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Hello Darcy,
thank you for providing me with another daydream journal. You're only ever supposed to write one dream into each ask journal, right?
For you, I have a crack fic idea that likes to haunt me on occasion, based on the following thought: Dazai still has a phone from his PM era days, right? What if he still has it, but not for lack of trying to get rid of the damn thing?
In short, I've been daydreaming about the Nokia phone of Dazai's nightmares.
Dazai is sure that as Chuuya gave it to him when they were teens (something about needing to be able to reach Dazai come hell or high water, could you stop fucking trying to drown yourself-), Chuuya placed a curse on it.
The damn thing has been shot at, stabbed at, and, on one memorable occasion, run over by a tank, and aside from a few scratches, it works as good as new.
Dazai has tried setting it on fire, submerging it in water, and throwing it into liquid nitrogen, to no avail.
Several times, he's tried to lose it; but there's always a helpful passerby who returns it, or hotel staff sending it back via mail. The longest he's been without the phone is two days, and those he spent trying to outrun the damn thing by flying from country to country. And still, when he touched back down in Japan, a determined flight attendant handed the phone to him with the biggest smile.
The fucking thing can't open an email. It won't let him save new phone numbers. But it will somehow manage to get reception in the Arctic so Chuuya can yell at him. Don't ask how he figured that one out.
It is profoundly and single-handedly evil, and yet No Longer Human can do nothing about it.
At some point, Dazai starts wondering whether Chuuya sold his soul to the devil to bind this cursed thing to him. Then he started wondering whether gingers even have souls, and got so distracted he forgot all about the phone. Chuuya claims it was just the sturdiest model on the market. Dazai claims he's full of shit.
He would have handed it to Mori - the thing would make for a great instrument of psychological torture - but it would just keep returning to him. The researchers wouldn't be able to keep it, so Dazai doesn't bother.
At some point, he gives up. The phone can be turned off, for a while, but never for long; after his desertion, he spends most hours staring at the phone, making sure the damn thing stays turned off, since he can't afford to be called, can't afford to be found.
He wishes he could get rid of it, but it lies heavily in his hand, anchored as if by gravity, Chuuya's most impactful prank to date. Dazai's only consolation is to think that Chuuya's still wearing the choker, in return, just as unable to get rid of it.
It is in moments of weakness, of carelessness, that the phone seems to sense; turning on, and letting Chuuya's angry voice reach him. Dazai might not be able to control the phone, but he can control himself, quietly bearing the weight of Chuuya's drunken calls. He cannot reply; all he can do is listen, try to disconnect the call, and force the beast back into its slumber.
And so it is that even four years later, the accursed phone functions, despite its wear and tear and scratches. Maybe now, with an alliance with the mafia on the table, Dazai can turn the tables finally, and use the cursed thing to torment Chuuya. After all, his is the only number that sticks around in the phone; might as well use it.
He calls at odd hours of the night, when he can't sleep, staring at the muted screen of the phone; doesn't say anything, at first, relishing just in the annoyed grunts of a sleepy Chuuya. Good. If the phone won't let Dazai sleep, Chuuya deserves to have his beauty sleep ruined, too. This curse can go both ways, and Dazai intends to wield it as his weapon.
Eventually, he starts talking. The words slip out without his consent, bidden by the curse; but there really is only so many times Dazai can listen to Chuuya's incensed screams about being called in the middle of the night, before the "don't you have anything new to say" escapes him.
It must have stunned Chuuya; for once, he's blessedly quiet, as if he can't believe he's hearing things. Dazai takes it as the win it is, and hangs up on him. Then, he has to turn off the stupid phone, because Chuuya keeps trying to call him back, ruining any chance for the victorious slumber Dazai deserves.
He can't keep it turned off forever, of course; it resists, and with the weight of the world at stake, and Chuuya as one of the few reliable allies, Dazai can't afford to block him. Not that the phone would allow that.
So they talk - sometimes. Often they'll just listen to each other breathing, connected by the cursed line they cannot seem to cut. In a way, it's reassuring, though Dazai would rather die than say that out loud. Sometimes the words have meaning, sometimes they bear gravity; when Chuuya learned to use his powers across the mobile network, causing the phone to lie heavily on his chest, Dazai would really like to know.
Maybe then he would have a way to stop this, finally.
As it is, despite the damn thing being a good ten years old, it shows no signs of stopping to work any time soon. Dazai visits a repair shop, once; the mechanic says that everything's exactly as it should be, and that it will likely continue to work for a good long while, still.
There really is no escape. No likelihood for the thread that binds him to fray and rip. In a way, it's the most comfortable noose Dazai has ever worn; he can't help but hum as he makes his way home from the shop.
Home, to a docking station where the phone may rest within arm's reach, by the side of its twin. Where it doesn't matter which one he grabs on the way out; the line always goes both ways.
Is the phone cursed or is it just resilient, and is Dazai an unreliable narrator who cares about this gift way more than he could ever admit? You decide.
[ask meme here, though I think my inbox has reached my limited for them]
