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It wasn’t supposed to go this way.
Dazai had carefully crafted the entire confrontation in his head, the birthplace of predictions that were never wrong. Dazai was never wrong.
So how did this happen?
“Chuuya?” Dazai whispered at the crumbled figure writhing on the ground. Blood was spilling from his mouth, coming out of his body in a flow of detrimental proportions. He was coughing, choking on his own blood. The brunet found no joy in watching Chuuya suffer— no, not anymore.
Trembling legs crouched down, and Dazai carefully ran his fingers along Chuuya’s face, stroking his cheek while nullifying the activated curse. The red glow slowly devolved from a blinding brightness to a weak hue to gone entirely. Chuuya’s pupils went from dilated to pinpricks to instead expanding in response to Dazai’s touch. His ragged breathing soothed to something steadier, yet it didn’t quell the worry beating violently in Dazai’s chest.
Chuuya looked up at Dazai with bleary eyes, as if he was looking at him without really seeing him for a few seconds. His vision seemed to clear as he looked at the brunet with still wide eyes, the look of a startled wild animal eerily similar to the look on his face.
That was when he passed out wordlessly.
It took Dazai a minute to ensure that Chuuya wasn’t dead already, checking the pulse point beneath the curve of his jaw. A familiar pattern of heartbeat met the surface of his fingers, and he let out a small breath he didn’t know he had even been holding. Yet the blood still flowing from the corner of Chuuya’s mouth confirmed that he had overdone it just a little too far this time. Dazai’s chest clenched a little at the thought.
Despite his own wounds that he had surprisingly collected, Dazai still loyally bent down and lifted Chuuya up to the best of his ability, using the remainder of his upper body strength to lug the mafioso onto his back.
“C’mon, hatrack.” Dazai inhaled sharply. “Give me a little help here.”
Chuuya, in his unconscious state, did not offer any help at all. The only thing he seemed to provide was limpness.
Adrenaline was powering the brunet’s movements, the only thing keeping him on his slender legs at this rate. Dazai was no stranger to pain— he could call it a frequent enemy, yet it was like he almost didn’t feel anything at all. He knew that wasn’t good, but the suicidal maniac within him reveled at the idea of a painless death.
Was he going to die here?
Dazai looked down at his bleeding abdomen, and he felt a little feverish despite the pain only being a minuscule ache, like the throbbing of a stubbed toe. How humorous of a comparison that was. He almost laughed. Almost.
The truth of the matter was that Dazai was perfectly fine dying here. He was perfectly fine with that, except he had to do one thing first. Something of utmost importance, weighing over anything else in the world right now. More than finding the ADA members (if any were still alive). The deadweight on his back— Chuuya— was more important than anything else at the moment.
It was oddly reminiscent of when the two were sixteen and Dazai had carried Chuuya on his back away from the scene where Verlaine had attacked him. The memories of the duo as teens brought a bittersweet tightness to the brunet’s chest. This wasn’t the first time Dazai had carried Chuuya away from danger, but if the dizzy feeling reaching Dazai’s skull was any indicator, it might be the last.
Dazai knew he wasn’t going to be able to carry him away to safety from this.
”Dazai?”
The brunet was startled by the weak rasp of a voice practically right in the shell of his ear, stopping his sluggish pace for a second. “You’re awake?” There were no insults, no jest— just a tired voice asking a shaky question.
“Put- put me down, asshole.” Chuuya mumbled indignantly, and Dazai had half a mind to smile in relief at the familiar attitude that he always hated so much. “I need- we need to go back.”
Any other time, Dazai would have complied immediately by dropping the ginger male right onto the hard, unforgiving ground. But at the moment, he didn’t even have the energy (or the heart) to tell Chuuya the majority of their side was dead already. So instead, he just weakly set the man down and then he found himself following, legs giving out as he practically collapsed to the ground beside him. There wasn’t much left fighting for, and Dazai wasn’t interested in protecting the world or morality or any foolishly human reason to fight against the destruction of society.
Dazai was not a moral person. He did not care about things like good and bad. But what he did care about, however, was his partner.
His partner who he knew was at the end of his rope. He doubted Chuuya could even stand, let alone fight anymore. They had used their last card— their last play, corruption.
Dazai had barely made it in time to nullify Chuuya back to his right mind, and there was no way he was going to let the man try to do it again. Never before had Chuuya used corruption twice back to back, and he had an inkling that it would literally kill him to do so.
Dazai finally answered. “There’s no fight to return to.”
Silence.
After a few moments of that extended quiet, Chuuya spoke up again. “How bad is it?”
Dazai mentally scoffs. He had just said that there was no fight to return to. What did the small executive not understand about the statement? Yet when he turns his head to look at Chuuya in a criticizing manner, he sees the unconcealed, raw emotion in his eyes.
Chuuya looked the most sincere he had ever seen, and that was saying a lot given how genuine of a person he had always been. He was the embodiment of sincerity in serious moments, and it always had made him such a good target for Dazai’s jokes. He could recall many-a-time he feigned being injured only to see the concerned look in Chuuya’s eyes.
Ah, that’s what Chuuya had been asking, Dazai realizes as he meets the mafioso’s face, whose eyes had slowly sunk down to look at his abdomen.
”Checking me out, huh, chibi?” Dazai tried.
”Fuck you. Now answer the fucking question.”
Chuuya was always so damn difficult. Dazai surprisingly relented, tearing his eyes away from Chuuya to look down at himself. Blood bubbled from the wound in his gut. He felt vulnerable being injured like this in front of his former mafia partner, yet he was sure that wouldn’t matter soon anyway.
”Pretty bad.” Honesty was never Dazai’s forte, but he figured he might as well try to be a sincere man on his deathbed. Now is as good of a time as ever. “I’m excited.” He admitted.
Chuuya didn’t seem surprised at that notion, dryly responding with a disproving noise before speaking again.
”I bet you’re rather disappointed that you’re not going to be dying in a double suicide with a pretty lady after all, huh, shitty Dazai?”
The brunet looked at the other man with a blank gaze for a moment. Chuuya was sitting there, now staring up at the sky, blood caked around his face. He looked ethereal like this, on the verge of death yet still absolutely breathtaking with autumn hair framing a pale face. Dazai wasn’t sure if it was his admiration for death that was making Chuuya look so otherworldly (he knew it wasn’t).
There was something so terrifying about this moment, and Dazai couldn’t find the words to describe it. Perhaps it was someone who had spent his entire life being so determined to fight, to push on, to persevere and come out on top now instead accept his mortality.
“No.” Dazai said simply, continuing to stare intently at the other. Chuuya seemed to feel his eyes on him, turning his head away from its fixation on the sky to instead meet Dazai’s stare. “I’m not.”
Part of Dazai thinks he always knew he was going to die this way, and an even bigger part of him knows that there was nobody he would have rather died beside. Nobody was befitting of the position of his final partner than Chuuya. He doesn’t think he will ever admit that out loud, though.
”Are you happy?”
The question might be meant to sound accusing or scrutinizing, but it doesn’t come across that way to the brunet at all. Instead it almost sounds... sad. Regretful. Heartfelt, maybe? Dazai can’t help but wonder what’s going on in that small mind of Chuuya’s.
He opens his mouth to respond, and then closes it. He thinks about his potential responses. How does he want to answer this?
“Hm.” Dazai answers again, but it wasn’t much of an answer at all.
”Are you going to keep giving me short ass responses?” Chuuya hissed, and Dazai felt a flicker of relief at the familiarity of his viciousness.
”Are you going to keep asking me dumb questions?” Dazai shot back.
“They’re not fucking dumb questions.” The mafioso countered. “You were always on and on and on about suicide your entire damn life, I think it’s fair to ask if you’re happy you’re finally dying.”
“Just because I want to kill myself doesn’t mean I want to die.” Dazai says solemnly, like he just said something profound.
”Yes?” Chuuya practically snapped, but it barely held any weight or volume anymore. “It literally does. Being killed and dying are synonyms, dumbass.” There was a weak venom back in his voice.
“Chuuya knows what the word synonym means? I’m proud.” Dazai cooed mockingly.
This was nice, Dazai decided. He would take the comfortable familiarity of bickering over any serious conversations always, even in a moment like this. Yet it still felt wrong. Chuuya’s voice sounded way too slurred and exhausted for it to be a normal argument, and Dazai’s head felt way too light to process as quickly as it usually did during their fights.
It was a false comfort, really. Because no matter how familiar it may feel, it was only masking the much darker thoughts between the both of them.
“I’m surprised you haven’t passed out again.” Dazai admitted, still looking at Chuuya.
He didn’t want to look away from him. Not if this was going to be his last time seeing him.
“If I go unconscious now,” Chuuya hesitated, as if he didn’t want to state the truth but did so anyway. “-I wouldn’t wake back up.”
”Figured that part out already.” Dazai said solemnly before squinting slightly. “I mean more that I’m surprised you’re still able to fight it.”
A pause.
”I don’t want to miss out.” There doesn’t need to be an explanation for that statement, but Dazai wants a verbal confirmation anyway.
”Miss out on what?” Dazai tilted his head. He knew the answer.
”My last moments with you.”
Dazai looked at him.
He wasn’t sure at what point his hand had found its way atop Chuuya’s, or if it had just landed there when he had collapsed weakly beside the other man, but he let his fingers hesitantly entwine with Chuuya’s.
”That’s awfully sincere of Chuuya.” Dazai comments, but it doesn’t hold as much of a mocking tone as he wishes it did.
Dazai knows they are both running out of time. If the sight of Chuuya’s eyes seeming to focus and unfocus back and forth was anything to go by, or the way Dazai’s own vision was starting to blur. He didn’t want blurry vision. He wanted to keep looking at Chuuya.
He needed to tell him.
From the very beginning, he should’ve told him. He should’ve told him as soon as he knew about it. The great weight on his entire soul every time he interacted with the redhead after he left the mafia. The feeling in his chest whenever he had gotten close to him.
Dazai’s biggest regret had been leaving Chuuya behind. Leaving him in the same mafia he had brought him into, abandoning him without a goodbye. Dazai wishes he had the time to explain everything. To explain why he hadn’t even able to see him before he left because he knew the sight of his face would make Dazai cave in. To explain why he always substituted any real attempt at comforting Chuuya with harsh words because he didn’t know how to support him. To explain why he had to distance himself from Chuuya as much as he possibly could even when they were partners. To explain that he thought of Chuuya every single waking moment of every day and even when he wasn’t awake. To explain the real reason Dazai hated Chuuya.
To explain that Dazai hated Chuuya because he didn’t hate him at all.
But the truth hurts and reality is unforgiving so Dazai had anything but time. He couldn’t explain anything, couldn’t articulate his feelings into proper words with careful time.
Three words. All he needed to say was three words and everything would make sense.
“Chuuya.” His name sounded strange when it was so weakly spoken.
The ginger moved his head in acknowledgment, but his eyes had never left Dazai anyway.
”You asked if I was happy.” Dazai said quietly, and suddenly he couldn’t look at Chuuya anymore. He stared straight up at the sky. “The only time I’ve ever been happy in my entire life was when I was by your side.” The words may be jumbled- Dazai couldn’t tell anymore. Darkness crept along the edges of his vision.
“I’ve always looked at life as meaningless. I would ask myself if there was any true value at all in the act of living. What was the value of humanity at all? But then there’s you.” Dazai smiled fondly. “The most human person I have ever met in my entire life. Frustratingly human. So human I hated it.”
When had he started crying?
“Except I don’t. I don’t hate it.” His voice trembled. “I don’t hate it.“ Dazai hadn’t genuinely cried in so long that he used to think he was incapable of doing so. Yet there were tears slipping down his bloodied face, and he almost wanted to laugh in delirium.
”And I don’t hate you.” Dazai couldn't look at him. “I don’t hate you because-“ Dazai couldn’t say it. He couldn’t.
”Because I love you, Chuuya.”
Dazai squeezed his hand.
“Chuuya?”