew the outcome.
"About thinking further..." he sighed. "Well... you can't escape your fate and your existence, Chuuya." He leaned back a bit. "When you were sixteen... I gave you a way out, remember?"
Chuuya didn't answer.
"-and you refused it," he smiled, closing his eyes. "And I understand why, but now you have to accept the cruel consequences and the wickedness of this world." His voice was, for the first time, firm and authoritarian; then he softened it and his eyes too. "I am here for you, whenever you need."
With this, Chuuya was silent.
He didn't have any answer.
Even if he wanted to deny it... it was all true...
He remembered Verlaine's words like they were yesterday's, including the speech about destiny and his fate.
And none of them were pleasant nor tranquil.
He ignored it for years, but now... it seemed to be the time to face reality.
And so Verlaine spoke. "The first step in life is to accept your fate," he explained quietly; he sighed. "Chuuya... there... there is no happy ending for people like us." His voice had that lingering poetic tone, like a ballad. Ballad of death. "Our existence was meant to bring chaos and destruction.
When it comes to anything else, we are unqualified for it," he said with an apprehensive tone. "Why do you think you are unable to keep a stable relationship?"
Silence.
"Because you are not suitable for that. Sure, you can temporarily enjoy that feeling, but deep down... you know... you know it won't last..."
He shifted his glance. "Am I not right?" he asked rhetorically. "You knew it would happen with Dazai as well. Like you told me: you ignored the future." His tone was like a solo of a sad violin.
It went straight to his heart.
Chuuya simply pressed his lips together, seeming to restrain his crying or something else.
"Chuuya... little brother... you know... you know I am right, correct?" He smiled. "You are in the mafia, but for what? What are you doing here? Why... why did you stay? You might have a lot of reasons, but... what makes you stay here? What is it?"
"It's not like I have much of a choice," he said. "It's a place to stay, a place to live."
Verlaine was silent. Chuuya sighed, shifting in his seat.
"Besides, what can I do if I leave the Mafia? Nothing. No choice. I have no choice here, Verlaine." A cold tone. "I never had."
And it was true. But that didn't make it any less painful.
His brother smiled.
"It's too late, isn't it?" he said. "You now understand why I said you should never have been born, don't you?" Chuuya raised his head, and his eyes were slightly reflecting.
Verlaine sighed.
"Unfortunately, this was the life people... they gave us," he said, almost wistfully. "Ah, them... We can't defeat nor fight it."
Silence filled the air.
"Like a storm," almost like a poem, Verlaine said. "Fate... the end is like a storm." He smiled, almost kindly. "We don't know when it will happen, but we do know for a fact that it will happen."
Chuuya looked at him. "You remember the storm, don't you? You can't fight it." Then he added, "You can't win it."
Chuuya, who had been silent, finally spoke.
"Then what the hell am I supposed to do?! To kill myself like that bastard wants to?" He paused a bit. "To lock myself away from everything and everyone like you do? To be a cold murderer like half of the Mafia is? Tell me, Verlaine, what should I do?"
He was not screaming; he was not angry. Verlaine was not his target. It wouldn't be fair shouting at him. So he sighed.
"I don't know what to do. I know what the future awaits me, but... I don't know what I should do at the moment," he calmly placed a hand on the table. "I asked you because..." He sighed. "Because I thought you would understand me."
But all Verlaine could offer was a smile. Useless as it was.
"I do, Chuuya, I really do."
"But you can't do anything to help me," he said as a fact.
He knew that.
They both knew.
"That's right. I can't do anything," Verlaine calmly agreed with a nod.
"Should I just... give in and..." he realized he had stood up with the storm of emotions, despite his voice being calm, and sat down with a sigh. "...be what people expect me to be? The executive the mafia wants?"
It took a while until Verlaine's answer.
"It's your choice, little brother. All I can say is that everything you have today is temporary." A kind smile. "The storm is certain, but you don't know when it will happen. So you won't be able to pack your life before it breaks in. It will just..." He stopped.
Although it had not been clear, Chuuya had understood it. The storm... was a storm. There was nothing else left to do.
He pressed his lips together and then sighed. A bitter smile appeared.
"Bah, I should have known you would only make things worse," he said a bit disappointed.
"Nonsense." Verlaine shook his head. "I am not the one making everything worse. Reality is... Life is... It's not something I can control." He looked at him very seriously. "Only you can. If you want to end your journey, do it. But if you want to live in this illusion, temporary and dishonest as it is... you are welcome to do it as well."
Chuuya narrowed his eyes.
"I am not locked up here like you are, Verlaine." He paused. "You keep speaking as if I had any choice here." He paused again. "Which I don't." He sighed. "Between seeing my friends dying and seeing myself under the mafia's claws, I prefer a hundred times the latter," he said.
Verlaine looked at him.
"You did choose your cage, dear brother."
"I did," he said, because... he did. "I did for the sheep and... now I have a job to accomplish and expectations to reach..."
His brother cautiously watched him.
"Even back then, it's never my choice."
That's why he should have never been born. It was his punishment for his existence. Verlaine was certain Chuuya knew that, but refused to accept it.
"I see..." he said. "Someone showed you... must have delivered you the sweet illusion of free will..."
Been there once and it's not pretty, he thought. Arthur's words. He wondered if Dazai had been that person for Chuuya.
But his brother looked utterly decisive.
"Whatever you are thinking—don't," he said sharply. Then his tone changed. "I am staying here because I have no choice and... and... and it's not so bad." Finally, he stood up, his face devoid of emotions. "I'll just have to clean that bastard from my mind and memories. And everything will be fine." He smiled once again, without emotions.
Ah, so it was like this... Chuuya... lost his last... and only hope...
Oh, Verlaine... he was quite acquainted with that.
And because of it, he smiled understandingly.
Chuuya was still looking at him, probably expecting something from his older brother. Smiling, finally Verlaine said, "Is that so?" He paused, opening his smile further. "Then... I wish you the best, little brother," he said, with genuine honesty. "You know I am always here to talk."
Chuuya, already on his feet, looked at him almost with an ironic expression. His brother's dramatic words had always made him unironically annoyed.
"Sure," he said. "I am certain, you won't go anywhere." He turned on his heels and sighed. "Because it's so hard to find someone down here, right?" He laughed a bit and started to walk away.
However, one last piece of advice was left.
"Chuuya."
The new executive stopped walking uneasily. Then Verlaine said, "Don't trust people, nor expect something from them." He paused. "If you expect the worst from people, whatever they do will never disappoint you."
Silence filled the air, and Chuuya's breath was audible. His expectations were low enough, at least he thought that, but... apparently, he still expected a hint of empathy and understanding from his partner—no, ex-partner.
Ah... Verlaine... Pau Verlaine...
How his brother was right...
But despite that, Chuuya still laughed a little. It was almost as artificial as Verlaine's soul.
"Well, at least a good piece of advice from my older brother!" He waved a hand in disdain. "I’m not expecting anyone to carry me home or something, so don’t worry." Then he stopped talking, stopped walking. The sound of his shoe hitting the ground reverberated.
Verlaine waited for his brother's last words.
"Don’t worry," Chuuya said. After some time, he looked over his shoulder. "How can I expect something I don’t know what it is?" He paused, smiling bitterly. "You and I, more than anyone, know what—how this is, right?" His eyes were dark.
People say the eyes are the reflection of the soul.
"It has always been like this," Chuuya added, before looking ahead and walking toward the stairs to leave. Due to this, he was not able to hear Verlaine’s equally bitter laugh.
On that very same day, Chuuya thought through Verlaine’s words and radical advice. They hit his head like hammers. But it didn’t hurt. Not anymore. It just... left him... strangely... aware of himself.
That night, he sat down at the wooden table in his house with a wine bottle in front of him. It was a Petrus 89. It had been a present from a client, and Chuuya had saved it for an eventual celebration.
Usually, he never drank alone. He was always accompanied by people, with nights filled with laughs, smiles, and jokes...
Chuuya never drank alone, but... seeing how late it was... no one would likely have wanted to drink with him, and... he didn’t really want to see anyone.
Not that day.
He found himself lost in his brother’s words about Dazai, about his life... And it was all so true and genuine that it made him sick.
He just wanted to forget everything he had been told. Too much, too much, too much for him—too much, way too much. Truth or a lie, it had stung his chest.
And perhaps as his only choice and without any hesitation, he grabbed the bottle in front of him. He opened it and pressed his lips against the bottleneck. It felt more like a medication.
Alcohol cured pain, right?
Just for a second, he thought about... stopping it.
But he didn’t... pull back, tilting the bottle to make gravity run the wine straight to his throat.
It was not meant to taste the wine—which was a shame, really, considering its quality—but to drink. He drank just for the sake of drinking. For the first time.
And... he was aware of it... or... half of the bottle. After that, Chuuya was not responsible for what happened. Nor aware of what he had felt.
He did remember that the wine’s taste was bitter, as it was accompanied by such acid thoughts. Verlaine’s words... his past... his future... his present... Dazai’s departure...
His heart was pounding heavily in his chest. And then, he blacked out.
The night was over for Chuuya.
But in the morning, when he woke up, he had his head on the table and a terrible headache. As he lifted his torso, his eyes noticed small spots that were drawn on the table’s towel.
Chuuya assumed those were wine drops.
(and not regretful tears)
And so, from that day on, Nakahara Chuuya and everyone forgot about Dazai Osamu and his betrayal.
Just like Chuuya had told Verlaine, he'd surround himself with work, guaranteeing that his life would gain some value.
And, in fact, it did.
The compliments, the fame, and even the jealousy gave some color to his life... but only for a while.
It had been something, although it was meant to not last forever.
In the end, Chuuya would find himself alone, at a desk, his schedule filled with meetings, his boss frequently relying on him, papers, pencils, people...
And in the beginning, it felt right, until... he felt that inevitable and pungent loneliness.
He'd remind himself countless times of his brother's words:
"Nothing lasts forever, and everything is temporary. Don't get too close to people, you will never know when they will stab you from the back."
...
Silently, he wondered if this was how Dazai felt before leaving... more like a weapon, a mafia asset than a human being.
No longer human.
Ah, even away, Dazai occupied his thoughts.
It was almost... it almost made Chuuya miss him... to miss him more... miss him more than the hatred he felt for him.
"You are a kid too,"
Fifteen-year-old Dazai had said, eyes more dead than a fish's. Chuuya could remember it.
"I am not just any child,"
Back then, Chuuya had said.
But back then, fifteen-year-old Chuuya took pride in what he did. He would kill a bunch of people as long as he'd use his fists—his feet.
Now?
Now Chuuya didn't take any pride... not when the person he wished to defeat was no longer there.
Now that Dazai had left the organization, he had no need for that.
Now it was just... boring. It was almost as when he was the sheep leader, but back then... back then Chuuya hadn't met Dazai.
Now, he knew Dazai... now that he finally got his former partner, he could say he didn't want to see him ever again.
Chuuya knew it wouldn't be a peaceful reunion... if possible, he'd like to avoid that.
...
Maybe Verlaine was right.
Maybe Dazai had been responsible for delivering the illusion of having a choice...
Because now, Chuuya noticed how different his life was... without him...
He didn't think often about Dazai. He had not lied when he said he was dead to him, but... sometimes... when he looked at Dazai's former apprentice...
He'd find himself lost in memories.
And once he found it, he never wanted to let go.
He once wondered if this was how Rimbaud had felt when he found Chuuya.
If his words had been to Verlaine and not to Chuuya.
Because... Chuuya felt similarly. Once, he told Akutagawa something he'd liked to tell Dazai:
"If you can't find something worth living for... find a reason worth dying for."
The boy's eyes had shown a hint of surprise.
Chuuya wondered if Akutagawa knew to what person those words had been tailored for.
After all, fifteen-year-old Chuuya did know ... but he didn't care.
He hadn't care if Rimbaud's words had been for Verlaine and not for Chuuya.
It hit him all the same.
And he remembered Arthur Rimbaud's words like it had been yesterday's.
"Chuuya-kun, can I ask you a favor? Live. There is no longer… any way of knowing… who you are or where you came from... But even if… you are but a pattern… etched on the surface of raw power… you are you. Nothing changes that… because all people, all humanity… their brains and flesh… are nothing more than patterns—beautiful patterns… upon the material world..."
Rimbaud died in peace with his friend.
Chuuya really wished he could mourn Dazai like Rimbaud did to Verlaine...
But... how could he possibly mourn something that never ended?
He could mourn the beginning, the day he met Dazai, the moment he trusted him but...
Chuuya had always done what he wished and... he didn't regret meeting... Dazai... or trusting him...
When his car was burned, turned into flames in front of his eyes... it didn't feel like the end.
He didn't feel angry or irritated... well, sort of a bit annoyed, but...
What predominated was... something close to disappointment because... their relationship had never died.
It had been buried alive, without even ending.
And because of it... it hurt when he first heard from Kouyou.
So...
"The only way to stop the suffering is to never be born."
Perhaps... then... he should grieve the day he met Dazai.
Maybe that's what he'd mourn about.
Yes, he'd bury the past, live the present, and think about the future.
And so, Nakahara Chuuya lied to Verlaine when he said he had always done what he wanted, no regrets.
He even lied to himself.
Because, there was one thing he regretted in his life.
And he knew it.
Chuuya was not sorry for the poor end of their relationship, no.
He didn't regret trusting Dazai, either.
He didn't regret being his partner.
He didn't regret their hangouts.
He didn't regret any of those.
No.
However, one thing he felt terribly sorry for.
The day he met Dazai.
It had been his biggest and only regret.
Nakahara Chuuya had always done what he wanted, he never had regrets.
Looking at Chuuya at that precise moment had become extremely awkward.
Well, in reality it had always been embarrassing to look at Chuuya, when the boy shone as brightly as a blazing flame.
Looking at Chuuya had always been simultaneously embarrassing and a source of inexplicable irritation.
But now... now that he looked at the boy in front of him... the one taller, now felt small.
Blood bubbled violently in the pale veins, producing human heat that Dazai was not even aware of its existence.
It contrasted, therefore, with the cooled air of the light and melancholy night.
The previous conversation had been done casually, in an attempt to calm Chuuya, who - Dazai had realized - hadn't needed any reassurance.
But seeing the face covered in pungent stains of dried blood on the white skin, writhing in an expression of irritation and frustration, it had been enough to confirm Nakahara Chuuya's usual state.
The boy was fine, as he always was.
And Dazai, faced with so much willpower, so much resistance, stronger than the burden of fate, could only feel a certain respect.
Looking at the boy had become wrong. Looking at someone who had been through hell on earth was extremely shameful.
But Chuuya didn't seem fazed by this, speaking and treating Dazai, a mere mortal, as if nothing had happened.
Who would have thought, that the annoying boy and arrogant, had become the remedy for Dazai's eternal and inherent boredom.
Surely, a year ago, Dazai wouldn't have guessed such a thing.
Even though from the first day he had laid eyes on the boy, he had felt something different, something protective and... necessary... he'd never thought that would be enough to continue playing the game that people called life.
And for that very reason, Dazai looked with different eyes - or rather, with his only eye - with a feeling of admiration, respect and some inferiority towards Chuuya.
He felt small next to the boy.
Oh- how his heart beat with atrocity against the fragile ribs...
He felt almost alive, the wind passing between them, like a caress from a mother's hand that neither had ever felt...
It was strange, but a pleasant and exciting strangeness.
So when Chuuya - altruistic and carefree Chuuya - had shown signs of wanting to sacrifice himself - the only person Dazai would eventually feel something for after his imminent death - had shown signs of his sacrifice - Dazai felt the need to at least try to stop that madness.
More for his own selfish sake, that for the city's sake.
He knew he was selfish, but he couldn't let the flame that still burned, albeit a little less than usual, go out.
But... and so he told him what he felt, feelings camouflaged by excessive logic.
Chuuya had looked at him, eyes gradually larger with each passing second, the storm looming over his captivating iris and his features more surprised than he had planned.
Would he be... surprised?
Why would he be surprised?
In order to find out why, Dazai took a moment to look at him.
A mistake.
A big mistake.
Chuuya's eyes pierced into his soul as if trying to see behind the superficial layer that Dazai covered himself with.
Even with the layer of baggage in his eye.
Terrifying.
Absolutely terrifying.
But... so... magnetic.
It was the pair of eyes that had made him want to live a year ago.
Stormy, confusing, misty... beautiful...
And with his face dressed in pain and chaos... Dazai thought that Chuuya was... even more fascinating.
And as a source of attraction and interest, Dazai had to look away, feeling a certain heat in the cheeks, cooled by the night air.
Chuuya didn't look away, his gaze seemed to see everything, revealing everything.
The visible and invisible.
And Dazai felt even smaller and more naked, stumbling over the words and feelings implied.
He knew nothing would change Chuuya's decision, but he didn't want to be the one who got in Chuuya's way.
Just that once... he allowed himself to open his heart, because... someone as deserving and fascinating as Chuuya Nakahara deserved it.
He deserved honesty and Dazai could give it to him.
It was the least he could do.
And at the end of it all, with the boy asleep in his arms, Dazai finally allowed himself to release the breath he had suppressed.
A small, relieved smile appeared on his lips, looking down at Chuuya in his arms...
He could say, now for sure, with honesty and a delicacy unknown to him...
"Sleep now Chuuya."
And Chuuya, like the obedient dog he was, or out of extreme exhaustion...
And he was so peaceful and quiet and so... so... Chuuya... unlike.
Stayed still.
His relatively misty eyes met Dazai's single eye before falling asleep in his arms... making Dazai suppress the emotional surprise that had invaded him, as soon as Chuuya had turned his head against his chest.
Chuuya was safe in those arms-
Dazai's arms.
He had trusted Dazai.
The guy that nobody in the mafia trusted.
But Chuuya? Chuuya... Chuuya did.
(Dazai convinced himself that it was because he had no other choice and not because of the trust he had in him-)
But either way... he was lying in Dazai's arms, sleeping in his arms, using Dazai's chest as a pillow... and Dazai fed the fantasy that at least Chuuya had-
Chuuya had trusted him.
Chuuya had trusted his life to him.
He couldn't let him down.
He laughed a little, a laugh that was more desperate and relieved than funny.
(He ended up leaving Chuuya on the ground, after a brief caress on his bloody face, cleaning it with the sleeve of his coat.)
It's not customary for Nakahara Chuuya to go out drinking with his colleagues.
Probably because nights and evenings are usually boring and spent filling out piles of paperwork that no matter how much he fill them out, seem to never end.
This is possibly one of the things that Chuuya misses when he wasn't an executive.
Ugh bureaucracy, terrible, boring bureaucracy.
Usually when he was in a bad mood , Kajii, Tachihara or even Hirotsu - if the case is critical - propose a night out at the bar.
Cigarettes, alcohol and linked conversations.
And whatever happened that night, the next day Chuuya didn't remember anything.
Luckily, he didn't drink alone.
(He only did it, on the day his ex-partner had left the mafia. On that night, he had drunk an entire bottle, alone)
So his safety was assured by his colleagues.
And what did they talk about on those nights?
Chuuya didn't know and his colleagues didn't tell him anything either.
So nights like those were a vacuum in his memory.
And honestly, Chuuya didn't really care about that.
Parallel to this event, there was a constant victim - Dazai Osamu.
And he was a victim, due to the fact that he was the target of almost every conversation in that bar.
The last four years had been strangely silent regarding the said man, but on the night the two had worked together, for the first time in four years, Chuuya was simply unbearable.
As far as he knew, Nakahara Chuuya had not contacted his former partner once.
Especially because the man had changed his phone number - Hirotsu and the other two colleagues assumed.
But apparently, Dazai hadn't done it.
The mafia number was still active, and while Chuuya slept on the counter due to his low alcohol tolerance, Hirotsu took the liberty of checking the calls made to Dazai.
Kajii looked curiously at the older man, who sighed seeing the history of left messages.
They had all been sent at night, suggesting the possibility that they had been recorded while drunk.
There was no way of knowing if Dazai had seen them.
But, that night Dazai had answered Chuuya's call, which was cause of suspicion.
Having a mafia phone while not being in the mafia, it was not only risky but stupid.
And even though Hirotsu had told Dazai to delete his number, he had his doubts about the man's response.
So the next time Chuuya went drinking with his colleagues, Hirotsu would accompany him.
The message was given.
He had told Dazai to delete the mafia's number, now all he could do was wait...
"That.... t-that bastard!" one night, Chuuya had said, his voice dragging drunkenly "How dare he to act like that?!"
The executive went on and on about how detestable Dazai was and how much his attitude irritated him.
At that time, Tachihara had been Hirotsu's companion, since Kajii had committed to finishing an experiment with explosive lemons - Hirotsu had not asked for details.
And then, Chuuya with difficulty reached for the cell phone that was in his coat pocket, saying, after a brief moment of silence.
"Imma gonna call.. call him!" he declared with angry eyes and an equally frowning face.
Hirotsu calmly took a sip of his drink, exchanging a knowing look with Tachihara who looked visibly disturbed with the attitudes of his superior.
"Oi! You bastard!"
As soon as Chuuya started speaking, Hirotsu put down his glass, with strange tranquility and let out a sigh.
Taking the hint, Tachihara cleared his voice before speaking.
"Chuuya-san?" Chuuya looked at him with a questioning look; Tachihara smiled a little uncomfortably "Who is it?"
Chuuya didn't respond, staring at the other inexpressively.
Until he said, pulling the phone away from his ear with a sigh.
"A bastard who never answers his phone!" he said with irritated exaltation and then, he turned the screen to Tachihara who frowned slightly "See? He never answers my calls!"
"Mackerel" had, indeed,answered the phone. But maybe Chuuya was too drunk to realize that.
Tachihara wanted to tell him that, opening his mouth, but Hirotsu raised a hand in disapproval.
Instantly, Tachihara closed his mouth.
The older man sighed.
"Chuuya-kun...he doesn't respond..."with a swift movement, Hirotsu took the phone from his hands "No more phone calls"
The executive was heard grumbling.
Tachihara approached the man and invited him to have a cigarette to calm down, and eventually Chuuya accepted.
"Dazai-kun." after Chuuya left the place with Tachihara, Hirotsu said "I thought I told you to delete this number." he patiently continued, "I don't know if I can distract a drunk Chuuya-kun for much longer."
Dazai, on the other end of the line, let out a surprise gasp, as if he was not aware of the situation.
*Hirotsu-san! Wonderful to hear from you again!"
"Dazai-kun. Delete your old mafia number" the man said fully.
But Dazai laughed.
"Ehhh? Was this Chuuya's number?"
"Yes."
And then he let out a surprised sound, as fake as Dazai could make it.
"I... I didn't know! I assure you Hirotsu-san, if I had known it was Chuuya's number. Guh. Just his name makes me cringe in disgust. Ugh."
For unknown reasons, Hirotsu felt as if he was watching - hearing a play.
Made by a very talented actor.
Then, Dazai sighed.
"I would never have answered! I didn't even know this was Chuuya's number!"
No matter how many excuses and lies Dazai made, it was obvious that the only person Dazai had contacted through that number was Chuuya.
Besides, Dazai didn't even talk to them.
Except with Chuuya.
That's why...
"Delete that number. I'm not responsible for the calls Chuuya-kun was making." he explained to him "You better not have that number anymore, next time"
Dazai was silent for a few seconds and then let out a good-natured laugh.
"Of course! I think it will be better! I don't want to make the terrible mistake for answering Chuuya's call!" he paused before adding with disgust, "Ugh gross"
Hirotsu just told him.
"Delete this number, Dazai-kun. I wish you the best."
"Considered it done! It was nice speaking to you Hirotsu-san!" Dazai said cheerfully "Bye-bye!"
The call ended.
However, the next time Chuuya went out drinking, Hirotsu was not present.
That time, Tachihara had been the one who had gone drinking with the executive.
And then, when Hirotsu asked him what had happened....
Tachihara had told him
"Remember when you told the other guy to delete his phone number?"
Hirotsu had nodded affirmatively.
"Loud and clear."
The other smiled.
"And guess what?"
The eldest waited for his answer.
"I spent the entire night hearing Chuuya-san talking to a damn phone and the other guy did answered him- but Chuuya-san kept saying the bastard never answers while talking to me about a guy I don't know."
Hirotsu blinked.
"Ugh I may like Chuuya-san's company but, Hirotsu-san, never make me hear his drunk ramblings about this guy."
Well, turns out Dazai didn't listen to Hirotsu.
Of course he didn't.
What was he expecting?
Getting Dazai Osamu away from Nakahara Chuuya had always been an impossible challenge.
He sighed as he brought the cigarette to his lips.
"I suppose... some things never change."
The cigarette smoke filled the air in a circular motion until it rose and disappeared.
A writing based on BSD, but with the realistic essence of my person.
Dedicated to my grandfather who recently passed away.
Rest in peace, grandfather.
It was said that life was three days.
Only three days.
And three days only.
Nothing more, nothing less.
On the first day, the birth.
On the second, the growth.
And on the third, one perished.
Only three days.
And three days only.
The brevity was so great that on the second day it seemed as if one had been born the day before.
Suddenly it didn't seem like years had passed, but days, hours, minutes, seconds.
It seemed as if yesterday one had months and today one would be at death's door.
The absolute naked cruelty, stripped of illusions of the infinity of years that, in the end-
were like just a few hours.
On the third day, then, it seemed like seconds.
Which was why a life - human life - was not years.
It's days.
Making the right choices was not always possible and, more than anyone, Dazai knew that.
Perhaps that's why bouquet of flowers rested in his hands, next to his belly - and why he stood before a round and hideous stone with a round letter and a surname that made his stomach turn.
N. Chuuya
Not even in his wildest dreams had he imagined that moment.
But as they say, in three days... anything can happen.
And that rock was cruel proof of that.
...
...
And... the ephemerality of human life was humiliating for the high and grand dreams of each one.
(Still it never ceased to amaze him.)
To tear apart the highest expectations, the lightest thoughts, leaving chaos and insecurity.
Not exactly for himself, but for others.
And Dazai still wanted to die, even after everything that had happened.
Especially after what had happened.
His eyes didn't see the world the same way after definitively losing a small piece of distant memories…
And if before-
If in the dungeon Dazai had seen the cold and distant opacity of an old acquaintance's eyes...
And the evident distance from the ties of the past...
Now, even those, had been lost-
forever
He saw them as small fragments of the film that was his life.
And if he stretched out his fingers-
He'd watch how quick they would vanish like soft and desert sand.
It was a consistency converted into disorganized pieces that would never be put back together.
There were too many cracks and empty spaces.
It was a shattered relationship.
A lost case.
But now, if Dazai ever wanted to recover it?
It would not be possible.
That was the reality, that was what hurt the most.
Because, matter how powerful it was... it was still a fragile crystal, that broke with absurd ease.
As sweet as popping a thin bubble of soap with a needle.
Plock!
(Chuuya-)
And then, those three days, were not three days.
They became a day, hours, or minutes.
Then, just like that, the arrival of death had been brought forward.
The schedule had been changed.
And she, a lady dressed in blind darkness and with eyes so white they looked like snowflakes, as fragile as the wheat she was harvesting.
Movements devoid of pity and her beautiful, white arms raised in anticipation, carrying a harvest in her hand, letting it fall on the soul of the poor unfortunate.
And then-
Zasp!
Suddenly there was no time for goodbyes, kisses or hugs.
Suddenly it was the end.
The very and human end.
And if there was ever something left to say, the timer had already gone off.
It would be too late.
(It was too late)
The alarm had been activated and life... a life had been ended.
But Dazai lived, he, Dazai was alive and the other-
No, the other two.
Dead.
"Please, show me some kindness and take me with you…"
What would it be like to die?
He wondered.
It was never a thought that had never crossed his mind, but now...
It was different.
Death was not meaningless, not anymore.
But still...
What would there be beyond the precipice?
He couldn't help but think.
The eyes and the soul would close and then… what would happen?
And that would have to be asked of those who can no longer speak.
Their once pink, red lips, now with a deadly shade of purple hardened and roughened by the paleness of the end.
The paleness of death.
And suddenly death didn't seem as beautiful as its ideal.
" Ahh a double suicide, what a sweet ring it has!"
It was not beautiful.
It was not pretty, much less happy.
But even so, the tears - those waters, human eyes let out when they were sad - did not come to him.
(He was never a human being)
Perhaps assured by the futile hope of believing in his plan.
His chest, however, felt heavy.
Terribly heavy.
His heart beating faster and faster was the confirmation of the pain he had felt.
The pain he was currently, feeling.
And it weighed there as if a rope had been tied to his heart, along with a rock.
Somehow, similar to a ship sinking on the sea of life.
And so, like the desperate owner of the ship…
He did not know what to do.
The feeling of seeing someone who once had walked, talked, breathed-
That was now laying on the ground was like seeing a thirsty flower that had nothing, absolutely nothing left to give in an unreachable vase.
It was the cycle of nature, the cycle of life.
Despite knowing death was part of life - after all life was three days-
He did not know how to deal with it, even if he claimed to crave for it.
Too much pain, too much regret, too many emotions.
(For him)
He had buried his friend, but he hadn't been able to burry his partner.
No, his former partner but his longest acquaintance, nevertheless.
(His partner, since he was fifteen years old)
But the tears did not appear in the corners of his eyes.
He had not seen Chuuya's body.
He would have sunk into that small cubicle and stayed there.
He had thought that death was something boring for Chuuya.
Death, pain made Chuuya boring, nothing interesting.
But a death, a death that was not his own, made Dazai human.
Chuuya... he was strong, loyal and…in his own way… he was a kind man.
(That was what made Dazai want to not die)
He deserved better than to die as a piece of a plan.
Would… would they remember him?
Chuuya had always been greatly admired and respected by everyone, but… who would really care about visiting him, even if he wasn’t on Earth?
(Dazai would do it.)
He had only come to leave a bouquet of flowers, lilies, at a stone with the name of his former partner.
No one had the courage to recover the man’s remains and honestly, Dazai didn’t comment on the matter.
He was faced with earth and stone.
What a terrible end.
He knew death would be the one able to free him, Chuuya, from oblivion and no one would know who he had been.
He finally had gotten rid of his curse, but… at what cost?
He was, now, just another grave among many others.
The false confidence he had placed in his plans was painful.
He had made a mistake.
A mistake he knew it was bound to happen sooner of later.
(Moments like these reminded him of how he was just a human being)
(A human being able of faillure)
Dazai’s mistakes always ended in tragedy.
Everything had to be perfect.
…
…
And one… one of the features that Dazai liked to appreciate the most from afar were human facial expressions.
Particularly, the bright or dull orbs that were the beacons of each person’s soul.
The eyes, the human eye, the mirror of the soul.
For a long time, Dazai had seen the world with only one eye, oblivious to the other riches of life.
When he entered the agency, he was met with completely different eyes than the ones he was used to seeing — happy, light and carefree.
And this caused him a feeling of distance, like seeing the light at the end of a long walk, but being too tired or afraid to get there.
They were luminous eyes, kind eyes, smiling eyes, friendly eyes… of the most diverse shades.
They were like little lights that illuminated Dazai's path, once dark and gloomy.
Temporary lights, drowned out by the darkness, but that still shone, as if it had never seen the shadows of life.
In the Mafia, the lights that existed came from blood and sparks from violent fights.
For him, the illumination was provided by the Lupin Bar and his two friends, who appeared as quickly as they disappeared.
People came and went, like a light that turns on and off as soon as you plan to use its illumination.
"Goodbye!"
He knew, more than anyone, this perfectly well.
He just didn't expect it to happen to the strongest person he had ever met.
The person who had shown him what it felt like being alive.
(How to be human, how to love)
(How to accept emotions, as powerful as love)
But life was a joke.
An absolute cruel joke.
Human nature, like its beauty, was ephemeral.
Finite.
It still seemed like yesterday that Dazai had crossed the stormy path of Nakahara Chuuya, the fifteen-year-old boy who had shaken his world from the first moment they had met.
It was surreal to be standing in front of a memorial to the -once - fifteen-year-old boy he had met on day one.
But as they say, life has three days and Chuuya's third day had arrived.
And Dazai had always known it.
He was know to control his pieces well.
(Chuuya was never his pawn)
How they would act…
(Dazai was never been able to control Chuuya)
(Nor he wanted to)
And the way they could fall.
(Dazai never thought about this for a second)
(Chuuya had always been that wild card that would survive.)
(No matter what)
(At least Dazai thought that much)
But it seems that Chuuya was made from the same darkness as his.
And deep inside he always had known that.
(He just didn't want to face the inevitable and incoming tragedy)
“How did you do it?” Chuuya asked, eyes agitated and somewhat aggressive, following his partner's careless movements, “Oi. Dazai!”
The boy was in the bathroom of the place where they had spent the night. They both had separate rooms, but for some reason, Dazai had made himself comfortable in Chuuya's room.
The boy pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, letting out an almost frustrated sigh.
Sounds reminiscent of paper, plastic, and scissors echoed. Even when the door was closed, it was possible to hear the scissors hitting the bench.
But that was all that could be heard, because Dazai hadn't responded.
“Oi!”
A louder sound echoed, followed by silence. Chuuya raised his eyebrows, surprised by Dazai's sudden movement. Then,
“It doesn't matter” the noise of the bandages being rummaged through returned, “It's been taken care of.”
Chuuya absolutely hated going on missions with Dazai.
“And what's that supposed to mean?” he hadn't shouted, but his tone indicated impatience.
More shuffling sounds. Sounds that were starting to irritate Chuuya, The boy was seriously considering breaking down the door and doing himself whatever Dazai was currently doing.
He sighed, stretching his legs uncomfortably.
“I know the location” Dazai's voice had become significantly more serious; Chuuya slowly put his legs down, straightening himself thoughtfully.
Dazai continued.
“The traitor. I know where he is.” footsteps were heard, and the door opened.
Dazai was wearing casually loose pants and a white t-shirt. Over his shoulder was a face towel. He walked towards Chuuya, who was still surprised.
After moments, Chuuya reacted.
“What?” he said, following Dazai's long steps towards him, looking to the side when the boy sat down next to him; his mouth was open “How... how did you-”
“It doesn't matter” Dazai responded by cutting him off, simultaneously grabbing the corner of the towel and throwing it
on the bed; Chuuya followed the movement in meditative silence, that is, until he realized the towel was wet and on top of his bed. “Bastard!” He nimbly leaned back, grabbing the towel and throwing it away, then returned to his starting position, looking at Dazai who was laughing.
Like always.
Chuuya sighed.
“So you have the location?”
Dazai stopped laughing, and his face became empty and bored.
“Are you that slow, Chuuya? I told you that looooong time ago.”
“It was just five minutes ago, or so” he frowned.
The other boy looked at him, blankly, and then made a dismissive gesture with his hand, turning his face away from Chuuya.
“Whatever.”
They both remained silent, staring straight ahead at the wall.
That is until Chuuya speaks up.
“You slept with her didn't you?” Dazai seemed a little startled by the statement, but then he straightened up as if nothing had happened.
However, Chuuya looked to the side, staring at Dazai with serious eyes - the boy didn't.
“Did you? Slept with her?” Dazai didn't respond. He didn't even look towards Chuuya, who was looking at him reproachfully.
That's okay, he didn't care. And so, when Chuuya decided that he had given Dazai enough space to answer him-
“Daz-”
“Goodnight!!!” in a second, Dazai had stood up, a smile more fake than plastic on his lips and walked nimbly to the door of Chuuya's room.
The hand touched the doorknob, making a first movement with the wrist and the lock complained.
“Dazai-”
The door closed with tremendous intensity. Chuuya sighed, staring blankly at the door Dazai had escaped through.
He cursed himself for letting curiosity get the better of him.
And, in the next morning, Dazai didn't pay him much attention. He hadn't made weird jokes and unnecessary comments. Chuuya couldn't help but think that this was a sensitive subject for his partner.
It was obvious that Dazai and the girl who had served them breakfast had slept together.
The red marks on the female neck that had been covered with small amounts of powder and Dazai's disheveled hair... said it all. Still, tension hung in the air as the girl served them steaming coffee, Dazai blatantly complimenting her. Chuuya couldn't help but think
if that was something common for Dazai. He had slept with the girl in order to get information from her, when they both knew there was another way to get it. Maybe that way would be faster- Chuuya knew about his partner's reputation as a womanizer.
Dozens of unknown numbers called him monthly, calling him “Dazai Osamu”.
So, yes, Chuuya was perfectly aware of that. However, that was different.
Dazai didn't need to sleep with someone to get information out of them. Chuuya didn't need to do such a thing. Besides being a low act, it was disgusting.
Selling his body for a few words was something Chuuya didn't do.
Sipping the liquid coffee, which was still warm, he looked a little uncomfortably at Dazai and the girl. The girl was hugging a circular metal board, laughing at Dazai's praise — obviously Dazai didn't
eat anything while at that. Chuuya sighed discreetly.
“I swear, you are going to like it” and she laughed, her cheeks flushed. “I believe you, Dazai-san.”
She smiled and then raised her eyebrows as if she remembered something.
“Oh it's true, I forgot about something!” she looked at Dazai, who took her hand lovingly, a smile that seemed worthy of a lover, but which Chuuya recognized as being fake.
“I'll be back.” she promised, before turning on her heels and leaving the place in quick, hurried steps.
The sound of the cup being placed in the saucer echoed. Dazai looked at his partner without much interest, still with that air of smug superiority. Chuuya sighed, finishing his meal — Dazai hadn't touched his.
“Aren't you going to eat?” he looked at Chuuya with that dead, empty look, before taking a sip of coffee repulsively, taking the cup to his lips with some elegance.
Chuuya looked at him intently, pressing his lips against each other.
“Are we going out today?” Dazai looked at him, the rim of the cup on his lips, and then placed it on the small plate.
He sighed.
“We have almost everything we need.” looked at him annoyed “Not thanks to you though” Chuuya refrained from rolling his eyes, regretting trying to get closer to his partner.
He should have known by now that this was not possible. Uncomfortably, he cleared his voice.
Dazai sighed, as he finished his coffee. “We have wasted enough time playing hide and seek, Chuuya.” Chuuya got the message.
“Boss is going to have our heads” he completed.
Dazai slowly nodded.
“It's a big problem having a traitor around.” sighed as if the conversation weighed on his back “Luckily, he was one of my subordinates or if he was not mine, he was yours.” he declared, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
He seemed significantly more relaxed, resembling the Dazai that Chuuya knew. He decided not to touch on his partner's unusual methods.
However, when Chuuya stood up, he stared at him.
“What.” Dazai said, with that empty look of his.
Then, Chuuya approached his partner, putting a hand on his neck, adjusting his bandages, which were half fallen. Beneath his fingers, he felt Dazai's muscles stiffen.
Chuuya placed a strip of bandage tape over the rest, covering the evidence of a visible mark, his gloved hands brushing against the strands of brown hair.
Moments that felt like hours passed, and Chuuya withdrew his hand, leaning forward slightly with a small, teasing smile.
“Careful with these.”
Chuuya's hand rested against the small visible area of skin, he was very close to Dazai, who didn't change his expression of annoyance. One last smile, and Chuuya straightened up, turning on his heel without saying anything else.
As soon as the boy had left the place, Dazai blinked his only visible eye and stupidly opened his mouth.
Dark. Darkness. Black. Penumbra. Absence of Light. Empty. Absolute blindness.
The kind of confused feeling a person gets as soon as their eyelids get heavy, closing their eyes to the outside.
However, that darkness was not temporary.
Because he wasn't sleeping, nor had his eyes closed.
He was aware of that.
Very aware.
Lifting his fingers to his eyes, he verified that he had opened them.
Huh, something similar to a state of relaxation.
"Do you remember what I told you..." two warm, long arms with skin as soft as velvet hovered over his neck with the delicacy of a fairy. He could feel it even after so, so, so long "I love you Osamu" a breath, with a light kiss, lighter than a feather on his dry lips, due to the absence of whiskey, had awakened his thoughts. He had surrendered with tremendous ease. And then, that ended with the distance, taking with it the remaining human warmth of the body. The face showed one of the most tragic and beautiful smiles, he had ever seen "Of course I'll die with you" and they clung to him as if they wanted nothing more in this earthly life.
He saw a lot of those smiles, a lot.
He saw many colors, many hands, many lips.
Numerous faces, hair in the most diverse ways.
He saw the most sumptuous dresses expert in seduction, majestic reds dyed the slender waist of each of them.
He saw a lot, lived a lot.
He saw, he lived a lot, a lot of everything without feeling it.
All without scruples.
But now?
Now, now he saw nothing.
And, to his great stinging torture, he felt everything.
He felt too much.
Way too much.
Death is not supposed to feel like this.
Death is not supposed to be felt at all!
That's not why he did what he did.
"But that's precisely the reason you are here."
Ah.
The consequences.
He... he forgot those.
Forever was not enough huh?
It had to be extended to eternal.
If he had died to live afterwards, then he shouldn't have killed himself and his beautiful lover at all.
But regret was something new.
I don't even know why I am posting this.
I am not telling anything, just enjoy this small wip
