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For he is deprived of a measly control, a monster he is.
60, he counts as he traced the littered cuts on his upper left thigh. Since when did he spiraled down to this void? When did he turn to pain in order to gain control? What is control anyway? For him, it comes with a slow seeping pain, strips of blood, and a breath of relief. It’s always the aftermath that he yearns the most, the small streaks of pain everytime he moves, or rubs his upper left thigh, note that he always, purposely and harshly rub the area to trigger the pain.
“Lad, are you sure you’re okay?”, he heard his Anee-san question him right after they got out of the meeting hall.
“Yeah, sure. Just tired”, he responded. He noticed how the woman’s gaze lingered on his thighs, then she nodded in reply.
Nothing significant happened. Just him lying down, and missing the pain from his thighs. He thinks that he should do more. He went to his bathroom and stripped off all of his clothing. He traced the light-brown streaks of small dried wounds with no definite pattern, he feels bad. Horrible, how can he do this to himself? And what made him feel worse? It’s the fact that he liked it. That he doesn’t want to stop. He slumped down, biting his lips, trying to discern where he made the wrong turn. Was it when his partner left? No. He’s been doing this for as long as he can remember, the week after he first used corruption.
Yes, that’s it.
That’s fucking it.
He felt so hollow, and empty. He felt powerless that time, as if he was just proven how weak he is compared to his corrupted state. He felt - feels so bad that even now, even after surviving for four years without corruption, he still feels so weak. He feels disposable, useless, and powerless. He tries to keep his head clear, he always try to resist.
What’s a few more?
You’re keeping count, right? Add more.
The pain later on is soothing.
Have you forgotten the feeling of sweet release?
Various thought flood his mind, he try and try not to be like this. It’s hard to be dependent on a thin metal, and temporary physical pain. It’s hard to look at himself and only see how broken he is. How his eyes looks back at him, full of pity and emptiness. He’s crying now, this is what he hates the most, this part. How his throat feels so constricted, and it hurts like a bitch. How no matter how hard he wants to stop crying, he just can’t. It’s as if his own body is opposing him. He doesn’t dare look at the mirror, it will just make things worse. He knew it, but here he is now, staring at himself. Searching for more bad things he can find, from how his hair always seem too flashy, to how his toes is not proportional to his body.
73, what a failure. Just like a kid who’s been given a candy, he has stopped crying. The moment he felt the slow parting pain of his skin, and the greetings he found as he first saw white before red came out, he stopped crying. His thoughts stopped drumming on his brain, it all stopped. All he can hear is his own heart beating fast, and all he can feel is the throbbing sensation, the satisfaction.
Nakahara Chuuya, his beauty admired by all, his strength feared by all. Maybe that’s the reason why he’s accustomed to only harming himself on a specific body part. Upper left thigh, so that he can still wear anything. No one really questions it when an infiltration mission requires him to wear a dress, and he would always prefer his right side to be shown, “My right leg is more appealing”, of course. As it is not littered by his emotions, it is not his favorite sheet. He chose his upper left thigh, for his strength. Well, faux strength. He is not like Dazai who can cover his own body, he is Nakahara Chuuya, the ever-so-proud and strong Chuuya. He can’t let anyone know. He can’t allow weakness on him, cause what is he if not all the things that others expects him to be?
“Chibi”, Dazai whispered to him. They’re in a middle of a joint mission with the Agency, and naturally, he’s partnered with Dazai. Upon hearing his ridiculous pet name, he looked at the brunette, and saw the most serious-almost-angry look in his face.
“What? Dumbass, what’s wrong with you?”, they talk in hushed tones. They can’t risk blowing their covers as a happy couple. Dazai did not respond, but he can feel that the other’s grip tightened around his waist.
Moments later, when they had finished their mission, Dazai’s still not talking to Chuuya. He doesn’t care though, all that matters now is that he gets rid of the absolutely tight and itchy dress that he’s forced to wear for this specific mission. He slumped inside the Mafia provided car, and when he was about to order the driver, he noticed a slipped up. Realization dawned on him, the reason why Dazai acted like that, and why he’s avoiding Chuuya.
He caressed the part of the dress where small dotted brown lines can be seen. He feels pathetic. A major fucking slip up, and it’s in front of Dazai. He cursed the dress, he cursed the tight cycling he was forced to wear, that must have cause his cuts to bleed. He cursed himself for being so stupid. So careless, what would Dazai think of him now? He hurriedly covered that part of the dress, took a few deep breaths, and asked the driver to drive as fast as he can. Chuuya can feel an impending burst out, his chest feels heavy and his breaths are shaky.
He didn’t stop to bid the driver goodbye, he just hurried to get to his penthouse. He didn’t - couldn’t look or see anybody else, he’s vision is unreliable as his thoughts are causing a wreck inside his head. He feels his body shaking, and when the elevator stopped to his floor, he dashed to his bedroom. He harshly tugged on the dress, and reaping it in the process. He can already feel that his face is wet, he’s crying, again.
“Fucking stupid”
“Why are you so fucking stupid?!”, he yelled at himself as he pulled on his hair.
He looks so messy, a total wreck. He feels as if the mirror’s judging him but he can’t defend himself. He cowered in disappointment and too much self-anger , furiously scratching his upper left thigh, it burned but it did not bleed much. He slapped himself when he realized that he’s crying way too much. His throat is numb. He’s too drained. He looked down at the mess that he’s been working on for years now. He grabbed his only friend, and made more.
His tears are still falling albeit fewer. He’s so caught up on how the pain feels better when he drags the thin blade slower on his skin. He’s made quite a lot, but it never felt enough. Then he was suddenly yanked up, dragged from the bathroom to his own bed. The toss made him bounce, but the shock alerted his senses. He pulled the covers on himself, thinking that he needs to hide his hideousity. He glared at the person who dragged him out, but his glare faltered and turned to a look of embarrassment.
In front of him is his ex-partner, hair sticking out in various angles, and his eyes bloodshot,looking sternly at him. Chuuya feels so ashamed of himself, he feels so small under Dazai’s gaze. He tried to cover up more, to occupy the smallest space possible.
“Chuuya…”, he heard Dazai whisper, as he feels the bed dipped. He refused to respond, he can’t let Dazai know, and he’ll deny as much as he can. “look at me, please”, he heard again, Dazai scooting closer.
“I-I wasn’t doing anything”, he said while still intently looking at the floor. He’s hugging all the covers, only his head is out. “I wasn’t doing anything”, he repeats a bit faster, obviously laced with panic. “I’m okay….I’m okay”, he repeats more to himself than to Dazai.
He’s not going to cry.
Just because he feels guilty, that does not mean he needs to cry.
He’s not going to cry, but as he feel Dazai’s warm body pressing on him, and Dazai’s fingers massaging his scalp, he lost it. He started bawling, crying like a child, clawing on Dazai’s back as if trying to grasp on something. He always have people who cares for him, he knows and is aware of that, but he can’t concern them. He can’t let Ane-san know that the boy she worked so hard to support and raise, is now so damaged that he resorted to inflicting pain on himself. He can’t let the Akutagawa siblings see him, and lose hope of having someone they can rely on. He can’t lose the way other people see him.
“It’s okay, let it all out”, Dazai whispered continuously, and so he did.
“I tried, I-I’m sorry”, he pleads,”I’m really sorry Osamu”, he doesn’t care if he’s crossing the line, he just wants to feel his partner again. The only person who knew, the one who always grounded him. When they were still together, Dazai would always, always make sure that Chuuya never felt bad of himself. Chuuya felt the best when Dazai was still his.
“Shh, calm down”, Dazai softly said as he cupped Chuuya’s face, forcing Chuuya to drown in the deep brown of Dazai’s eye. “I’m here, you got this”, Dazai encouraged.
Chuuya took a couple of breaths, allowing himself to cling on Dazai one more time. He focused on nothing but Dazai, he knows that this might lead him to the worst, but he’s with Dazai right now. Everything will be okay.
.
The room is quiet, Chuuya’s calmed down. What’s left is the conversation between them. It’s getting too silent for Chuuya’s like, so against his better judgement, he talked first. Allowing himself to be vulnerable again.
“Thanks”, which Dazai nodded to. They are sitting side by side, back leaned on the headboard of his bed. “you can leave if you want, I-I will be okay”, he said without looking at his side.
“Chuu, why didn’t you call me?”, Dazai asked slowly but full of want to know. Chuuya’s caught off guard though, when Dazai left, he thought that everything with Dazai came with the brunette. The other must have sensed Chuuya’s hesitation and spoke again, “we promised to always be there for each other”, Dazai turned to face him.
Chuuya made the mistake of looking at Dazai’s expression, what he saw made him feel nauseous. Dazai is pleading, his looking as if he just lost something. “It’s different now Dazai, you know that”, he said brows furrowed.
“That’s the only constant thing that I hold on to”, came the answer that swept all the coherent thoughts out of Chuuya.
Then, silence once again.
He feels guilty, and embarrassed. He shouldn’t be a burden. What is Dazai doing here anyway? “How…how did you know”, he asked to silence the little assumptions in his head.
“You don’t really expect me to ignore what I saw earlier, right?”, Dazai sighed, letting his head rest on Chuuya’s shoulder. Chuuya’s taken aback, the last time they’re this close was years ago. He’s beyond surprised, and he can’t even reject the connection because he wants it too. “All this time, I thought you’re doing okay. That you’re better without me”, came the admission which did not sit with Chuuya well.
“Osamu, you’re stupid”
He felt Dazai’s slender hands pull him in, he’s now lying on Dazai’s chest. Dazai rested his hands over Chuuya’s wounded thigh, no protests from Chuuyaas this has always been what Dazai used to do the first few times Chuuya harmed himself. Well, Chuuya stopped when he and Dazai became more serious and more committed to their relationship back then. Dazai hummed and nuzzled on Chuuya’s hair.
“I’m your stupid”
Chuuya smiled at that, he still feels bad, but the pain brought by his cuts doesn’t feel the same anymore, instantly. It was satisfaction before, but as Dazai held him close that night, he learned a new meaning for satisfaction. He still got a long way to go, but a promise and a new bridge built will serve as a reconnection. Chuuya has one more reason to continue.