Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Since young, whenever Chuuya uses his Ability, he gets to revel in that transient moment of absolute dominance. In that instance, the world is at his utter, complete mercy, just at the tip of his fingertips, and with just a simple touch and a mere command, the entire world bends to his unmerciful will. All he has to do is sit back and enjoy the masterpieces that come into fruition soon after.

Though, when it’s no longer in use, his elevated status is reduced to that of another average human, prone to the smallest things like tripping over his own feet from time to time, or experiencing that one sharp impulse when walking becomes awkward all of a sudden, sending him tumbling towards the gravel.

He finds, however, that when he applies the effects of his own Ability on himself, he’s in total control of even his own being, his own life, and just like that, he’s able to ascend to the top once more, continuously reaching higher and higher…

When Dazai chides him for unnecessarily using his Ability, he merely sticks his tongue out at him, and runs off. 

Someone like that talented suicidal prodigy, who’s had it easy since a long time ago, wouldn’t be able to understand the harsh plebeian life in this Mafioso land of the great big dogs, where it was quite literally eat or to be eaten.

Chuuya would do anything if it means fighting to live, fighting to survive another wretched day in this broken world...

---

Despite knowing Dazai’s on a completely different level, Chuuya questions Dazai about his sense of purpose from time to time, out of sheer curiosity. “Hey, shitty Dazai, is there any particular reason why you’re in the mafia?”

“Nothing,” the said executive instinctively replies, with a look of boredom on his face.

“... Nothing at all?” Chuuya frowns as he prods further. “Not even a will to live?”

“Nothing,” Dazai confirms. His voice carries a tone of finality, and their conversation automatically ceases to exist further at that point.

Sensing Dazai’s unwillingness to really answer him, Chuuya merely huffs in response, and turns away...

(But somewhere deep inside, he silently hopes that Dazai would come back to him with a proper answer...)

---

The first time Chuuya gets a nosebleed, it’s from carelessly landing face flat on the ground after stumbling on his own feet. 

He realises he’s becoming more clumsy as of late, and walking is (strangely...) becoming increasingly difficult. On the spur of the moment, he uses his own Ability to lift himself off the floor, altering the weight of his legs so he’s able to assume control over his balance once more. Though he shakes it off as nothing major, he hurriedly decides to approach Mori for assistance to discover the root of the problem.

Chuuya refuses to let anyone catch sight of him uselessly sprawled on the floor, because it’s extremely damaging to his ego.

(He doesn’t want anyone... to even catch a glimpse of how weak he actually is...)

---

When Double Black is sent on another job, Chuuya decides to ask the same question again while they were taking a breather.

“Why is the hatrack being so questioning again today?” Dazai scowls. “It’s not like you’re an officer about to arrest me. Gross.”

“Don’t fucking get the wrong idea, you shithead,” Chuuya merely scoffs as he lazily draws out a puff of smoke from his cigarette. “I was just curious, that’s all.” He tilts his head towards Dazai, as if wanting to say something more ー

(“Because you’re such a fucking prodigy in whatever you do; everything always turns out in your favour, and I was wondering if there’s some kind of deeper meaning behind this wretched life of killing that you chose to live.”)

ーbut decides to turn away again, compelling himself to focus more on how the ashen smoke from his cigarette swells and billows into the expansive nightscape of Yokohama.

Dazai, however, seems to have read his mind. “Hm…” he simply hums in response, as if he’s genuinely considering what to answer, before he turns to Chuuya with a mysterious smile.

“... I guess you can say… I’m searching for it?”

Chuuya opens his mouth again, about to ask further (because what the hell does that even meanー), but decides against it when Dazai waves at him dismissively; a signal that he will entertain his questions no longer. He begins to walk again, beckoning for his partner to follow, and Chuuya tries to keep up his pace and walk alongside his partner.

“Come on, Chuuya. It’s time to finish up our job.”

---

As his legs are being peppered with an increasing number of bruises, Chuuya finds himself increasingly relying on his Ability to untangle himself from the mess that his legs have gotten themselves into.

He finds that it’s much easier to just make use of his Ability for a prolonged period of time and rein in control over his shortcomings, and spare himself the hassle of falling again and risk people mocking him for how clumsy he is.

To keep up a strong front is so much easier… than worrying about the rest…

It makes Chuuya feel as though he has some sense of control over his own life. (He doesn’t need even /that/ to fail him, now...)

---

When Chuuya finds that his aim with a gun is deteriorating over time, he’s advised to switch to hand-to-hand combat instead.

It’s incredibly embarrassing, because he’s starting to miss his targets whenever they’re required to execute hostages Port Mafia-style, and that’s extremely close-ranged shooting.

“By any chance, Nakahara-kun, has your eyesight worsened?” Mori asks when he appears at his office, ready to turn in his gun for permanent confiscation. “You’ve also been tripping over the smallest things more often lately. Perhaps it’s about time you get some glasses, if you’re missing bullets at such a close range.”

(It isn’t that his eyesight was blurring. Rather, when he tries to shoot, his hands just wouldn’t cooperate with him, and he wouldー)

“... It’s nothing, Boss,” Chuuya replies. “Plus, shooting was never really my forte. Glasses would only get in the way.”

He eventually leaves the boss’s quarters without any hassle, the pistol still sitting comfortably in its holster. Mori had suggested that he keep the gun with him as a memento, and a last resort of self-defense if he ever needs it, but Chuuya nevertheless decides to dispose of it.

He’s always taken much more pride in his physical abilities rather than his aiming, anyway. Guns just... didn’t suit him.

(Dazai chooses to remain silent when he eventually discovers Chuuya has purposefully left his own pistol in his quarters.)

---

When Chuuya almost trips over a pebble, Dazai pokes at him for being so stylishly careless, much to his chagrin.

Still, Dazai waits for him to recompose himself at the other end of the road, and Chuuya’s glad he’s there to wait for himー

---

The next time he visits Mori’s office at the latter’s request, the Mafia boss hands him a large brown envelope. It’s thick, and suspiciously heavy.

“Nakahara-kun,” he starts as Chuuya continues to stare at the envelope, not quite sure what to make out of it. “It’s the results of the tests you’ve specifically requested to undergo some time ago. Aside from the diagnosis results, I’ve also made sure to include some resources for additional information.” At his words, Chuuya scrambles to uncoil the white string that held the envelope flap securely closed, and with shaking hands, pulls out a stack of papers with blocks of text and various diagrams printed on them.

His heart immediately sinks when he reads the diagnosis written on the very first page, and his legs almost crumble under the sheer weight of the myriad of emotions swirling into his head and shaking his entire beingー

This can’t be realーit can’t be real, oh god, it can’t ー

---

Chuuya finds himself drowning deeper into his myriad of facades.

---

While being on the job, Chuuya suddenly finds himself tumbling head-first onto the stone cold pavement without warning.

He’s fallen too many times to count, but it’s the first time he’s ever exhibited such clumsiness in front of Dazai. The tears that prick at his eyes still burns and he finds himself wallowing in self-loathe for being so, so useless, especially in front of that asshole of a partner, because Dazai will surely never, never let him live this downー

ーbut instead, Dazai simply chides him for being so careless (much to his annoyance), and (much to his surprise) walks off, giving Chuuya the alone time he needs to compose himself, because he knows Chuuya’s emotions are a mess when he fumbles in any way, and he knows if Chuuya doesn’t get his emotions properly sorted, he’s only going to act more irrationally and mess up the job even more.

“... I’ll be waiting at the other end of the street,” he hears Dazai say. “Come over when you’ve composed yourself.”

It’s nothing more than a mere act of obligation on Dazai’s part. Yet ー

Chuuya doesn’t say anything in return, but lets a small crooked smile of gratitude creep up the corners of his mouth as he bites his trembling lip and bends over, his forehead touching the icy cold pavement as he lets the boiling tears flow freelyー

---

In his drunken stupor, Chuuya blindly smashes a door light that hangs from the entrance of the bar into mere smithereens.

The fine that he has to pay as compensation is hefty, and he’s almost captured by the police, but the fright of having been so relentlessly hunted down by the police doesn’t compare to the gaping hole that only continues to expand in the depths of his heart.

---

When Dazai defects from the Mafia without a single trace in the midst of a job, Chuuya is completely broken, devastated at the betrayal. He trips on his own feet (fuck, not again) and crashes onto the floor, having forgotten to activate his Ability on himself to preserve his own balance. Dazai’s usual taunts and his own way of showing support that (reluctantly) comes after is replaced with a cold, lingering silence, and it’s painfully deafening...

He briefly recalls Dazai’s nonchalant replies when he had asked if he had a reason for staying in the Mafia, and his eyes immediately brightened when he realises the prospect of him having left the Mafia for a bigger purpose, rather than just simply drifting meaninglessly.

It hits Chuuya that he’s perhaps, by some kind of miracle, found a chance at becoming something better.

Tracking down the government official that had betrayed the mafia and threatening him into erasing Dazai’s records has never been easier. Though, in the process, he ends up owing a huge debt to him for being able to make Dazai’s path towards redemption largely possible.

Dazai would never question the strings being pulled behind his back, would he?

Chuuya thinks that Dazai would be much better off not knowing about his past records being erased. Surely, he can figure out the handiwork of that government official splayed all over his criminal records to conceal and destroy it from the eyes of the public and government, but who exactly told him to would remain a mystery.

He decides he’d keep it a secret until the end.

---

Because Chuuya’s incapable of thinking rationally in a spur of anger, he tends to end up rushing headfirst into a fight.

It’s because of this fatal flaw that he ends up overworking his entire body, and collapses onto the floor before he’s able to deal the final blow. He can’t even bring himself to use Corruption, because even if no one is there to stop him, even though Dazai isn’t there to rein in control over him with his nullifying Ability, he doesn’t have the strength to even get up and stand strong before his foes.

It’s because of this that several of his subordinates jumped in the way of danger, completed the mission in his stead and protected Chuuya from being targeted at the cost of their own lives.

When crimson blood splatters on his face as a result of the trajectory effect, Chuuya is completely distraught; broken.

All he remembers is silently weeping while completely incapacitated and paralyzed on the floor as the Black Lizard troops eventually find the burning wreckage of what was supposed to be nothing more than an extremely simple job for Chuuyaー

He had gotten complacent, insisted on being part of the job because he didn’t want to remain weak, and he ends up paying an extremely dear price for his mistakes.

Someone so weak like him shouldn’t have continued living.

He should have died in the fire, along with the rest ー

he doesn't ー deserve this chance ー

---

The next time they meet would be four years after Dazai’s disappearance from the mafia.

As tradition would have it, both of them had clashed into a head-on battle. In the midst of a flurry of fists, kicks and taunts, Chuuya slips without thinking, and Dazai effectively reads his attack and counters his kick.

He had thought that simply manipulating his body’s gravity would more than suffice. It’s much easier to move around while having the gravitational limits on his body released, and he’s able to launch attacks at Dazai with more speed and ease than ever before.

He had, however, failed to consider how his strength had long begun to fail him, and in the end, even Dazai, whose physical strength supposedly doesn’t even amount to a third of his own, is able to successfully stop and effortlessly flip him over, slamming his back against the cold hard ground.

What initially was thought to be a rather dull impact somehow manages to shake him to the very bone.

Dazai takes a few steps backwards, gazing at his own handiwork with a brief glimpse of achievement sparkling in his eyes, before offering a hand towards the shorter male. Chuuya brushes it aside and begins to struggle against the feat of getting up. When he finally manages to stand on his own two feet once more, he wobbles and almost loses his balance, but eventually, manages to hold his ground.

"... Chuuya, since when have you become so sluggish?"

Dazai's tone is one of concern; one that he has never, ever dreamed would come out of his own mouth. The Dazai from the Port Mafia would never openly show his concern so easily like this.

(He’s changed…)

Then again, Dazai’s always been rather observant about his surroundings. He was never called the brains behind Double Black for no reason.

Chuuya cringes over how some things never change, no matter how long they’ve been separated from each other.

"... It's none of your fucking business, vagabond," he hisses tauntingly.

"I'm not your partner anymore, but I think I deserve to know why your physical strength has deteriorated to this extent."

"Just shut up and fight me!" Chuuya springs forward with a thunderous roar, almost like a predator on the hunt, as he rushes forward and furiously swings a quick fist towards his enemy, but even that is effortlessly stopped by Dazai's palm. His fingers dig into the executive's fist for a brief moment, and with a simple motion, he shoves the latter backwards with much ease.

"Do you honestly think you can fight in this state?" the detective drawls, as though aiming to provoke.

A smirk flashes across Dazai’s face in triumph as he catches Chuuya let down his guard for a split second in the midst of getting up, but his smile drops when he seems to notice Chuuya’s balance is wavering. Dazai must’ve realised something’s wrong.

… Of course he would. He’s always been rather perceptive.

“Chuuya, I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but has your balance taken a turn for the worse?”

“It’s just your eyes playing tricks on you, Dazai.” Chuuya slightly widens the gap between his legs in an attempt to get a better grasp on the gravity acting on his body as he skillfully whips out the dagger from its sheath and twirls it in his hand. “It’s nothing.” The scarlet outline that traces his body only intensifies along with his desperation to continue standing.

Dazai doesn’t fall for his lies, however.

“... How long have you been keeping this from everyone?” he presses on.

“I said, it’s nothing!”

Even as he says this, obviously shaken with annoyance, Chuuya feels something trickle from his nose. Irritated, he quickly swipes his face against the bare skin of his arm in an attempt to stop the itching feeling, and his stomach lurches when he sees the mysterious cause of it.

Blood.

The crimson fluid is messily smeared across his arm, as if a clumsy painter had let his hand slip, letting his brush run wild and free on the unsuspecting canvas, the faded edges slowly burning themselves into his eyes and converging into a swirling mess and suddenly, suddenly, everything’s rapidly blurring and spinning andー

Dazai catches him just before he falls.

Chuuya’s eyes widen at the brief contact against his shoulder.

Dazai’s touching me, he’s touching me, his Ability ー

In a moment of blind panic, Chuuya roughly shoves him away almost immediately. He hears Dazai’s breath hitch sharply upon contactーmost likely from noticing the mess on his face and armーas he hastily reins in control over his Ability once more, steadying himself on his feet. In tandem, he feels the gushing of blood against his skin intensify and quicken, like an endless river travelling its course. From between strands of dishevelled auburn hair, he watches the drops of scarlet trickle down and fall towards the ground like viscous wine...

embedding and disappearing into the soil, forever

lost and to be never found

again...

..

.

“... Chuuya, you’re bleeding...” the detective breathes after a while, his eyes widened in utter shock as he watches the blood drip profusely from his nose, the especially liberal amount of it splayed across his arm, its bright colour furious, glaring, almost unreal.

“Yeah, no fucking shit,” the executive replies as he simply rolls his eyes.

(His head is spinning in circles, he feels so... light-headed...)

Dazai opens his mouth, wanting to say something, but closes it again when no words eventually come out of it.

“...You’re bleeding so much, though,” he finally manages, his breath coming out in laborious disbelief. “Are you…?”

His words eventually trail off as Chuuya watches him put two and two together. Any signs of cheer previously evident on his face immediately dissipates as realisation finally hits him, dark eyes widening in unadulterated horror. “Chuuya, you…”

"... Yeah, I'm dying. So what?”

(It’s becoming increasingly harder to focusー He feelsー so, so faintー

It’s most likely due to the blood loss he’s experiencing now, because before he realises it, the stains by his feet have expanded rather considerably, as though they’re enlarging to the point they could easily consume him wholeー)

He barely hears Dazai’s voice over the white noise spinning in his head, the overusing of his Ability finally taking its toll on his body.

“... and you never bothered to tell anyone?”

"I was about to tell you just as we were clashing, but your face made me even more sick, so I changed my mind..." When Chuuya finds himself tipping over once more, Dazai rushes over and firmly supports him by the shoulder. The deactivation of his Ability instantly allows gravity to naturally take its course once more, pulling his weakened legs down and making him collapse completely in Dazai's arms.

(He hates… hates…… hates being so… so weak... especially before Dazai, of all people…)

“Hm. Pretty sure I deserve to have known something by now.”

“Apparently four long years apart aren’t enough of an obligation to inform you,” the executive replies with a snort, holding a shaking hand to his head. The aftereffects of extremely prolonged gravity manipulation is haunting, not to mention he’s already exerted a considerable amount of energy engaging in combat with Dazai. With the effects of his Ability on himself finally deactivated (albeit forcefully), the dizziness that follows after is absolutely devastating.

Still, no matter how much he hates Dazai, Chuuya silently appreciates him being there as his (physical) support.

“What about you then? Four years of having gone missing and unreachable, and now you come back here and pull this kind of shit? Don’t make me laugh,” Chuuya replies in a sort of grimace. (All he sees is the churning of the surroundings before him and Dazai’s face becoming a swirl of a mess.)

Dazai doesn’t say anything in return.

Though, Chuuya imagines he must’ve have already figured out the answer to that as well. (“I was busy becoming a good personー”)

To say that Chuuya’s envious of Dazai’s defection from the Mafia is an understatement. He’s almost jealous that Dazai’s courageous enough to (successfully) snatch a shot at redemption for his sins while in the Port Mafia , but here he isー

Someone as useless as himself doesn’t deserve redemption...

"This is gross. The absolute worst." Chuuya hears Dazai grimace, interrupting his train of thought, as he watches the latter wrinkle his face, mouth curling up in disgust. "I can't believe I have to hold a guy so close, and it’s Chuuya of all people too. Today couldn’t get any worse."

“Excuse me?” He blinks at Dazai’s insults. “You’re the one that’s offering to hold me? If it weren’t for you, do you know how many doctors I could’ve gone to in like, the past hour?”

“Like you’d go to any,” the detective shoots back with an air of indignance. “You’re just gonna walk around making everyone nauseous with your sickening presence.”

“My god, it’s your presence that’s making me nauseous, not the other way around.”

"Stop spreading your illness to others, Chuuya. I'm feeling woozy just from touching you."

"Ever considered how your very existence could very well be making others sick? Don't make me laugh, suicidal maniac."

As their hurling of bickers and insults towards each other only continued, Chuuya quietly smiles to himself. Despite the long four years of separation, this aspect of them hasn’t largely changedー

It was as though all these years, they’ve never changed at all.

---

“... Friedreich’s ataxia?”

Kouyou nods in acknowledgement as she passes Dazai the papers that Mori had handed to Chuuya years ago. He promptly skims through the papers, quickly absorbing the information with hungry eyes...

          ー rare inherited disease ー nervous system damage and movement problems ー

          ー usually begins in childhood ー impaired muscle coordination ー worsens over time ー

“And you’re saying Mori diagnosed him at least four years ago?”

          ー awkward, unsteady movements ー impaired sensory functions ー does not affect thinking and reasoning abilities ー

The female executive raises her eyebrows in surprise at Dazai’s inquiry. “Chuuya never told you?”

          ー shorten life expectancy ー heart disease ー most common cause of death ー

          ー no cure or effective treatment ー

“That hatrack would rather die from starvation than see me, ane-san,” Dazai dead-pans as he sets down the stack of papers on the table. “Even if I had asked him back then, I don’t think he would have told me either way.”

(Though, he would be lying if he said he didn’t have even an inkling of Chuuya’s situation four years ago.)

Kouyou shakes her head with a smile, as though she somehow expected this outcome.

In the Mafia, it's a merciless ‘eat or be eaten’ world. Dazai knows this all too well, having experienced it himself first-hand. 

He also knows that because of that very reason, Chuuya would rather push himself to the limits and swallow the pain alone than reveal his vulnerability and suffer first-hand ridicule from others...

Four years ago, he had noticed the gradual changes in Chuuya’s behaviour, from combat, to the increasingly frequent tripping, to the increased number of times he came back drunk, completely, hopelessly wasted. 

Four years ago, Dazai had chosen to do nothing about it (because what was the point of fighting something inevitable?)

(Now, he wonders if things would have turned out differently had he done something back thenー)

"... Please, take care of Chuuya for us." 

Dazai notices Kouyou clenching the handle of her traditional umbrella tightly, and senses her apprehension seeping out from her every orifice. She's hesitant to leave Chuuya under his care, he realises, but there isn't anything else the Mafia can really do for him. Losing one of their important core members, one of their family members (as ironic as it seems) from the front lines has been an extremely large blow to them, not to mention that his health would only grow to become progressively worse.

It's a losing battle.

They turn to Dazai largely because having made up the other essential half of Double Black, he knows Chuuya right down to the very last detail like the back of his hand, better than anyone else in Port Mafia.

If there's anyone who can wholly look after Chuuya, it’s him.

His expression softens as he firmly places a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. It’s the least he could do.

"... I will, ane-san."

---

When Chuuya is required to undergo gait training as rehabilitation for the first time, Kouyou humbly requests Dazai to watch over him. Not that it’s much of a problem, but...

Dazai should’ve known that it takes more than an excessive nosebleed on the battlefield to dissuade the hot-headed Mafioso.

When the doctor turns his back towards the patient, the detective catches a grin flashing across Chuuya’s face for a split second before he feels the surrounding air tense up slightly. It’s extremely subtle, but Dazai knows this particular sensation all too well.

The crimson aura that outlines his entire being is nothing more than a telltale sign, and Dazai shakes his head in resignation as Chuuya practically prances across the aisle with a cheeky smirk, the skillful manipulation of gravity on his own body allowing him to rely less on the parallel bars as he completes his rehab routine within mere seconds. Still, Dazai doesn’t stop a small grin from surfacing, and watches in amusement as the mafia executive beams at his achievement and bends over the bar to brag in his face.

Dazai stifles a chuckle when the doctor finally turns back to face them and is immediately struck with astonishment when he realises Chuuya has already reached the other side of the aisle and completed the required regime of the day.

It reminds him of the small pranks, the very same degree of cheekiness he’d exhibited during their younger days.

Same old, same old...

---

As expected, Chuuya bleeds again from his nose as a result of pushing his body past its limits.

Dazai’s face is briefly one of amusement, most possibly due to the long string of curses and profanities the patient vilely spits out as he pinches his nose and cleans up the bloody mess (because it’s so bloody annoying to have to deal with this kind of bullshitー), but his grin eventually drops as he watches Chuuya wipe the blood away.

“Don’t use your Ability again,” Dazai warns him gravely.

When Chuuya begins to protest, the detective only replies, “It’d only aggravate your condition, no matter how desperate you are to walk normally again.”

The executive pouts in response, before reluctantly complying to his request with a nod. (It's such a pain to always clean up his face afterwards, anyway.)

---

“Being stuck in the hospital is so boring,” Chuuya complains when Dazai merrily drops by to visit after his first night staying over. “I’m literally overflowing with energy; I can't even work up a sweat like this!"

“... If you’ve slept soundly at night the morning is exhilarating, I suppose,” Dazai mutters under his breath. “So annoying as always.”

“What was that, you shithead?”

“Oh, absolutely nothing, Chuuya!” Dazai replies cheerily. “I was simply reminded of how irritating Chuuya is 24/7~”

“You littleー!” On a spur of the moment, Chuuya leaps on his feet on the bed and angrily swings a swift kick towards Dazai’s direction, but the latter dodges it with ease, much to his irritation.

Sometimes he forgets that as well as he knows Dazai, Dazai knows him equally well like the back of his hand.

“Give it up, Chuuya,” Dazai replies with a small smirk. “Plus, are you sure a patient should be moving around like that?”

“I was being easy on you,” Chuuya huffs, putting up an angry front, as he drops back and reclines into the comfort of the bed. “Otherwise your head would be rolling on the floor already.”

Dazai, amused, merely chuckles in response, and Chuuya eventually finds himself joining in as well.

---

Even though it’s nothing more than obligation, Chuuya admits that Dazai’s presence makes everything so much more easier to bear.

The daily banter, the ridiculous insults, everything seems to take him away from the cruel reality of his situation.

It makes it easier to breathe, to live, even if it’s just a little, even if it seems so... insignificant.

---

The first time Chuuya falls on his knees in the hospital, everything around him seems to fall apart almost immediately.

All he sees is the room shift and distort, the colors and shapes mixing into an absolutely grotesque picture. He furiously struggles against the dizzy headaches that relentlessly rack the inside his head, but loses the fight when he’s absolutely overridden by pain searing through his entire being, and his legs seem unable to carry his weight anymore.

(Perhaps, maybe just perhaps, it’s due to the fact that he hasn’t experienced this for a long time.)

From the side, Dazai just watches him quietly and chuckles to himself, making no move to help him up or to try to sooth his strained nervesー

ーNo, he chooses to watch his suffering, with that irritating smile of his, much to Chuuya’s chagrin.

“Dazai, I swear to fucking god, if you’re not even going to help a patientー”

“I would, but Chuuya wearing patient clothing is so much more interesting, so I’m just going to sit back and enjoy this thrilling view.”

The executive frowns at him in mock disapproval as he pushes against the mattress, hauling himself up before Dazai could fully extend out his hand. He crossly folds his arms over his chest, leaning against the bedside table. “If you’re looking for a new fashion statement, I can very well send you an invitation to join me on this brilliant runway I strut on on a weekly basis during rehabilitation.”

“Sounds like a brilliant plan. As expected of Chuuya!” Dazai claps his hands together, that loud annoying cheer of his reverberating throughout the room. “Do I get to see Chuuya striptease with the parallel bars, then? It’ll be such a sight to behold!”

Chuuya almost chokes on his own insults.

---

Dazai’s become so much more annoying as compared to when they were still Double Black years ago.

Despite the many insults and witty remarks that rain down upon both of them (and for the love of god, Dazai, /stop/ trying to persuade the nurses to commit a double suicide with you, you insane maniac, I’m right here), they eventually manage to laugh their antics off with a silly smile each and every time.

(... Though, Chuuya think it’s more so that he could continue keeping up a brave front before Dazai.)

---

When Chuuya tries to write a letter to Kouyou to inform her about his progress in rehabilitation and to let her know he’s doing well, he discovers that his own handwriting, elegant, stylish, a trait he takes pride in, has taken a sharp turn for the worse.

He tries to simply shake it off (Kouyou would forgive him for being sick, wouldn’t she?), and attempts to seal the envelope, but as he does so, his fingers stiffen all of a sudden, refusing to listen to him, and he watches in muted horror as it slips from his unmoving fingers, and onto the floor... just by Dazai’s feet.

“If you so much dare as to read it out loudー”

Dazai doesn’t say a word as he picks up the envelope, and finishes up the sealing job on his behalf, before he slides the envelope onto the bedside table.

“Do you need me to deliver it to her on your behalf?” His voice is soft, patient (and it pulls at Chuuya’s heartstringsー)

Chuuya turns away, feeling abashed, though it’s largely due to his careless fumble from earlier.

“... Please.”

---

Today, Chuuya notices Dazai is slightly roughed up; his fingers are more chapped than usual, the bandages that cover his arms are whiter than usual, and there’s a plaster patch securely taped to his cheek, successfully concealing the wound under.

“What kind of trouble did you get into, now?” he asks, as Dazai grabs another chair and seats himself by the bedside. “Let me see thatー” He grabs one of the detective’s arms, noticing the slightly thicker layers that bind the wrist area.

“It’s nothing much,” Dazai hums as he shakes his head. “... Just got a little roughed up by some rogues is all.”

It’s very brief, he could have imagined, but Chuuya thinks Dazai looks slightly conflicted despite his words.

---

“Chuuya, if it ever came down to it, would you join me in a double suicide?” Dazai asks one day.

“Have you finally gone mad?” Chuuya snarks with a smirk. “No one in the right mind would ever consent to such a thing.”

“You’re right,” the detective replies cheerily. “Besides, a beautiful woman’s so much better than a ragged Chuuya!”

When Dazai smoothly dodges an enraged Mafioso’s roundhouse kick, much to the latter’s irritation, a tinkling laughter of sheer glee rings out into the distance.

---

“... and then that bastard decides it was a good idea to drop me on the floor!” the executive loudly whines as he sits in the hospital garden with Kouyou. He throws up his hands in the air in exasperation, because who else wouldn’t be frustrated from having to deal with Dazai’s annoying pranks and insults on a constant basis?

“It sounds like Dazai’s been taking good care of you.” Kouyou holds a hand to her lips, as if she’s trying to hide a smile behind her long sleeves.

“Good care? Ane-san, he’ll be the death of me,” Chuuya groans in vexation. “Who else neglects a patient’s well being, and goes out to flirt with the nurses and invite them to commit a double suicide with him instead? If there’s anyone who has a more deranged sense of camaraderie, it can only be Dazai.”

“... It sounds like you’re having fun, though,” the female Mafioso comments, and Chuuya barely manages to catch a twinkle in her scarlet irises before it disappears into dark worry. “I’m glad to hear everything’s going well. The Mafia… has grown to become quite lonely without your daily training with Akutagawa going on and your French music playing in your quarters.”

Her voice trails off into silence, and Chuuya places a hand over hers in reassurance. Upon the contact, Kouyou looks up at him, and her tense eyes begin to soften when she sees the patient trying so hard to smile before her.

“It’s alright, ane-san. I’mー” he hesitates for a brief moment, “ーstill here.”

          I’m standing right here ー

(... He says this, but who knows just how much longer can he continue this facade?

The mere thought of it makes him shudderー)

---

Chuuya has forgotten how boring a long, uneventful day can be.

---

“Dazai?" the patient asks one day. "What do you think it means to be living as a human?”

“Are you sure you should be asking me that?” An amused smile.

Chuuya frowns in confusion at his old partner’s vague response. “Why the fuck not?”

“I’m no longer human, remember?” Dazai jokes, making a nod towards his own Ability, and Chuuya almost kicks him in the crotch.

---

It’s an insane struggle to try and walk normally without the aid of his Ability, especially having used it like an enhancement drug for practically four years straight.

Gripping the parallel bars with a death-like grip, Chuuya slowly lumbers towards the other end of the aisle. Each time he inhales feels like another painful stab to his lungs. It’s ridiculously arduous to maintain his sense of balance without relying on the iron bars for an extended period of time and risk falling on his front. Several times he almost falls onto his knees, with the parallel bars serving as his only saving grace. It’s so difficult, so exhausting, and so, so fucking bothersomeー

When he finally reaches the end of the narrow passage, he leans against one side of the isle for support, letting pants of exhaustion pull themselves out from his lips. When was the last time he had tried walking without his Ability?

It seems like this entire time, he’s been stranded at an abandoned bus stop, anticipating the ride that will never arrive.

Yet, when Dazai gently pulls at his hand, commending him on a job well done today with that disgustingly cheerful voice of his, and patiently guides him back to the wheelchair so he could be wheeled back (though he knows Dazai’s only helping simply because he has a responsibility to fulfil), he feels like he’s finally… finally moving forward...

at last...

..

.

.

---

Chuuya misses, yearns for the feeling where he’s in complete control over his own self and the surroundings.

He misses the moments where he assumes superiority over everything else and have everything twist and bend at his very whim.

---

As Chuuya struggles up the stairs without the aid of a wheelchair (because when’s the next time he’ll be allowed to walk freely again?) , he slips and sprains his ankle in the process.

The all-too-familiar pain gushes back into his senses like flood waves washing over his entire being, and the sensation of blood once again from external trauma from his face splashes onto the beige-coloured flooring. His eyes began to drip with tears once more, and the walls that had always surrounded and offered him their unconditional support just collapse around him as the scene that unfurls before him spins and distorts into a converging spiral in a more than recognisable manner. His hands weakly press against the wall beside him, but he’s still unable to pull himself up from the dead weight of his uncooperative legs. With each small jostle, pain violently ripples across his entire leg and throughout his entire body.

He’s been through the exact same shit so many fucking times already, so whyー why the fuck does he still continue to cry?

Why can’t ー why... can’t he s-stop cry ー g?

He’s long forgotten how painful it is to collapse into a complete mess, lost and all alone, with no one by his sideー

For the first time in years since the onset of the symptoms, Dazai isn’t there, so he firmly grits his teeth and miserably sits in a slump at the bottom of the stairs, hand resting against his swelling ankle, tightly closing his eyes and fervently wishing for the pain to just go awayー

Chuuya has never realised simply how much he’s been depending on others up till now.

He feels disgusted at himself, he feels... absolutely... powerless...

---

It’s only obligation, Chuuya tells himself repeatedly, as if trying to convince himself of a certain truth. He’s only here because he promised ane-san and feels responsible.

Don’t get misled ー

Dazai will never, never care about you like this ー

He says this, but Chuuya finds himself unable to stop himself from caring for him whenever Dazai becomes yet another product of a failed suicide attempt every single time he comes by to visit. He doesn’t stop himself from reaching out, and doesn’t stop himself from lightly tracing the area where the layers of bandages only thickened every now and then.

Why do you do this to yourself? It’s painful, it’s sorrowful…

---

Why does he continue to care for Dazai when he knows it’ll never be fully reciprocated?

---

The first time Chuuya wakes up from a nightmare, he wakes up alone in his ward, laborious heaving, clammy hands, and completely drenched in cold sweat.

He hasn’t had one ever since their deaths years ago.

But now it’s all rushing back to him; the grotesque images of bloody mangled corpses discarded onto the floor, the mountain of sacrifices that lay beneath his feet, and the scarlet rain that patters from above, staining his clothes and drenching his skin in glaring, bloody redー

Chuuya almost forgets what it’s like to breathe.

---

Dazai must’ve figured out his torment extends beyond his physical limits, because his cheer level significantly dips when he seems to notice the dark circles under Chuuya's eyes, and that he's still rather shaken by the haunting visions he’s seen in his dreams even after night has passed.

(Without Dazai's annoying nature, it almost feels so out of place ー)

---

It’s ridiculously heavy to walk nowadays, Chuuya realises.

It’s even heavier to keep everything suppressed in his heart without telling a single soul to share the burden of his emotions.

---

Chuuya’s legs finally give way completely one day.

He doesn’t know what exactly happened, because before he realises it, he’s on the floor. No matter how hard he tries to pull himself up, his legs continue to weigh him down. In a final attempt to try and stand on his own feet, he tries to activate his Ability, waiting for that all-too-familiar surge of power flow into him once more, let him assume total, absolute control once moreー

But nothing came.

Chuuya feels utterly nauseous. His head is spinning and his heart is painfully twisting into incomprehensible knots. All that surrounds him is white noise that screams into his ears, disorientating his very sense of self as black spots begin to dance in his vision. He doesn’t hear the door opening or the rushing sounds of someone bending down by his side, doesn’t even realise someone’s shaking him until suddenly, somehow, Dazai’s face manages to drift into his field of view.

“...uuya! … Chーya, are you ーright?!”

Now being aware of his physical presence, he barely hears Dazai’s voice trying to grate on his nerves as per usual, desperately trying to haul him back into reality as the dark foggy view before him gradually clears.

“Chuuya, can you hear me?! Get a hold of yourself!”

When he’s (finally) able to make sense of Dazai’s existence, he couldn’t even muster the courage to insult him as usual.

“D-Dazai…” he manages to stammer after a while as the said detective wordlessly pulls him into a comforting embrace; the soft, gentle kind that they always did to assure the other while they were still in the peak of their childhood. Except...

“I… I can’t… walk anymore…”

The image of Dazai’s face illuminates brightly as it swims in the water pooling at his eyes. In a fit of irate desperation, Chuuya furiously pounds his fist against his leg in an attempt to get them working again as he watches Dazai’s face fall in dismay, but to no avail.

It’s so, so absurdly heavy...

“I-I can’t… can’t even use m-my Ability anymore…” he chokes out as he simply collapses into Dazai’s embrace, letting the spasms of grief quake and wrench his entire body.

He feels the pull of gravity grabbing at his legs, as though it’s coercing him into the depths of the abyss.

It’s almost as if... he’s carrying the weight of the entire world…

For the first time, Chuuya’s at the complete mercy of gravity.

For the first time, Chuuya feels absolutely useless.

---

Sometimes, Chuuya thinks it’s easier to just fall and forget about everything else.

All he has to do is to let go, and let gravity do the restー

---

Waking up from nightmares of his past subordinates that continue to haunt him eventually becomes a daily routine.

With every time Chuuya snaps out of it, the shock and terror that usually follows after gradually numbs, and before he knows it, he’s become accustomed to it.

It wouldn’t surprise him if he eventually ends up being labelled a monster; someone who isn't human, and he'd be perfectly fine with it.

---

This time, Chuuya doesn’t say anything when Dazai jokingly asks Chuuya to commit a double suicide with him.

When he’s already lost so much, the idea of simply letting everything go seemed much more appealing than continuing to struggle.

---

When Kouyou extends an invitation for Chuuya to attend a wedding between two fellow Port Mafia members the coming weekend, Chuuya finds it extremely difficult to decline her offer. Especially since the request comes from Kouyou herself.

“I think it’ll do you some good to get some fresh air, aside from being cooped up in the hospital grounds all day,” she simply explains, when she slides over the small envelope with the wedding invitation card onto the table. “Besides, I think they’d love to have full attendance of the Mafia for such a joyous occasion. Even Mori and Elise are attending.” Her last statement raises Chuuya’s eyebrows in astonishment.

He quietly eyes the elegant writing in gold ink on the top of the envelope, silently envying how people are still able to write while exuding such gracefulness in their handiwork. Compared to them, he... heー

(ー is about to lament how he’s practically lame by this point of time; he can’t move freely; he’s only going to be a greater burden to everyone if he goesー)

Kouyou interrupts his train of thought. “Though, I won’t force you to go if you don’t want to.” She smiles softly. “It’s your choice after all. But Chuuyaー” she leans in and gently pats the said patient’s shoulder, “you’re never a burden.”

“Ane-san…” 

(He doesn’t even realise he’s been shaking this entire time until Kouyou’s hand compels him to stop.)

“No matter what happens, you’re always one of us.”

---

“I’m pretty sure ane-san only invited me, so why the hell are you here?”

A wheelchair-bound Chuuya scowls in sheer grimace at Dazai, who merrily continues to push the wheelchair forward towards the couple with an air of indifference. They’d spent some time bickering and struggling to force a suit on Chuuya back at the hospital, and it also took some time to find an available wheelchair they could quietly snag from the hospital’s reserves without raising suspicions, and even bolting out of the hospital doors had proved to be an arduous task when both of them just wouldn’t stop bickering, making them stop to wrestle against each other from time to time.

“Now, now, ane-san told me to take care of you, so I’m just simply fulfilling my duty as your loyal caretaker,” he cheerfully replies, which only serves to grate at Chuuya’s nerves further.

“It’s all thanks to you that we’re late!” the patient complains, tempted to just turn back and deliver a swift punch to the gut. “Why was I even forced to wait for your sorry fucking ass while you took your time changing?! You’re not even the one that was invited!”

Much to his exasperation, Dazai simply gives him a cheeky grin.

It’s incredibly ironic at how members of the Port Mafia, who have lived to kill, and killed to live, are celebrating a joyous occasion, at a church, of all places. The thought amuses him greatly.

Killers, with their hands stained with the blood of others, congregated at a single spot, coming together at one of the most holy places possible to celebrate their own happinessー

          ー then again, it could mean that even someone like him has a shot at happiness ー

They reach the entrance of the church where the wedding procession is taking place, being just in time for the bouquet throwing. Chuuya’s glad that despite his disability, he’s still able to be part of the celebration of his subordinates’ happiness. He catches sight of the bride beaming with a smile so dazzling that it’s almost inviting, urging him to revel in the same ebb and flow of simple contentment as the rest of the guests, as though it’s relentless trying to sweep him away to a dream so blissful and euphoric that he wouldn’t want to wake upー

He almost misses the flurry of petals as the bouquet is thrown into the air, blocking out the path of sunlight for a split second as the sudden shadow cast over him snaps him out of his reverie, plunging his ephemeral daydreams about life’s pleasures into absolute nothingnessー

He’s painfully reminded of how happiness doesn’t ーneverー last forever, and it burns.

---

Occasionally, Chuuya thinks back on how he’s unable to save several of his subordinates in the past due to his weakness.

If he’s saved that unnecessary energy wasted on him, then maybe, just maybe, he could have used that energy to save at least one.

For someone who’s put his own well-being above others at the cost of their lives, can he really call himself deserving to live?

Does he really deserve to continue living as a human being?

Does he deserve to die as a ‘human’?

---

After the bouquet throwing comes the food reception.

Amidst the hustle and bustle of guests that continue to weave in and out, their incessant chatter drifting out into distant buzzing, Chuuya looks down at the bouquet that continues to sit on his lap; the plethora of flowers that seem to be able to just spring to life any moment and embrace him in a transient veil of happiness. He absentmindedly thumbs the petals, feeling the soft sensation gently tickling his fingertips.

(Catching a bouquet would mean one would be blessed with luck in romance in the very near futureーor so how tradition goes, anyway)

"Hey, Dazai," he starts as he glances at the newlyweds, smiles gracing their faces as they revel in their newfound happiness set into stone. Unaware, he tugs at the petal, the force hard enough to detach it from the stem. The sudden feeling of having forced a petal to detach from the flower bulb jolts him awake from his daze.

… This isn’t right, he realises with a pang. This doesn’t feel right at all.

For someone who’s lost the right to even primarily function properly as a human, he’s sure he doesn’t even deserve this supposed symbol of happiness ー

The more Chuuya mulls over it, the more painful his stomach lurchs. There's so many what-ifs spinning in his mind and throwing his train of thought into disarray, because what if he wasn't sick, what if he hadn't gotten the bouquet, what if, what if–

When Dazai bends down slightly to look at him, Chuuya could only manage a shaky smile.

"... Do you think I'll be able to get marriedー?"

Dazai looks down at Chuuya, and notices those sky-blue eyes are hazy with some semblance of longing as he quietly fumbles with the petals of the bouquet. He’s almost compelled to mock Chuuya again, tease him for having luck bad enough to attract the bouquet of flowers (he doesn't mean it, of course), about to poke at how little Chuuya is going to get married so soon and how Kouyou would be deeply saddened by his departureー

"Hey, Dazai... Do you think I'll be able to get married ー ?"

When he hears Chuuya's slightly broken voice, trembling out of fear for the unknown, his heart shatters.

---

Ever since the wedding, neither Chuuya nor Dazai attempt to exchange meaningless words like they used to; only the necessary “Are you doing okay?” and “Do you need to go to this place?” that made sure the patient’s needs are properly attended to, out of concern his obligation as Chuuya’s caretaker.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, Dazai, with forced cheer, asks if Chuuya would be willing to join him in a double suicide.

Chuuya slowly looks at him with slightly incredulous eyes, pain still evident in his eyes, before he smiles softly, as if he’s just heard one of the most ridiculous things ever (when has Dazai’s suicidal tendencies not been ridiculous?)

“... Stupid,” he murmurs in a raspy voice, before turning his eyes away just slightly. Dazai notices that Chuuya’s turned-up lip is still trembling and his sapphire eyes are dangerously wavering.

It hurts to laugh.

---

Yet again, Dazai utterly fails in another suicide attempt.

This time, when he drops by the hospital, having increased the layers of bandages that wrap around his wrists, Chuuya doesn’t say anything. When Dazai holds out his hand at Chuuya’s request, however, he weakly takes his wrist in his own hand, and brings it to his lips.

No words are spoken, but when Dazai feels the dull pressure of Chuuya’s lips pressing against his thickly bandaged skin, he notices tears leaking out from his lashes, dripping onto the pallid fabric of the bandage, and his heart begins to falter along with the numbing pain radiating in his wrists.

Dazai Osamu is nothing more than a mere scoundrel who’s simply taken on the notorious guise of Port Mafia’s youngest executive, a good-for-nothing who’s abandoned his partner too many times to count, and yetー

Why is Chuuya being so gentle with him of all people?

Why does he still care for him, and cries for him, even after all the atrocious things he’s done?

--- 

“Dazai, what does it mean to live? What does life mean to you?”

It’s a simple question that Dazai is all too familiar with, because he’s been asked this very same question by people from all walks of life, people who needed someone to confide in, people like himselfー

(Or perhaps, it’s because he’s asked himself this question too many times whenever he tries to commit suicide.)

So when Chuuya asks him a question similar to the one he’s asked himself so many years ago, he opens his mouth andー

“Nothing ー”

The same answer that instinctively crosses his mind is short, simple, but fleeting, and dies on his lips before he can muster up the courage to properly reply.

Of all people, why is Chuuya asking someone who’s craved for death for so long?

“Living? Wouldn’t it mean fighting for whatever you desire most? I’m fighting for the day I can finally commit a double suicide with a beautiful lady, of course,” he blabs on without a second thought, before stopping to reflect on his own words more thoroughly.

What on earth is he exactly fighting for, though? What… /who/ is he living for?

Confused, flustered, and searching for an answer, his own gaze falls on Chuuya’s tense face, the face that expects an honest explanation, and lamely excuses himself when nothing decent manages to come out of his mouth.

---

Dazai Osamu feels like a wretched coward.

He’s been wandering the world outside the dull, mundane life of Port Mafia like a stray dog for four years already. He’s answered any and every kind of question with skillful wit and artful deception. He’s gotten out of situations much messier than this based on the many times he’s  indirectly pulled at the strings behind the scenes.

All of this, and yet, he’s unable to skillfully face Chuuya with sheer, unabashed honesty.

Pounding his fist against his chest, he valiantly tries to stop his heart from painfully hammering against his chest, but to no avail. It’s exhausting to deal with this sudden surge of emotions that never seems to stop flowingー

It’s difficult to breathe. To die from suffocation would be very painful, he realises, and he hopes his death doesn’t end up as such.

… Dazai feels like an utter hypocrite.

---

“... Hey, Dazai… What do you think it means to be living as a human?”

It’s the exact same question that Chuuya has asked weeks ago, under similar circumstances.

Yet, his forlorn expression, his eyes filled with such utter desperation... mercilessly tears Dazai apartーand he (still) couldn’t bring himself to give Chuuya a proper answer, knowing that if he doesn’t tread carefully, he’ll completely destroy Chuuyaー

---

When Dazai visits Chuuya’s ward once again, an alarming clatter that’s all too familiar punctures the otherwise still air in the hospital, like an abrupt gunshot that mercilessly pierces the air and shatters the deafening silence that hangs heavily around him. Upon opening the door, Chuuya being completely sprawled in a heap on the floor again immediately catches his eye, and within no more than a fraction of deadly hesitation, he leaps to Chuuya’s side.

Chuuya’s expression is nothing short of dazed, his pale face marred with streaks of tears that had long dried up, and Dazai doesn’t need any other signs to tell that he’s completely, utterly shaken from his inability to control his legs any more. Desperate, he firmly grips his shoulders tightly and begins to rock him back and forth in minute movements, trying to snap him out of his stupor.

When Chuuya fails to respond, Dazai feels a sickening sense of dread welling up inside of him. “Chuuya…?” he breathes slowly.

The executive blinks for a few moments, before seemingly allowing reality to sink in. (It’s almost just like the other time, onlyー)

“D-Dazai… It’s you…”

“... What are you doing out of your bed by yourself?” Dazai pushes out a smile filled with forced cheer as his trembling grip on the patient’s shoulders only tightened even further. His hands are clammy and he’s trying so hard to not let his quivering lips betray him. “If you wanted to walk outside, you should have alerted a nurse!”

It’s alright. It’ll be alright.

It’s ridiculously laborious to just force out a smile in an attempt to cheer Chuuya up, and it’s absolutely nerve-wracking.

It’ll be alright, it always has been, it’ll definitely be ー

Chuuya looks as though he’s about to cry, but no tears come out. Instead, he collapses against the detective’s figure, his clenched fist powerlessly pounding down on the latter’s shoulder again and again. Even for someone like Dazai, who has listened and offered help to many over the past two years, he’s unable to do anything significant about Chuuya’s dead weight pushing down against his body except try to comfort Chuuya, tell him that he’s there for him (I’m here for you) as he encircles his arms around the patient, holding the latter as close as possible.

It’s alright, it’s alright, everything will be alr ー

His crestfallen face is ridden with absolute despair, and his body doesn’t stop shaking.

“W-Why does it... have to be me...? Why… am I... so… so useless…?”

Frustrated, the executive irately pound his fist against his thigh over and over, and over again, and again, and again, before finally letting his hand fall onto his side, relentlessly tormented by his disability. “I hate this, Dazai,” he eventually bursts out, voice overflowing with boiling bitterness as he curls up into a fetal position in his shaking embrace. “I hate, hate, h-hate how I-I’m so fucking p-powerless and I’m only progressively getting w-worse, and, and that I… I c-can’t fucking do anything to fix itー”

Everything will ー alright, I’m sure, it’ll ー defini ー be alr ー

Chuuya’s sorrow must be tearing through Dazai’s entire being as well, because he realises he can’t stop his own tears from escaping.

---

It stings to watch Chuuya fight so hard.

It’s... difficult... to accept that despite his efforts, he’s only delaying the inevitable…

---

The night is young.

Dazai silently watches over Chuuya as he sleeps, the same wretched expression that flashes across his sleeping face every night only serving as a haunting reminder about the patient’s deteriorating state.

Something within him begins to bleed profusely as he recounts the times Chuuya has been so vulnerable (every day).

Before he realises it, the detective finds himself calling out Chuuya’s name, but his voice stops just right at the edge of his throat, and all that comes out is a strangled sob. Shocked at his own quivering voice, he hastily tries to swallow it down, before furiously shaking his head, as if he’s forcibly flinging the tears that’s starting to pool from his eyes.

It’d be bad if Chuuya wakes up in the middle of the night and finds him a sniveling mess, and ends up teases him for being so out of character (damn that chibi, always so irritating…

… Still, Dazai smiles a little fondly at the recollection.)

"Hey, Dazai... Do you think I'll be able to get married–?"

Chuuya’s torn expression back at the church continues to haunt the back of his mind, and Dazai’s chest scorches and sears at the mere memory, scalding his heart with a burning ache. He knows that Chuuya hasn’t been able to take his illness well from the very beginning, and it’s worse when he’s watched others attain that one kind of happiness that has slipped out of his reach just right before his very own eyesー

“Why does it have to be me?”

His cries from that day continue to haunt him, and loops over and over in his head, like a record tape that’s broken beyond repair. It wounds him when he watches Chuuya beat himself up again and again over his growing inability to do even simple daily tasks now. It’s painful when he watches him try his best

only to eventually fall, and fail, again...

again... and

again...

...

..

.

… he hasn’t been able to feel anything until recently, he realises with a pang.

Not since he defected from the Mafia.

(Somewhere deep inside. he wishes he could go back to the old days. It wouldn’t be as laborious or as painful otherwise.)

He vividly remembers that one moment when he had looked back at the Port Mafia headquarters one last time before fleeing, with Odasaku’s final words resonating strongly in his head.

Whether you're on the side who kills people or the side who saves people, nothing beyond what you would expect will appear. Nothing in this world can fill that lonely hole you have.

“... Odasaku,” he murmurs softly as he looks out of the window. “I think… I just might have found the one that would fill my loneliness. The loneliness that you spoke of before you died, remember?”

The silence of nature that answers him is strangely comforting.

“He’s... brilliantly annoying,” he continues with a fond smile on his face, “he’s also quite gullible most of the time, but he’s a trustworthy partner, he cares so much for his teammates, and he’s super strong too… and I wish both of you had met back then in Port Mafia so you’d be able to know him better. I think… you two would be able to be good friends.”

Dazai’s dark eyes well with hot tears that prick his eyes as they overflow and trickle down his cheeks. His eyes momentarily dart to the side to catch a glimpse of an asleep Chuuya, face still tormented by pain and suffering. “It’s… painful,” he finally admits to the deafening silence that hangs around him. “It’s absolutely torturous to watch him suffer every day, and it’s worse when you know he’s… he’s never going to become better.”

Be on the side that saves people.

If both sides are the same, become a good man. Save the weak, and protect the orphans. Neither good nor evil means much to you, I know... but that'd make you at least a little bit better.

“You told me to be on the side that saves people... But if the end is already set into stone, will they really be saved?” Dazai deeply ponders on the final words his dear friend had left him with.

But if everyone dies in the end, would that mean he’s wasted the past two years trying to save people?

He shakes his head in vehement denial right after the thought surfaced in his head, trying to beat down the thoughts of death that came to his mind on sheer impulse. That can’t be right, he realises with a pang, because otherwise humans wouldn’t be fighting so hard to the death just to survive. His experience at the Agency should have told him otherwiseー

Why do people try so hard to be human? It’s because...

“I think… to be human is to continue fighting for what you believe in,” Dazai finally answers Chuuya the next morning. “They continue fighting, while living on that very belief that they anchor themselves with, to survive another day.”

“So, pleaseー Chuuyaー” To Dazai, his own voice almost sounds like a broken desperate plea.

He places a hand on top of Chuuya’s and squeezes it tight enough for the latter to realise the weight of his words, and when he realises Chuuya’s starting to tear up, his own insignificant heart begins to twist in turn. Knowing Chuuya, he must have been so, so harrowed by everything that has happened, and the deaths of his own subordinates from past jobs weighing much more heavily on him than any other Mafioso must’ve caused a sense of survivor’s guilt to bloom from within and worsen his torment.

ー or perhaps, Chuuya deems himself too guilty to die, because he doesn’t deserve it ー

“There’s no guilt in wanting to die, after considering everything that has happened,” he continues, his voice slightly shaky as Chuuya blinks back tears, evidently shocked by his words. (He must be wondering if Dazai’s finally gone mad) “But, I’m sure they had no regrets when they went into combat with you, so… please… don’t feel guilty about wanting to die, or feel that you don’t deserve to live, Chuuya.

Live, not to harbour the guilt over their death, but so that you can carry their wills, along with your own, to continue living.”

He bends down and takes the sobbing patient in a comforting embrace, letting the silent tears roll down his face.

“I believe in you, so please continue believing in yourself as well.”

 ---

It still stings to watch Chuuya fight so hard. It still burns to deal with Chuuya’s pain, his pain.

Dazai hates... hates despises dealing with pain the most.

But if it’ll make Chuuya feel better, he doesn’t mind it at all.

---

Chuuya doesn’t realise when it had exactly started, but he discovers that now, when he wakes up from another haunting nightmare, Dazai’s miraculously there by his side to soothe his frazzled nerves and shaken emotions. He’s always there for Chuuya to collapse on, caressing his head ever so gently so as to calm the raging feelings stirring up a storm from within, and to protect him in his most vulnerable state.

Each and every time, he’d stroke Chuuya’s bedraggled hair and softly whispers that everything would be alright.

To Chuuya, it’s strangely comforting, and it hits so close to home.

Because Dazai’s there with him, everything seems to become more bearableー

          and it’s like everything will be alright ー

---

“Dazai, what if I told you I’ve never been kissed before?”

It’s an honest question, plain and direct. It’s a silly question, because with Chuuya’s suaveness and refined elegance that he’s always prided himself in during his Mafioso days, who is he even kiddingー

Still, Dazai plays along as his eyebrows raise and he glances at Chuuya. A small smirk hangs at the edge of his mouth when he eventually realises what Chuuya’s getting at.

“... That’s really sad, Chuuya, don’t you think?” he drawls, his voice full of taunt. “To think the great Nakahara Chuuya, the notorious suave romantic in Port Mafia, has never had his first kiss in his entire twenty-two years of life. And here he lies, in a hospital ward, secluded from the rest of society!” He dramatically throws his hands up in the air, and loudly proclaims, “Alas, what a cruel fate!”

“I was just joking with you, you bandage-wasting device,” Chuuya retorts haughtily. “I’ll have you know I’ve kissed many ladies and swept them off their feet countless times during missions, especially over the past four years.”

“Oh?” A sly grin. “I’m intrigued. Do tell me more, dear Chuuya.” (Chuuya almost chokes on his breath.)

“I mean, when you think about it, no one could ever hope to be as charismatic as me when it comes down to it... Not even you, shitty Dazai,” the patient brags with an air of arrogance as he folds his arms across his puffed out chest.

Chuuya isn’t lying when he speaks about his own good traits with pride, though. He fondly recalls the days when the both of them attracted quite the crowd of women from time to time while on the job. Thinking about it now, however, he wonders if it’s just Dazai being the solitary lady magnet, because as far as he remembers he was so damn fucking short even when compared to womenー

His eyes begin to soften with nostalgia as memories from the past begin to surface from the dark recesses of his mind.

They’ve had their ups and downs, and they’ve always been quarrelling ever since their childhood, but Chuuya realises that each and every moment spent with Dazai has been something incredibly unforgettable, because whenever he recollects the past with others, Dazai’s always the first person that comes to mind.

(He’s also painfully aware of how all of these will only come to pass, to be eventually forgotten...)

Dazai must’ve noticed his troubled feelings, because he seats himself just by Chuuya’s side, and his hand reaches out to pat his head. His touch is gentle, soothing, as though it could lull him to sleep anytime.

When Chuuya makes no move to flinch away, Dazai’s hand falls to lightly touch the side of his face.

It’s cold to the touch, but Dazai’s breath is warm and barely tickles against his skin.

It makes Chuuya’s chest ache with lingering sorrow and longing, because he knows even if they acknowledge these raging feelings, it will never last.

Dazai must be feeling the same, too, because his tormented expression is suffocating.

---

Whenever Dazai smiles, time seems to momentarily halt and the world seems to still.

Chuuya wishes time would just stop forever.

---

“Chuuya, have you ever thought about whether you’ve been living your life as a human to the fullest?”

The said patient simply tilts his head at the odd question in confusion. It’s understandable, because all this time Chuuya’s been the one asking what it means to be human instead of the other way around.

“... What do you mean...?”

Dazai draws in a sharp breath, as if he’s hesitating to continue. Still, he pushes on.

“Mine... has been a life of much shame. I’ve killed so many without remorse, and what’s worse is that I don’t feel any sense of guilt about it.” Dazai gives a low chuckle as he runs a hand through his brown locks. “Back in Port Mafia, I was searching… searching for that one reason to continuing living. I thought the violence and bloodshed would give me something in return, but I ended up straying into the darkness without a definite destination.”

A brief flicker of disappointment. “... So you thought there was nothing... that could excite you? Not even... the battles we... fought together?”

“... It was all too easy… Too mundane,” the detective admits, though not without reserve. (As expected of the brain of Double Black.) “... Whenever I was asked what I wanted, my first impulse was to answer ‘nothing’. The thought went through my mind that it didn't make any difference, that nothing was going to make me happy.” Dazai’s wretched expression as he says this makes Chuuya’s heart lurch painfully.

He then props up his hand with his elbow, and rests his head on his palm. “I then thought, perhaps death would be more exciting than life,” he muses, with an air of wistfulness. “Life’s too transient, too short-lived for anyone to do anything. If I had eternity, however, well… I’d have all the time I need to find and chase after that one single reason.”

“...”

“I... must be really messed up to actively chase after death even after so long, aren’t I? ” The once-executive closes his eyes, as if reflecting on what he had just said. “... I don’t even have the slightest idea on what it must be like to live the life of a human being.”

The patient lets his hand rest on Dazai’s, his fingertips ghosting over the bandaged knuckles.

“... I think, for one... to be human...” he starts slowly, “is to be able to... determine their own path, to make choices on their own... Weren’t you the one who told me that being human is to continue fighting for what you believe in?” His fingers feebly tap the back of the latter’s hand with miniscule movements. “Shitty Dazai, you’ve made the choice to leave the mafia... on your own, so... doesn’t that already speak volumes...?”

“That... was only after Odasaku had spurred me onーtold me to become a good person. If he hadn’t said anything, Iー”

“In the end, you were the one who made the final choice to leave,” Chuuya interrupts with a frown. “... Am I wrong?”

Dazai remains silent, seeming to thoroughly ponder over Chuuya’s words.

“You could have chosen to stay. Yet, here you are... You believed... in Oda’s words and ended up here.” Chuuya weakly raises his hand (albeit with great difficulty) and lets it fall sloppily on Dazai’s head.

(It’s such a shame, how he doesn’t even have enough strength to just whack Dazai on the head any more...)

His hand eventually finds the side of the latter’s face, and gently thumbs his cheek. “Even if you think you were a mistake in this world, that you’re not human, shouldn’t you be living life to the fullest? We’re all mistakes, the lot of us.” A bitter laugh as he thinks back to the broken childhoods that led them to their respective situations.

“Yet, we still continue... to fight... to survive another day. Isn’t it the same... for the Mafia, the Agency... even tーe Guild? Doesn’t believing in something... someone makes life worth living, makes us all human? You chose... to believe in Oda and his words, and tーy... try to become a better person. I don’t see how... that discounts you from being as such.”

“What about you then, Chuuya? Did you... have anything you believed in all these years?”

Chuuya seems to hesitate for a moment, taking some time to ponder over his answer.

“... I believed in you, Dazai. I really believed... you’d become better, because it’s you we’re talking about, after ーll...”

Because Chuuya has always believed Dazai would always be able to make the best out of every situation without fail.

Dazai holds his breath, taking in the patient’s words. He then leans into Chuuya’s fragile touch, revelling in the small area of warmth as he places his own hand above the patient’s. A somewhat torn expression; almost forlorn, graces his face.

“... Then, Chuuya, have I been a good person that saves others...? One that Odasaku ー and you ー had believed I would become?”

One that has finally become worth saving?

Chuuya gives a small smile in response, and Dazai’s heart catches at the end of his throat.

“... Better than what you used... to be, yeah.”

---

When Chuuya finds himself even more breathless than before, he desperately grabs at his chest, clutching the cotton fabric of his clothes and twisting it painfully. The burning sensation blooming in his chest waxes and wanes, as if threatening to spill out of his very being any moment. It’s hard to breathe, it’s hard to even make sense of his surroundings properly, it could only meanー

I’m going to die.

The truth, cold and harsh and painful, presents itself unaltered and raw before him, and instinctively, a croaky sob forces its way out of his throatー

Alarmed by the shorter male’s sudden breakdown, Dazai immediately rushes over to the bedside. He holds Chuuya close to his chest, wholly embracing his lithe figure.

“Chuuya? What’s wrong?” 

Chuuya initially stiffens at the contact, before letting his body hang limp just like a still doll, as he gradually melts into Dazai’s touch.

“I… I don’t even know... when I’llー dieーー” he slowly admits in between tight gasps of air. “It’sーIt's soー fucking scaryー To not know w-when I’ll leーave this worldー”

Dazai gently pats Chuuya’s head as the latter sinks into his touch and buries his face in the former’s vest, quietly staining it with tears. He feels shaking hands slowly return the embraceーa painful, jarring reminder of just how much Chuuya’s physical condition has only declined from the very beginning.

“I-I’ve so maーny things I w-want... to do... and have yet to fulfil… There’s… soー so many… t-things……… so… so many...”

Chuuya cries softly on Dazai’s chest, letting the tears run freely, as though he’s been thoroughly beaten down by overwhelming sorrow.

“DazaiーI ーー I don’t wantー to die,” he drawls, his voice filled with utter torment. “I don’t want to dーie withoutーsaying a proper goodbyeー”

It hurts to speak.

It hurts even more to justー breatheー

---

“... I love you,” Dazai quietly confesses one day as he holds Chuuya’s hand in his own, pressing his lips against the white knuckles of his hand. “I love you, Chuuya.”

           ーand I don't want you to goー

Stunned by the sudden confession, Chuuya's unable to form comprehensible words in his mind as he desperately searches for a way to answer. Instead, he turns his head away in an attempt to hide his reddened cheeks, but when he opens his mouth in an attempt to try and return the same sentiments, his chest immediately constricts and his heart pounds painfully, and the words die into silent whispers of nothingness at his lips before he could say anything to Dazai in return.

"Dazai, I..."

When he tries to explain, but fails, Dazai merely gives a nod of understanding, a tender smile and holds him close. It's comforting, it's reassuring, it's harrowingー

          ーI'm so sorryー

No words are exchanged, but the silence is incredibly deafening, and Chuuya feels as though he’s about to breakー

Because it feels too much like goodbye.

---

For some reason, inhaling has become more of a chore than a natural process.

Chuuya snaps awake, breathless, his being thoroughly drenched in cold sweat, his heart furiously slamming against his chestー

Darkness ominously looms over him like a curtain as the wan moonlight trickles into the room. He feels the hand of death painfully squeezing his heart again, this time even harder than before, threatening to clench it, burst it, send him spiralling into an eternal abyss.

It hurts to even gasp for air when he thinks about the possibility of death being so frighteningly near.

---

Chuuya isn’t ready to die, he realises. (He’s never been.)

Tonight, it’s eerily silent. He figures he could give himself some sort of reprieve as comfort as he finally… finally lets his emotions wholly embrace his entire being; lets the sadness and the grief overwhelm his senses like a flood wave engulfing him and drowning himー

It’s too fast ー too soon ー

A trembling sob escapes his throat softly as a tear silently trickles down the side of his face. There are so many things he still wants to do, so many things he could have accomplished. He still wants to create more opportunities to celebrate victories with Kouyou and Mori with a drink, make sure he has properly smacked Dazai in the face for doing so much bullshit, for leaving him behind so many fucking times, wants toー

          ーHe hasn’t told Dazai “I love you” yetー

His anxious eyes frantically dart sideways, searching for that waste of bandages Dazai, and eventually catches sight of him slumped on the bedside, his head resting against his folded arms, his face marred with an expression that’s less than serene. Almost immediately, his burning apprehension dissipates into nothingness as he watches his back rise and fall in tandem with his breathing while he sleeps.

Recounting the recent memories with Dazai, he thinks about how Dazai’s somehow become a man overflowing with so much more emotions; about how he’s become a better man, as compared to his near-emotionless past self. His eyes soften with a tinge of wistful nostalgia, and his chest tightens in response to his feelings.

          ー He’s proud of him for having found something better in life, even though it may not last foreverー

These past few months, his heart has grown so much that even the expansive birdcage in his chest entrapping it feels like it’s about to burst anytime.

(He doesn’t know if he’ll eventually end up dying from heart failure, or from the myriad of emotions that threatens to spill over more and more, with each passing day.

It terrifies him... yet at the same time, it also indulges him...)

Chuuya's shaking fingers eventually manages to brush against Dazai’s still palm, and he smiles weakly at the faint contact. Dazai would probably mock him again for being so needy and clingy even while ill, before somehow making up for it with a cheeky grin.

Thinking about it suddenly makes Chuuya yearn for it, and his heart painfully lurches in turn.

Tears continue to flow as pain seizes his heart once more in a terrifying vice grip, and Chuuya knows he doesn’t have much time left to spare as compared to past heart-clenching incidents.

Tomorrow, he sees himself waking up to Dazai and his overly annoying smile that he hates (and loves) so much as usual, andー

“... I love youー” he slowly breathes out in a ragged whisper, “... Osamu.”

Nakahara Chuuya and Dazai Osamu.

Both names sound so ridiculously bad when put together, it's almost laughable.

Yet, at the same time, to Chuuya, it sounds just right, as if they were made for each other.

A fond smile creeps up to his lips, though he knows he won't live long enough to see Dazai return itー

---

It still hurts to breathe. It hurts so much to think about death.

But he has Dazai with him, and suddenly it doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

---

… Thank you, Dazai.

... Thank you for loving me.

... I'm sorry I couldn't return it properly in time.

Yet, you were still so kind, and never lost me in the dark.

... My only hope is that you continue to believe in happiness and embrace life.

... I'll be waiting for you at the other side when you're ready to share your stories with me.

... So, please don't leave just yet.

You have so much more in life waiting for youー

---

The night is no longer young. The snow meekly falls and the wind gently blows against the rage of the night.

Chuuya languidly dreams about Dazai tenderly holding his hand once more, the same soft smile gracing his thin lips, their fingers tightly intertwined with each other as they lose themselves in the other’s gaze, as if they’re falling in love with each other all over again. He hears Dazai’s distant laugh as he’s pulled along by the hand towards the infinite horizon that stretches out before them, and seeing his iridescent smile makes his heart stutter and euphoria bloom from within.

This warmth, this irreplaceable feeling, it’s just between the both of them...

A small breathless laugh escapes his bluish lips as Dazai holds him close, their foreheads touching, their warm breathes mingling with one another, murmurs of sweet nothings shared privately between the couple. As the veil of darkness closes in on them, Chuuya feels the comfort of Dazai’s skin brushing against his, and he knows he’s going to be alright, because it’s just the two of them together, lost in their own little world…

In this lonely night, it’s just… Dazai and him...

In this small space, it’s just

you and me

...

..

.

.

Sunlight streams into the hospital room and envelops Dazai in a soft golden cloak. The cold misty air clings to his bandaged skin, wrapping him in a thin shroud of cold air. Slowly blinking awake, he notices that Chuuya’s thin fingers are lightly grazing the pale knuckles of his hand, and he smiles fondly at the subtle contact.

He tilts his head upwards, and Chuuya’s all too serene sleeping face meets his gaze, causing him to slightly frown in confusion. As much as he favours the idea of Chuuya having an undisturbed rest, he would always be awake by now, no matter how much his heart had weakened, always spitting slurred insults in his face first thing in the morning whenever he wakes upー

Today, he’s quiet. Too quiet.

Time hangs heavily on his hands, and the atmosphere grows incredibly dense with languor.

“... Chuuya?” he nervously inquires, his voice thick and heavy with concern and dread. This can’t beー

His quivering hand stretches out and brushes against Chuuya’s deathly faded skin.

It’s icy cold to the touch, as if ー as if the fire within him had finally extinguishedー

The feeling of icy dread seeps into every orifice of his being as his nerves freeze, sending a jolt and snapping him awake.

It can’t be.

Dazai holds Chuuya close, stunned as he rests his ear against his chest where his heart should be. Nothing.

“C-Chuuya…? H-Hey…” he stammers...

It can’t be, it’s too soon for him to ー

“... T-This… this has to be a joke, right…?” Dazai’s hands are pale and clammy as he shakily holds Chuuya’s head close to him, slowly caressing the pale features of the patient’s face, before burying his face into dishevelled auburn locks of hair. He detects a faint scent of cinnamon, but even that is starting to dissipate…

It’s way ー too soon ー to leave ー

“W-We didn’t even... g-get to say g… goodbye, Chuuya,” Dazai chokes out as his trembling voice withers into nothing more than fragmented sobs. “... I-I didn’t getーto b... bid you... farewellー”

It’s agonising to breatheー accept and believe.

It’s suffocatingー and his chest radiates and burnsーー

          Not all dreams have happy endings.

          He, of all people, should’ve known that, especially after Odasaku, and yet ー

Trembling, he gingerly cradles Chuuya’s unmoving figure in his arms, the latter’s now cold skin stabbing his senses like an icy blade over, and over, and over again, the silence of a heartbeat's absence ringing in his ears like an agonising wail; a daunting reminder that dreams are merely ephemeral, never meant to last foreverー

He’s been an utter fool to dare hoping he still had time.

Time to remind Chuuya about his unconditional love for him,

time to share another fleeting moment of laughter,

time to whisper sweet nothings

and a silent plea to /please/

don’t go ー

It hurts so much just to think.

It hurts so much inside that he could /die/ ー

Deep down in the recesses of his heart, Dazai fervently wishes someone would wake him up from this horrid, unreal dreamー

Completely devastated by unbridled anguish, regret and absolute grief, Dazai’s entire world crashes down onto his shoulders, and as he holds Chuuya’s unmoving body close, desperately begging for those sky blue eyes of his to reveal themselves one more time,

just

one last time, please...

Dazai breathes, breathes, breathes,

chokes, tears, sobsー

ー screams ー

It’s foolish to hold on, Dazai realises.

It’s foolish, because he knows that Chuuya will never wake up again.

(And yet, he desperately holds on to that sliver of hope long gone, praying for time to unwind, praying for just one last time together......)

Port Mafia is never one to hold funerals, but instead hold collective memorial services where everyone would honour the sacrifices of their subordinates who had lost their lives in combat.

Today, however, an exception is specially made for one of the Mafia’s dearest executives.

Amidst the infinite number of lights that shine in Yokohama, the rain glows bright neon as they rain upon the city in a light shower. Waves and waves of soldiers, commanders and executives of the Mafia, people that once recognised the now deceased executive as their own, line up in front of the sheltered casket, its cover removed for all to catch a final glimpse of Nakahara Chuuya. 

Nakahara Chuuya, the executive who has worked his way from the very bottom to become the outstanding individual that everyone knows. A dedicated wine connoisseur who strove to only collect the finest of wines, yet was generous and kind to his fellow subordinates and comrades...

When it’s time to partake in the circling of the elevated casket to leave behind flowers as a final memento, every attendee produces from their pockets a stalk of white, a general symbol for a renewed life after death; a new beginning.

It’s the last thing they could at least do for Chuuya before they bid him a final goodbye...

Dazai Osamu, ever the uninvited guest, however, stands at the very end of the line, his fingers fondly thumbing the stalk of a red camellia, its bright petals incredibly glaring as compared to its other pure white counterparts.

Red camellias signify being in love… and perishing with grace.

When it’s Dazai’s turn to leave his own stalk of camellia behind, he delicately traces the edge of the casket, pulling himself in just a little to catch a final glimpse at the sleeping executive. He dips his hand into the casket, carefully placing the red camellia just above where his hands rest above his heart.

Chuuya has always loved red camellias. He’s always found them fitting for a man of such stylish caliber like him ー

And now, here Chuuya lies, with a smile so blinding, so fit for an elegant man and the most stylish hatrack he ever knew.

… It must be great to pass on in peace like this ー the perfect "suicide" he always used to dreamed of.

Wordlessly, Dazai leans forward a little, just enough to peer over at Chuuya’s serene face, and despite the small tugs that pull at his heart painfully, he gently places a tender kiss on his forehead; a final kiss bidding him a safe journey… 

“... Good night, Chuuya,” he murmurs against cold skin. It feels too much like goodbye...

I’ll see you soon.

---

The twinkle of the stars in the night sky barely compares to the blinding city lights of Yokohama.

Dazai stands atop the highest building of the city, immersing himself in the dazzling sea illuminated by the skyscrapers and the streets just beneath his feet.

It’s breathtaking, he realises as he stares in awe at the landscape. He’s only ever been up here to try and give his life away time and again, and experience the mere thrill of having the wind rush past his face as he closes his eyes and falls towards the force of gravity, but he’s never been able to bring himself to fully appreciate the beauty of Yokohama’s night view… until now, at least.

Chuuya would have definitely loved to see this view.

When Dazai begins to thinks about what he wants to do with his life from now on, he eventually recounts all the small moments when he’s been truly happy, the countless stories of success in the Agency, the many times Chuuya’s made his life so much brighter, when he’s felt that there was actually some degree of worth in his lifeー

Maybe, when he’s happy, when he’s enjoying life, life has so much more in store for him. Perhaps, life would then have a purpose.

So, for now, he chooses to believe in happiness; 

the transient happiness that he’ll continue to experience with the rest of the Agency as they celebrate success after success;

the liberating happiness that will eventually come at the peaceful end of his journey through life;

and the eternal happiness that patiently waits for him at the very end of the road...

I’ll believe in you, just as much as you believed in me.  

So please, watch over me…

                                                                                                           … Chuuya.

For Dazai, it’s painfully lonely to continue the journey aloneー

But, knowing Chuuya is waiting for him at the very end of the horizon where dawn will break, the darkness that had engulfed his world in a languid abyss for so long finally shatters as he takes a step forward towards the infinite skyline and takes flightー

Dazai thinks about the excitement the future promises, and quietly dreams of the day when he finally meets Chuuya again at the end of the world’s horizon, this time with many more stories to tell…

“But happiness is being able to hope, however faintly, for happiness. So, at least, we must believe if we are to live in the world of today.”
- Dazai Osamu 「Blue Bamboo: Japanese Tales of Fantasy」