things you said when I was crying
The infusion was growing cold.
With one elbow resting on the counter and his chin propped in the palm of his hand, Dazai doodled absently in his notebook while the rain tapped incessantly against the windows. He scribbled a line out until the text became unreadable, and even then—pressing the pen hard between his fingers—he felt nothing.
The emptiness in his chest was a ravenous beast.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear the bell that announced a new customer—did it even ring when it was the mysterious redhead who only seemed to exist when they were alone?—nor when said redhead, tired of watching him from between the gaps in the shelves, finally crossed the distance between them.
His heart didn’t flutter when the redhead braced his forearms on the counter and offered him a crooked little grin. Dazai blinked, startled, and his eyes wandered from the ink hugging the man’s biceps to his freckle-dotted face.
Dazai appreciated beauty, and the redhead’s features were imperfectly unique. As if the artist had devoted flesh and soul to polishing every tiny detail so it would stand out, from the crooked nose to the tempting curve of his mouth.
His throat went dry, and he shifted uncomfortably when the redhead arched a brow at him.
“Let’s make a deal, pretty boy.”
The shift in the air was subtle. Dazai squinted suspiciously, tilting his head.
The redhead tucked a rebellious lock of hair behind his ear. Despite the nerves surrounding him, his eyes sparkled with renewed determination—a spark capable of starting a wildfire—and the blush igniting on his cheeks tickled Dazai’s stomach.
Nothing seemed to be enough lately.
And just as the sky split in two and the storm swept in, majestic and severe, Dazai thought he saw something move behind the mysterious customer. It lasted only a second, he blinked and it was gone, but whatever it was took root inside him.
“If you guess my favorite book, you can take me out to breakfast.”
Dazai frowned, slightly confused, almost forgetting what had just happened, and then he burst out laughing. A clumsy laugh that scraped his throat on the way up and was born deep in his stomach.
When was the last time he laughed like that?
“Take you to breakfast?” he teased, wiping tears from his eyes.
“You want to take me to breakfast,” he pointed out with a light hum, trailing a finger along Dazai’s sweater neckline. Nothing more than a casual touch—yet when he looked up at him through his lashes and Dazai caught the hint of a fang peeking past his lips, it became overwhelming. His pulse quickened. “I’m just giving you a little push.”
His first instinct was to run.
He was in the forest bordering the village, the one no one should enter once night fell. The trees leaned in, blocking his path, roots burst from the earth trapping him, branches dragging blood across his skin while the starving beast howled in delight.
His mouth tasted of petrichor and something earthier, slightly sweet on his tongue. A warning, one he was more than willing to ignore.
Dazai wet his lips and leaned closer to the redhead.
“Mmm, your favorite book is…”
The possibilities were endless—like sand slipping through his fingers—yet the title that crossed his lips felt right. They’d had this conversation before, maybe in another life, or maybe they would have it later. For a fraction of a second, the redhead faltered; his eyes widened softly, and his smile shattered.
Then his laughter—rough and raspy—filled the small bookstore.
“Wow, you win,” he feigned a dramatic sigh, hand over his chest. Or maybe he wasn’t pretending, maybe he was playing the same game Dazai was. “I’ve got a sweet tooth.”
Dazai knew it, and the redhead knew he knew. Their connection, even back then, was already strong.
“There’s a little café at the end of the street. Best pancakes around.”
“And the best chocolate milkshakes, obviously.”
“You better hope so,” he teased mischievously but before Dazai could reply, walk around the counter, and join him, the redhead stopped him. Doubt darkened his irises, turning them a deeper blue, and a shiver ran down Dazai’s spine. Another bolt split the sky. “It’s okay to cry, you know? To let it all out.”
Dazai staggered. What was he talking about? He couldn’t know…
The redhead softened, brushing his gloved fingers against Dazai’s cheek—and even through the leather, the touch was devastating. Suddenly they were no longer in that tiny bookstore that didn’t belong to Dazai, with death creeping in from the corners and whispering in his ear, but standing in the middle of the night.
On the bridge of his hometown.
He was drowning. Death wrapped its claws around his throat, stealing the air from his lungs, filling his eyes with burning tears and pushing him into the abyss.
Falling, falling, falling.
And the redhead—who nobody in that tiny village seemed to know, who only existed when Dazai was alone, in that bookstore that wasn’t his yet with every day spent there felt more and more like it was—pulled him back.
His hand closed around Dazai’s wrist, claws scraping his bandages, drawing a hiss from him as he tugged him upward, trapping him in his arms.
His shoulders shook violently, and he folded in on himself. The sob tearing its way up his throat, shredding his vocal cords, echoed in the little bookstore.
“Everything will be alright,” Chuuya whispered, fingers weaving into his hair and stroking his back. Dazai clung to his clothes, burying himself in the warm space between Chuuya’s shoulder and neck. He smelled sweet. “I’m here. I’m with you.”
He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to stop—and he needed to be strong for Odasaku—but it was too much and he was so, so tired, and the emptiness in his chest was devouring everything in its path.
He held onto the redhead like an anchor in the middle of the ocean. Chuuya had climbed onto the counter to reach him—but instead of making Dazai laugh, because it was absurd and ridiculous (everything about Chuuya seemed to be), it struck him right in the chest.
Chuuya soothed him, whispering warm words and a soft, unfamiliar melody. It felt… good.
“Everything will be alright, I promise.”
He shouldn’t believe him.
Take me instead! Odasaku is good, he has a beautiful life ahead of him. I have nothing. Take me!
It wasn’t the forest that claimed him when night fell.
It wasn’t death lurking at the edge of his vision.
dividers by: @cafekitsune
