Work Text:
Chuuya Nakahara always enjoyed sleep.
Soft pillows of down feathers that lull you into peace that the Port Mafia never provides.
Duvets, thick and deliciously toasty against the cold. Comforting, peaceful.
But, with nights, dreams embrace him too.
His dreams used to be peaceful too. Wine and chocolate and standing in the surf of the bay.
But... now.
The second-half of Soukoku lies at his side and when Chuuya wakes up, no matter how many times at night, he rolls over and checks for Dazai's soft pulse or a sign of breath.
Years have gone by and, without fail, he always does.
Because his dreams have changed.
Dreams no longer bring him peace. From comfort and wistful to fitful nightmares that end with the life of his partner.
Usually by Dazai's own hands.
Dazai's desire for death never used to weigh on Chuuya as much, he knew it to be a coping mechanism. A way to find control of a situation that was far beyond it. But now...
Night time is what Chuuya hates the most.
Every night where crimson paints the walls and he wakes up to soft breathing instead.
Where his dreams end abruptly to the sound of a gunshot or a slice of a razor-edge but he awakens to life instead.
He hates it.
With every fiber of his being.
Because he knows.
One day...
One day, he'll wake up and it wouldn't have been a dream.
He'll wake up next to his partner but with no breath to tell him that his dream was a lie.