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Chuuya ...
It's a lament that is lost as ash in the wind.
He crosses the battlefield, pebbles and blood, collides with the rocks, in the tainted dust that dances in the breeze, in the electricity of the clash that still lives. And it throbs like a heartbeat.
The enemy has been defeated, yet the reverberation of his deeds still throws adrenaline rushes along their bodies.
This time they were so close. A deadly performance of those who aren't afraid to dive into the Unknown because savoring death, even just a taste on the tip of the tongue, is what brings them closer to the humanity they crave so much. Clinging to it, with nails and teeth, is their redemption for a life of compromise and apathy.
No Longer Human activates.
Chuuya lifts his eyelids; bloody-red irises metamorphose into heavenly sky.
Vermilion engravings melt at the pat of two wobbly hands. The skin returns to the fair complexion it has always had.
The clothes, those not, are torn and dirty. It looks like he fought for days, but the truth is it's been a few minutes.
It's enough, however.
The knees are weak and snap against the gravel, meeting sharp stones in the falling.
And his mind is also in free fall.
But Dazai doesn't let him go: his hands still harpooned on his partner and the rest of the body crouches with him.
It's not a comfortable surface to rest the limbs on, but currently comfort is not their prerogative.
Chuuya is swimming so as not to drown. There is a voice in his head, a remnant of a mantra that doesn't surrender: Oh grantors of dark disgrace.
Although No Longer Human has done its job admirably, the chant still remains for a while. It's a warning to his dual nature.
His blood thunders in his ears and the muscles are knots of pain as he tries to regain control. It hurts. He can feel the forehead vein beating and sending fiery trails down his nerves.
Well, Arahabaki enjoys to reduce his body to that state. There is no other explanation.
The tarnished gaze is still on Dazai; his worried expression makes his stomach falter.
Since when does his iris emit such a light? Is it a tear that lines his face or a trickle of sweat? And again, he doesn't let him go yet. Does he want to make him another layer of his bandages, merged with his body in a symbiotic interaction?
Chuuya would like to speak, but the words limp on his tongue and a muffled moan is the only sound that snakes outside his jawbones.
Dazai rakes his fingers through his partner's hair, which now smells of powder and despair. "You're back, Chibi." he breathes against his partner's lips, brushes his mouth in a faint rustle, glues his cheek to his spreading the heat that is disappearing from his body.
He would keep him warm, he would keep him safe.
His hand slips from the rusty locks to the ribs - a hug, why not? - the arms interweave on the back and his coat, like a cozy house in a hurricane, can also loopen part of his shapes.
Well, that is the purpose.
Chuuya's chest rising and falling leisurely against Dazai's ribcage, the breath stabilizes. The chin propped on his shoulder - it's his hold - and the fingers caress the grit. His dewy-eyed cannot stay open, they burning out like candles in the current of air. He's tired, destroyed like the devastation he has brought to that place, yet he never wanted to. He never wanted give vent to his impulses, to release that gash on the darkness that dwells within him.
He has given a God a bone throne. But the bones were his.
The redhead curves the lips for a request, even if simple it encloses the world: "Please take care of me."
Trust is a two-path road, but for Double Black both paths traveled always end in each other's arms. It always ends in mutual understanding, in acting as one body and one mind.
Dazai knows when Chuuya needs him; Chuuya knows he can trust Dazai.
Dazai sketches a smile: downcast eyes and relaxed forehead, sweeped by rebellious locks. The embrace is suffocating, it releases hidden emotions. But that's okay.
It's not necessary to reveal in words what the heart already knows.
And suddenly, in the quiet after the chaos, everything is motionless. On hold. He awaits a life that will soon recover, after a well-deserved rest, cradled by his partner's words - rest, Chuuya - nourished by his affection.
The world has never seemed so safe for Chuuya.
////
When Chuuya raises his lids again this time he doesn't meet Dazai's hazel eyes, no, it's dark.
It's dark and smells like disinfectant. He can even feel it on his tongue, as if his mouth is soaked with it.
He swallows a bitter mouthful as the muscles of his face contract into a grimace.
He tries to swing his head on both sides but his neck is stiff as a wooden stick and his eyes burn as they travel on the walls of the room in search of clues.
It's useless, the moon doesn't want to unravel itself from the thick blanket of clouds and all that remains are shadows and nothing more.
But how did he end there? And why can't he lift his arm? There is something that lump his movement.
The other hand sways in the air until it settles on a curly surface. Then, a nose?
"Chuuya, what are you doing?" a grunt of annoyance rises from the figure in the penumbra, but the voice is familiar and his stomach does a backflip.
Chuuya blinks a couple of times as if trying to visualize his partner into the blackness. "Dazai ... Where are we?"
"To the hospital. I had to bring you here, you were seriously injuried." Dazai explains, his tone is honey and his volume is getting quieter.
A car darts on the asphalt and lights up the room for a bat of an eye; as the shadows tower over the walls he can see his partner's silhouette crawling under the sheets and curling up next to him.
Chuuya snaps but his joints sting with each movement, so he decides to use words to express his criticism of having Dazai, in his hospital bed, who tries to grab his body like a teddy bear. "You idiot! What are you doing?!" he barks.
"You need to sleep Chibikko, tomorrow you will be better." he mumbles, plastering his body with his and buring his face into the hollow of his neck. "Now, be a good dog."
Not that he can't move, but Chuuya prefers the partner's mellow shapes to the aseptic sheets and, even if he doesn't admit, he's grateful that that waste of bandages stayed by his side all the time. So much that he doesn't squabble for having, once again, demanded to become his sheepdog. For that evening, he would grant it.
"Chuuya is soft" Dazai breathes against his collarbone and the redhead's skin sizzles when his lips reassure him with a kiss.
And Chuuya smiles.
But no one would have ever found out, not even Dazai, because the dark envelops his intentions and conceals his feelings.
It would have remained a secret, guarded avidly. Tainted Sorrow unleashes the beastly and uncontrolled part of him but Dazai always knows how to make him feel at home.
And yes, maybe Dazai also feels more human to take care of him.