Work Text:
Dazai had grown accustomed to lying on the couch in the living room of his dingy apartment. As days continue to stretch and Dazai still hasn't exactly found what to live for despite being in the Port Mafia for more than three years already, he starts to fear that nothing really is worth living for. He doesn't fear dying but the realization that this world is nothing but a bore was horrifying.
He shouldn't had expected much but he did and now here he was, once more lying in that stupid couch in his stupid apartment.
What exactly was the point of living?
He asks himself that everyday but nothing really comes into mind. There were no finish lines, no goals and no adventures like the games that he likes wasting his time with. He could literally just stand somewhere and have nothing to do. He didn't have any ambition and he hoped that the world would give him one, but alas, he's simply laying there waiting for moments to pass.
He could try ruling the world. Dazai knew that he could do that. He was aware of his prowess and his brilliant mind, and he knew how to hone it well like blades. But to rule the world he has to start with the Port Mafia. He can also overthrow Mori easily but he really wasn't in the mood seeing that bastard's slimy face. He hopes that one day Mori will be kind enough to cover his face so Dazai can finally take a step near him and slit his throat. He wasn't too keen on seeing Mori's face when he finally killed him.
So ruling the world is crossed out of his pastime list.
He could play games but he was getting bored of that already. It was repetitive and he swore if one more game asks him to defeat the final boss in a dungeon with a sword and a staff to save the princess of some stupid kingdom, he was going to kill someone.
He could also take up more missions but Dazai really was getting tired of all the stupid plans Port Mafia's enemies seem to make. There are some cunning ones but they weren't as cunning as Dazai's and he could easily put them down so it wasn't any challenge for him to take. He could go and kill someone for fun but that really isn't his resume.
So Dazai lays there on the couch with bleeding arms and his bandages off because he finds that drawing lines and seeing bright red trickles from his own skin by his own hands were a nice distraction from the boredom eating him away. The world was plain and he had nothing to live for so what exactly was the point of him being here? A weapon? Port Mafia's weapon? Dazai didn't really like being a weapon, he hated the Port Mafia more.
He didn't like pain. He hates pain. And yet as he lays there, mind wandering to another dimension that definitely wasn't there, he couldn't feel the pain. Any suicide was alright as long as it wasn't painful and it didn't meddle into anyone's life. So he remains laying there, not bothering to clean up his mess or even stop the trickle of his blood.
Dazed, he stares at the ceiling that neared the color of the sand. It was spotless though unlike the little particles in the beach he compared it to. He tries estimating how many ants it would take to completely cover the ceiling only to start again because he changed his mind and thought that spiders were a better count. He once more restarts because he wasn't too sure what species of spiders he would use for there were too many of them.
In the middle of estimating, Dazai notices a single line of darker brown on the ceiling and triumphantly huffs because the ceiling isn't as perfect as he first thought. For the ceiling was created by humans and humans aren't perfect. Even he himself admits that he isn't perfect, but he was getting close there. And yet, he isn't exactly human.
What makes humans human are their emotions. And no matter how hard he strives, no matter how hard he tries to understand, Dazai will never truly feel. So he will never be human. No longer human, he scoffs. What a fitting ability for a monster like him.
His blood drips onto the floor.
Dazai can't find enough in him to care.
Even when a steady strong beat of knocks disrupted the silence, Dazai still doesn't move from his spot, mouth slightly open as he tries to take enough and yet too little breaths in his system. His eyes were glazed over even when the person on the other side of the door started screaming. It was all droned out by his impassiveness, even when the door was mercilessly kicked off.
It wasn't an enemy. Not many people knew where Dazai lived and he was aware that there was only one person who could be that loud and graceless despite being taught by Kouyou who was the epitome of grace and beauty.
Nakahara Chuuya starts yelling at him, something along the lines of "trying to contact you all day long, "shitty excuse of a human, you really are a mackerel out of water", and "what the fuck there's so much blood".
Dazai doesn't care. He was briefly aware that he had shut down his phone earlier in the morning when the sun was only starting to rise. He was also aware that he had gone perfectly still on the couch and his breaths were getting a little labored, cold seeping in his veins. How long had he been bleeding?
Chuuya was still screaming, he realized. But it wasn't too much of an angry yell anymore, it was more of a worried one. He could vaguely hear the ginger talking to someone on the phone while keeping another hand on Dazai's neck as if to feel if the brunet still was there with him. He was. His body was still there and so was his heartbeat though shallow, but Dazai's mind had long gone somewhere far away.
He couldn't feel much and yet he could also feel numerous things. The blood that trickles down his arms for one, along with the haunting cold sinking on his body. He could feel Chuuya's hand on his neck and he could feel Chuuya's breath on his face as the ginger tried to talk to Dazai, trying to keep him conscious, trying to keep him alive. Chuuya's other hand was messily trying to find the wounds, attempting to put pressure to stop the bleeding only to realize that there were far too many, made from scratches of his own fingers.
Dazai knew that Chuuya was aware of the reason why he was bleeding. It was because of him. The duo had never dabbled about it before, had never bothered to point out the bandages or the scars that once peaked out when Dazai had grown careless. Chuuya respected Dazai's privacy and understood that Dazai did not want to talk about it.
He wasn't aware that it was this bad.
"Hey." Dazai could faintly make out as he slowly went in and out of consciousness. This time, instead of letting himself rest for once, Dazai finds himself trying to avoid sinking, wanting to hear what Chuuya had to say once he saw the downward curve of his lips and the shaky eyes. "Dazai, focus on me, okay."
He didn't need to say it, Dazai was staring right at him. He was captivated, trying to push away the urge to just close his eyes and let go. Dazai had tried multiple times to die, to finally sink, only to fail for some reason or another. This was the first time that Chuuya was the one who intercepted it. And when Dazai felt like he could finally die, it was when he wasn't feeling like dying yet. Not when Chuuya was looking at him like that. Not when Chuuya looked as if he was going to start crying.
Dazai couldn't die like that.
He couldn't leave Chuuya, his dog (his partner), like that.
He gasps for breath, finally becoming more aware of everything around him despite losing too much blood at this point. He sharpens back in the world, keeping his head up the water. Chuuya was right here, hovering above him, trying to get him to breathe while simultaneously trying to slow the bleeding.
Dazai stares at Chuuya's eyes.
He notes his eyelashes, long and almost touching his skin. The shape of his eyes, the miniscule curl at the very tip. He's heavy lids and the tears that normal Chuuya in any normal occasion wouldn't let slip. But this wasn't any occasion and Chuuya wasn't feeling normal. Lastly, Dazai sees.
Chuuya has the most beautiful pair of blue as his eyes, Dazai notices. It was a vivid color of blue, bluer than the ocean and bluer than the sky. He might have thought that the heavens above them were painted to copy the color of Chuuya's eyes only to fail for the ginger's blue was a level of its own.
The deep blue in his eyes with the right amount of steel grey when lights had flashed on them. Dazai only really saw it at that moment. He only noticed it now.
His blues were the heavens to the ground of Dazai's murky brown. And not even his level of intelligence and strategic thinking could get him to reach the skies with only a raise of his arm. Chuuya was the sky and Dazai was the ground, they were far apart and yet mirrored the other. When the sky meets the ground and falls to the Earth, that is when the end comes. The destruction of everything anyone had ever known.
But in some instances, the sky meets the Earth without bringing the crash of the world and they will be together once more. In some instances the two of them can be together without bringing the end of their enemies' lives. Perhaps, this was one of those times. When Chuuya's hold on him tightens, silently begging him to not let go.
For they were partners and what kind of partner was he if he couldn't even protect Dazai from his own self. And what kind of sad excuse of a partner Dazai would be if he couldn't even stop Chuuya from shedding tears for him.
Port Mafia's private doctors arrived soon after.
And as Dazai was taken away with Chuuya scampering after to make sure that he would be fine and the damn doctors would do a decent job in keeping him alive, Dazai thinks that perhaps he could live a little longer if it meant he could see those pairs of blue once more.