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With every choice came consequences. Be they good consequences, bad consequences. Even unbearable consequences exist in the world. One could list consequences worse or even better than those. But the end result did not matter.
Life was not only about those consequences, but the preceding choices involved with it.
A saying akin to that had been engraved into Dazai, be it by the books he read, or just what Mori taught him. It had been engraved into him since he was a kid. That life was about choices.
Life was undoubtedly about choices, primarily.
Dazai had made a decision, dating back years and years back. Most of his decisions, he didn’t care and could predict the circumstances that came to it down to the decimal. Dazai’s choice pertained to turning Chuuya down when Chuuya had declared his love for Dazai.
When Chuuya had finally gained the confidence to speak of his feelings for Dazai, the latter, characteristically of him, refused the other. Better with description, he had refuted the entire conversation altogether. As if the conversation were a ray of light, and Dazai was a mirror. It was just shot back at Chuuya at the time.
What Chuuya had not known when he spoke to Dazai, that would be the trigger for Dazai to distance himself more than ever from Chuuya.
Initially, the decision was made via adrenaline alone. The white-hot adrenaline coursing throughout his veins. That same substance had ceased any type of regret from flourishing enough to significantly impact him after the decision. For the first while succeeding the internal proclamation, he had felt fine. In that amount of time, he had ditched the Port Mafia. That followed the death of his best friend, Sakunosuke Oda. He had went into hiding.
Only two years later had he begun to discover the things he missed in regards to the Mafia. It took him that long to discover how much colour had truly left his life. How much colour he had willingly kicked from his life.
He thought he would be okay. He had fully convinced himself that that would be the case.
But had it ever truly been that simple?
Maybe he had begun to feel it before the two-year point. Really, he was ignorant to when it truly began to affect him.
The time hadn’t really mattered, had it? At least to him. Which was odd, considering typically he would spend day and night figuring something out like that. When the realization hit him, did it really make any difference?
It terms of when it started, his mindset was set to a setting where he was both ignorant and indifferent. Relatively speaking, his mind resonated the same opinion it held when Dazai had opted to leave Chuuya.
And when he left Chuuya, he left without saying a word. No implications. He let the distance grow. Like two boats at sea – one held a stationary position, and the other riding the current away. Much like the boat at sea, he had no intentions of turning back. No matter the troubles, when he made the decision, he didn’t want to return to the place he had been.
He had followed what his paranoia told him. And what his paranoia had told him was to leave. Not only had his paranoia tell him that, but his heart had as well. Neither of those things took a liking to how attachment had shown itself on Chuuya's end, but not on Dazai's end. Within Chuuya's vicinity, Dazai, most of the time, had the strongest for the other to leave. His wants had shown themselves in how much they wanted Chuuya to stay away. Unfortunately, in recent times, Dazai found himself drawn to the presence his life lacked - no doubt was it Chuuya's presence.
To Dazai's amusement, he had actually felt compelled to be with Chuuya. Maybe it wasn't even that.
He didn't know what he wanted to do next. For once in his life, he had no clue what he wanted.
Not only had it been about two years since he separated himself from Chuuya, but it had also been approximately two years since the death of his best friend, Sakunosuke Oda. That man had been his best friend.
Ever since that time, the desire to run had grown, much like the desire to distance himself from Chuuya.
But the desire didn't stop there. When he had asked for help from Odasaku, that was one time in his life that he truly was at a loss. He felt that exact same way now. Odasaku's words repeated themselves like a prayer in Dazai's mind. Like a mantra stated a numerous amount of times in his head.
"Be on the side that saves people," Odasaku had stated in one of his last final breaths. His last words of advice for Dazai.
Be on the side that saves people. To say that hadn't become such a ritual way of life would be incorrect in terms of it being set like a religion. Despite all odds, despite how his life had set itself prior to these actions, Dazai had found himself following this like it was one of his life's guidelines.
And yet, it had been nearing two years since the day those words had been gasped in Dazai's direction. It had been two years since those words first spoke themselves to Dazai.
And what had he done? Where had time gone? Had he succeeded in what he really meant and said he would? It had been two years added to Dazai's meaningless life, and yet it was filled with nothingness. Absolute nothingness. Not helping others.
He was no further to accomplishing his goal than he had been two years prior to this time.
Was it worth anything? He came across the want to indulge himself in his wants in regard to Chuuya.
He wanted to have Chuuya next to him. He wanted to hold Chuuya.
If he were to describe what life was like without Chuuya, he would have had to describe it as something akin to despair. He would describe it as a pain that came with being blind. Dazai had suffered temporary blindness in his right eye at one point in his life.
He would describe it as a life without colour.
One thing Dazai noticed with this discovery is that you often end up taking advantage of what's around you. And he was sure that was what happened with Chuuya, because at this point when his eyes fell on the world, he noticed that nothing good would come out of it.
If he were to describe life as a type of matter, he would name it Dark Matter. Not that it mattered what in the world he named it.
And so, he made a decision.
A decision to go back and revisit the mistakes he had made years and years ago. He glanced at the palms of his hands, almost unseeingly, as he made that decision. Except he couldn't carry out his plan. His head filled with something akin to fear, something like terror.
How would he do it? How would he get in contact with Chuuya to fix all of the mistakes he had made in his teenage youth? What could he possibly do to resolve it? As if his hands mirrored a movement that he hadn't made in almost years, Dazai flipped open his phone and began to text the same number he would always use. Meet me at dawn in the Light of the Moon. He left the message, knowing full well that if Chuuya happened to receive this message, he would know where to go. He had been surprised to realize that the message actually went through. Dazai had been expecting nothing less than an error in judgement. Or an error message.
He pushed himself up from his bed, to face a room of dull colours and little to no light.
He ventured to the outside of his safe-house, around a balcony. His eyes fell hazily on the moon. "It's almost midnight," he proclaimed.
When he named The Light of the Moon, it was in relation to the thing known as their tree. In youth, they oftentimes spent their days hanging around this tree. He left the message, knowing full well that Chuuya knew who it would be, even without leaving a name to go by, or a reference. He had enough confidence in the short individual that stuck to his side all those years ago to put all of the pieces together.
"It doesn't take a genius to do that."
He snickered to himself.
-----
When Dazai arrived there, he should have known not to be as surprised as he was.
Surely, in front of him, Nakahara Chuuya stood, strong and proud. His body stature fit him nicely, He looks tired, Dazai mentally noted, fidgeting with his bandages. He had precisely wrapped them for comfort and to be easily accessible to remove.
Even in the early morning glow, Dazai's skin was almost the same shade of the bandages, which paled in comparison to his hair, which paled in comparison to the old lack of light in his iris.
When Dazai's eyes fell on Chuuya, he realized the redhead had grown his hair out even longer than it already had been. The hair, as always, framed his face superbly. As if it were a picture frame made for his face, which adorned a strong shape and sea like eyes that were more alive than any other.
Dazai thought that Chuuya was immensely attractive, was always attractive.
His eyes glossed over Chuuya's face. Admiring him. Dazai was kicked out of his shock with words themselves spoken too cruelly for it to be normal. "Hey, asshole, you're fucking late!" Chuuya growled, eyeing Dazai as if he were his next prey, but not in a good way.
He eyed Dazai as if they were true enemies.
The looks had sent shivers of anxiety down his spine.
"I'm not late, Chuuya, you're just early," Dazai stated. Chuuya's eyebrows shot up. It was obvious Chuuya wasn't going to buy what Dazai was saying anytime soon.
That hurt Dazai more than it should have.
"Yeah, and I'm tall," Chuuya deadpanned.
“You, tall? Well, you’ve already got me laughing, chibi~. Maybe you are good for something.”
Dazai ended up emitting a hollow laugh. A laugh that would seemingly be addressed as inhumane or painstakingly careless. Careless like the condensation that accumulated densely above the human's head in puffs known as clouds; inhumane like a killer who's killed hundreds of people just for the fun of it.
In some sense of the word, Dazai was both of those things. Whenever he thought of himself, Dazai categorized himself as everything less than a human. His moral compass deviated like a separate path to hell.
That was where he was doomed to be, after all.
Shaking him out of his inexcusable captivation, Chuuya grasped Dazai by his collar. While the other hadn't grown, Dazai certainly had. The drag of gloved hands tugged him down to take in the fine lines of the other's face. At this angle, the lacerations from battles they endured both together and alone, caked in foundation and concealer were visible to his eyes. To anyone else, those wounds would never be discernable. And yet, Dazai was able to distinguish each and every one. At this close distance, he studied. His keen eyes picked up the light reflections made by the early morning sunrise against his auburn locks.
It took him the urge of a thousand men to resist twirling that curl between his delicate fingertips.
His point of focus drifted to the movement of the other's eyelashes, almost heavy in comparison to the rest of his face.
Chuuya dropped his eyelids down glaringly. Their eyes were almost at equal height in this forced position. Dazai feigned contentment at the look of disappointment that fell on him. Undoubtedly, if Dazai hadn't been looking directly at Chuuya, he would have been able to feel the sheer force of the gaze. The look bearing daggers was glazed with ice; shone nothing less than utter hatred.
“What do you want, bastard?" Chuuya snapped. His voice was filled to the brim with an odd sense of bitter, oncoming destructive behaviour.
There was something heartbreakingly recognizable in the tune that radiated from Chuuya’s trachea.
Dazai choked down an onslaught of emotions he had never felt before, emotions foreign and distant. At that moment, Dazai had come to the realization that he should not have come. He shouldn't have indulged in his wants to see Chuuya. He was stupid to think things would get better, that he could fix a very evident problem. He was only in more of a fragile state than he had ever been before.
He would call it the fault of the Port Mafia for repression so vast that it would only come until years later. Though, Dazai was a selfish man. This was proven in the many times he had not let anyone touch what was his. Even if what was his wasn’t something he truly desired. How he felt about Chuuya now, regardless of the amount of times he had wronged Chuuya, he was unaware.
All he knew was that he missed Chuuya.
Thus, ignoring the overlooking presence of something he would describe as fear, he continued his trek of supposed righteousness. To tie these loose ends that he had neglected for years on end.
There was something almost too reassuring in the way that Chuuya cussed at him like he had for the bygones of their childhood. Their routine fell into place, if only for a moment. The position had grown familiar to the pair, as Chuuya had oftentimes brought Dazai down to his level. Somewhere between the tugging of hairs, and the dragging of collars, this banter eased the nerves in Dazai’s upper spinal column more than upward to a hundred massages would.
Maybe, just possibly maybe, it wasn’t a mistake coming here.
Dazai made the irreversibly rash decision to open his mouth to answer. And his answer wasn't just an answer, but it was a lie.
"I came here to annoy you, of course, hatrack! That's what I want!"
He couldn't admit that he wanted Chuuya back in his life. That suggested the fact that he was weak, that Dazai couldn't handle life on his own.
It shouldn't have surprised anyone that he would lie about something such as that. That would only be so characteristic of him.
It didn't seem to bewilder Chuuya any since the only reaction brought about was a cock of the eyebrow.
"Tch.” Chuuya wound up rolling his eyes in the direction of the other, further underlining his disappointment in Dazai. “I don’t know who you’re trying to fool, Dazai, but you sure as hell aren’t fooling me.” Chuuya hadn’t moved from the position he was in.
Dazai’s eyes widened, the closest thing to shock he would ever show in his life, not trying to give in to what Chuuya was saying, despite how right he actually was.
That was something that Dazai actually despised with a burning passion about the relationship the two of them had shared years back. The time the duo had spent together gave Chuuya enough insight into Dazai’s mind that made him increasingly uncomfortable. Though, it was only fair to let it be so, seeing as Dazai was also able to piece together the parts of Chuuya’s mind. They shared that connection on equal paths. Even after all of the time Dazai had spent pushing Chuuya away.
Dazai hated having someone who knew his every thought, hated someone who could predict his movements; craved the end of someone who would keep him from indulging in his suicide antics.
But they were drawn to each other like magnets. Intertwining and reflecting in moods and shifts. There was a reason they worked exceptionally well as a team in their youth, even with their constant bickering and locked on masks.
Perhaps destiny wanted them together, but Dazai didn’t believe in the red string of fate.
The fact that Chuuya could still read him, however, made him question whether he had truly changed in his years of solitude or if he had just been the same in that moment. Nonetheless, Dazai smirked, covering up the shock seconds later, allowing himself to be manipulated and tugged around by Chuuya’s physical hand. His Cheshire grin reflected mischief as vast as his pride.
He had to act as if Chuuya were wrong in his assumption that Dazai had come for something other than just to tease him.
“Oh, silly Chibiiii~.” There was a drawl in Dazai’s voice when he spoke the term of endearment he had established in their teen years. The taller man dropped his neck to the left, exposing to the right. He was facing the opposite position to the sun. As a result, his face began to dim with shadows as the sun rose over the horizon, signalling the hours of the day ticking by. He continued, nonchalantly, “You know nothing, that was truly the only reason why I’m here talking to you right now.”
Chuuya’s grasp on Dazai’s collar loosened, if only slightly. Dazai laughed as he was pushed away onto the ground, the force of the fall allowing his head to hit the soft grass underneath their feet.
On that day, the wind blew. The blades of grass surrounding Dazai’s face were long, and they brushed the sides of Dazai’s face as he relaxed into the ground. It was summer, four days until Dazai’s birthday. It was warm against Dazai's cheeks.
A grunt emitted from Chuuya’s lips as he stood over Dazai, the shade of the sun now blocking his facial features. All Dazai could acknowledge was the fact that the bright oceanic blue waves that set themselves in Chuuya’s irises were not dark storms of anger. There was no light that showed within those otherwise peaceful orbs.
Maybe one day, those eyes will be the last thing he sees before he dies. Maybe he would fall in love with those eyes all over again.
Wait.
Was he in love with Chuuya?
Looking on it, it would explain a lot, what with his wants to be around Chuuya as of late, with having been possessive of him in the past. Thoughts coursed through Dazai’s mind as Chuuya bent over onto Dazai, flicking out the knife to hold to Dazai’s throat. The knife was chilly against the rim of his bandages.
The words cut cold like a blade to the heart: “The Mafia doesn’t take lightly to traitors, Osamu.”
That was something he should have known. In his time at the Port Mafia, he had exterminated numerous traitors, both large scale and small scale. His life was filled with corpses, after all.
Dazai didn’t reply, allowing his smirk to reside on his face because he knew this was also not about him leaving the Mafia.
It was because he left Chuuya months prior to that.
Maybe Chuuya fell out of love with him.
Dazai’s eyes fluttered to the side, very briefly, to look at the sky looming over him, as Chuuya was directly overlooking him. The sky had turned grey, lights in the distance flashing every few seconds in his peripheral.
The light of the sun was almost nowhere to be seen, clouded by the dark of dawn and shrouded by the chaotic causes of the disasters called thunderstorms. Every once in a while; light would dance through the sky, generating mass amounts of electricity —enough electricity to kill Dazai Osamu and fulfil his one true wish with as much as a second of contact.
Pathetic fallacy, Dazai's mind wondered and decided. This was nature's cruel, inhumane way of showing and proving to Dazai that he had indeed fucked up.
Dazai knew this would happen eventually, that the petit executive of the Port Mafia would fall out of love with him. Dazai knew that the hat rack wouldn't forever be wound around his fingers, a pawn for him to manipulate. Dazai knew that Nakahara Chuuya would discard the two years of something they had prior to his betrayal, in order to save himself from the one real demon that never actually changed. Except one thing changed with Dazai Osamu in the two years since he betrayed the Mafia. Dazai Osamu was able to feel.
While Chuuya fell out of love with Dazai, Dazai fell in love with Chuuya. And this was the reality.
The love showed itself in Dazai’s light in the way Dazai glanced at Chuuya, with affection. It exposed itself in the craving of touch so innocent, its purity dug at the previous touches they had in the past. It was evident in how much colour and light Chuuya brought to Dazai’s life when they were together, how Chuuya kept him on edge and ready.
Chuuya saved himself, and for that, Dazai was indeed proud of Chuuya, but it shamed himself, nonetheless.
Love was a strong word for Dazai to use, he would only ever use it otherwise to describe his devotion to suicide. Suicide, otherwise known as a mass addiction for him. Always calling, always watching.
Chuuya was also his addiction.
“I love you, Nakahara Chuuya,” had been the only plausible reply the former executive of the Port Mafia had murmured to one of its highest ranking members. While he attempted to play it cool, as if everything didn't just fall and bury him, none of the sounds of thunder or rain pounding on the shelter were clear to him. His voice only answered to that of Nakahara Chuuya.
Fate had played it cruel.
Chuuya’s face grew disdain, furrowing his brow as his mouth opened to tell Dazai what he already knew.
“I don’t love you anymore, mackerel.”