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i’ve spent all of the love i saved,
we were always a losing game
Pain radiated from the back of his head where he’d been slammed against the wall. Pieces of said wall crumbled around him, a low cry knocked from his chest without his permittance.
Long and unruly flaming orange hair floated to rest, curling around the smaller boy’s shoulders, and the blue eyed boy gave him a smirk. “Where’s arcade-grade tricks gonna get you if you can’t even defeat me physically?” Blue-eyes leaned down, placing his foot on his chest, preventing him from making any moves. “Call the deal off, and I’ll let you live.”
Dazai Osamu stared back at him, before rolling his eyes. “You always let me live.”
Blue-eyes sent a sharp kick, jerking Dazai’s face to the side. “No deal.”
“Then maybe you should’ve caught me when I attacked you first, slug.” The brown haired boy stuck his tongue out, smirking even as blood dripped from his nose and mouth. Blue-eyes scowled, pressing even harder on his chest, causing Dazai to wheeze.
“What did you call me? You should be thankful I didn’t cause more harm to you!” Nakahara Chuuya spat, outraged, before releasing the other with a shake of his head. “Deal is off!” he grunted, closing his eyes as if he couldn’t stand the sight of him.
They both knew otherwise.
“You always lose to me, Chuuya-kun. It’s a surprise that you never learn,” Dazai taunted, trying to catch his breath before pulling himself up and touching the tender part of his nose to see if it had any breaks (it didn’t).
Chuuya’s kicks were always painful. He was the strongest fighter Dazai had ever encountered at his age, and the first time they’d fought, he’d nearly had a concussion from how hard his head had knocked against the ground.
But this pain was not new, and he could endure it.
He dusted his hands off on his suit pants that were completely unsuited to fighting. “This shirt was new,” he muttered. “The next time you lose, you’ll be my dog..”
Dazai placed his hand on Chuuya’s shoulder, spinning him around and leaning close to the older, an annoyingly smug smile playing on his lips. “..for life.”
They stared at each other for a few moments, Chuuya’s blue eyes staring into his dark brown-amber eyes.
Dazai admired the small crease between his eyebrows, noting the conflicting irritation within the depths of blue. They truly were like the skies. They weren't deep, not too dark. A little darker and it would have reminded him of the one night that made Dazai want to look away. But there was no way he would admit defeat to this short guy.
The silent stare down between them ensued, until the other boy scowled and pushed his hand off his shoulder. “Quit being creepy, you bastard.” He tucked his hands further into the pockets of his blue hoodie, stalking away. “It’s not like you can control me either. I’d go feral and bite you in the ass, bandaged jerk. See you next Thursday.”
Dazai’s lips tugged up in a smile as he watched Chuuya walk away.
Thursday.
My favourite day of the week.
- - -
“NOT YET! NOT.. YET.. GET UP! ARGH, WHY DOES THE HEALTH DECREASE SO FAST?!” Chuuya yelled at the screen as it flashed a black “K.O”, signalling that the bandaged bastard had indeed won again.
He slammed his hand into the game panel, causing a few patrons around them to glance over curiously. “And I thought I was gonna win this time! You damn Dazai, what did you do?” He barked, eyes flaming.
“There, there, I didn’t do anything this time, nor all the other times,” Dazai replied, putting his hands up in mock surrender even as a smug look played on his face. “It’s not my fault you’re too dumb to win against me!” He lamented in an exaggerated manner, looking disappointed with a very big pout that cracked into a huge grin.
Chuuya fumed in his seat.
At fifteen, they were arcade buddies, meeting every Thursday. It always started with Dazai challenging Chuuya to one of the battling games and ended with Chuuya losing to Dazai, before Chuuya beat Dazai up just to ensure that the taller would never underestimate his physical power.
He would threaten Dazai with death, but he never truly meant it.
How could he, when-
Occasionally, they played other games as well. The game Chuuya treasured the most was the one where you could catch a stuffed toy. It was rare that they would play that, since they’d only ever won it once.
Using his intelligence combined with his knowledge of the game’s algorithm, Dazai had caught the little orange and white hamster plush, announcing that it reminded him of Chuuya, and hence would be his companion. But it stayed with the orange haired boy instead. It was always on his mattress, and just looking at it made him feel a little better about life. Chuuya liked to think that Dazai had caught it just for him.
At fifteen, Chuuya knew for a fact that he, presumably, was not straight. He knew that he had a stupid raging attraction towards the dark brown haired boy, whose good looks weren’t the only thing that he liked. But it wasn’t meant to be, he was sure of it. It wasn’t like Dazai would ever like him back, right?
At fifteen, Dazai was notoriously handsome. He had girls fawning over him from left to right, and it would be a big lie if Chuuya said that he wasn’t jealous of some of the attention Dazai paid to them.
Not that Chuuya himself would ever admit to liking the bastard.
Not that he ever had the chance.
Not that Dazai would ever like a boy, especially not him.
Sometimes, just sometimes, he wished that he had a family, a home, somewhere he could say with absolute certainty was where he belonged. Or to someone. To be loved, recognised, known at all.
It was a dead given that they were rivals, only within the arcade, and nothing more. With all the pretending, they weren’t truly friends. But they weren’t actual enemies, either, nor strangers. Acquaintances, perhaps.
With his intelligence and humour but shady and reserved personality, Dazai was probably the most mysterious person he had ever met.
Chuuya sighed, turning his attention back to the game that he had lost this time. “Are you my slave now?” The brunette said with a self-satisfied look that Chuuya would like to wipe off with a punch. “Shut it,” he growled back. “You can’t even handle me physically. You’re weak.”
And this went on for months.
It was no secret that they were broke. Dazai worked at the arcade, earning little to be able to make a small living. He had no parents, and neither did Chuuya. After their mini battles, they would sometimes head down to the Yokohama dock to sit and buy the ice cream sold in ice cream trucks there. It sounded a little cliche, but it was their life, even if neither of them would acknowledge even thinking of the other as an important part of it.
Dazai was suicidal; the only thing grounding him was the fact that Chuuya existed. Without him.. well, he didn’t see a point in living. Life was boring, but Chuuya.. he made life seem more worthwhile.
Chuuya’s persistence in staying alive was inspiring.
But he knew his boundaries. He couldn’t get too close, or-
Today, there was a comfortable silence between the two as they savoured their ice cream. They’d gotten their usuals — Dazai with vanilla flavoured ice cream, and Chuuya with chocolate ice cream.
Chuuya had made a small mess, the cream smeared at the corner of his mouth, his eyes sparkling as he looked out at the body of water. The sun was setting, dipping into the horizon, the line of sea. Times like these were peaceful, a time none of them tried to interrupt. They both knew the other needed the quiet.. or maybe they just had nothing better to say.
Those amber brown eyes were watching him instead. Dazai’s heart warmed affectionately but tightened painfully. Maybe this was what he really wanted. To be able to live with someone he genuinely liked, cherished.
It was too overwhelming to wonder about the word love.
Was this the meaning of life? The reason people continued to live? They were young. It was too quick and too soon to tell. Besides, it wasn’t like Chuuya would like him back.
It wasn’t like he had a choice.
But since he was here, he would make full use of his time.
Unconsciously, his thumb reached out to swipe at the drop of ice cream at the side of Chuuya’s lips.
They both froze.
Chuuya’s eyes were wide with surprise as he stared at Dazai, and Dazai back at him. Slowly, Dazai wiped it off, eyes still on his as he lowered his hand. In a very, very strange and slightly hesitant manner, he’d licked the ice cream off his finger.
Chuuya's breath caught.
He didn’t really know what to make of it.
On one hand, it was weird.
On the other, Dazai had licked the ice cream from his mouth off his thumb, almost like in those cliche romance movies he’d peeked at from afar when people had played it on public television in cafes. Like those things people whispered about, girls squealed about, called an.. an indirect kiss?
The tension between them was immaculate, each unwilling to look away even as pink dusted their cheeks. Awe, shock, fear of the unknown and uncertainty shone in their gazes as the evening breeze blew at their hair and clothes.
Just for a moment, they forgot all their worries, past pain, struggles for life. For a moment, they forgot that they’d been forced to grow up too fast, missing their childhoods; they were merely two awkward teenage boys with crushes, sitting under the reddish glow of the lowering sun.
The ice cream was forgotten as they stared at each other.
Well, until it started melting, dripping onto their clothes.
Dazai cursed, quickly finishing his ice cream before standing up and clearing his dry throat. Chuuya was still stuck on the bench, emotions welling in his throat as he struggled to find a way to express himself.
A hand reached out to him, and Chuuya stared at Dazai with unblinkingly wide eyes. “Don’t.. don’t assume I meant anything with that.” the brunette said sheepishly, face darkening with a fierce blush as his eyes trailed away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Chuuya accepted the hand and pulled himself up.
“Well, I.. um.” He fidgeted. “I think I’ll get going, now. I have to clean up before closing the games. See you next Thursday, chibi.” He smiled, before scurrying away, leaving the other gaping at him without a single word.
Chuuya raised his fingers to tentatively touch at the side of his mouth, where he’d felt Dazai’s finger graze against lightly.
Chuuya shook his head and tried to disperse his thoughts. If the situation had been less awkward and intense, he could have laughed. If it had been anyone else, he would have. There was no point in dwelling on it, now, as he watched the retreating back of the other half of his soul, his white collared shirt accenting his dark hair in contrast.
Maybe it was difficult to get past this after all.
See you next Thursday.
small-town boy in a big arcade..
i got addicted to a losing game.
It was impossible to get the blue eyed boy off his mind. Funny how the only thing he looked forward to everyday was Thursday, the one day of the week he actually lived.
Yeah, Chuuya had that impact on him.
The small wild haired boy that made him feel. Made him see. Made him want to live a little longer, just to explore this.. unknown emotion.
Addicted. He was addicted.
Addicted to the other’s little laughs as he cracked jokes, his furious shrieks as he lost to Dazai, his wonderstruck expression each time he saw the docks, even his small show of arrogance was pretty cute. And now, Dazai couldn’t forget the blush staining the chibi’s cheeks as he’d licked the ice cream off his thumb. Chuuya-kun is adorable.
It was currently eleven on this Thursday morning. There was usually no one around at this time, as it was time for lunch soon. Either that, or it was morning and no one enjoyed games this early. It wasn’t that early, actually. Maybe it was because-
The bell at the door jingled, and although slightly surprised, Dazai merely shouted a “welcome” without turning before proceeding to wipe the rest of the machine.
Heels clicked against the floor, sounding louder and firmer with each step. It wasn’t the heels that ladies wore, but those of dress boots. Whatever they were called. Dazai’s eyes narrowed. They were heading towards him. Steadily, unfaltering.
Never turn your back on a stranger.
Whoever it was, they were close.
Always memorise the physical appearance of the person.
A shadow loomed over him from behind. He didn’t need to look at this person’s face to know that they’d arrived in the game center with a motive, and Dazai was ready to play it. A small smirk tugged up the side of his lips.
Don’t you know I’m pretty good? There won’t be a single time you can take me.
He held his breath.
Dazai ducked to the side just as a scalpel that glinted in the afternoon light from the entrance rushed past his face, nicking the edge of his ear.
The two males stayed in this position for a few seconds, before the black haired male pulled his hand back, standing straight again.
Now, there was no reason to look behind, because Dazai already knew who it was.
The brunette folded the cloth in half, using the clean side to begin wiping again. “If you don’t have better things to do here, sir, I suggest that you leave. We have a strict policy as to having weaponry within our premises.” He said in a monotone voice, choosing to feign indifference. In reality, he knew every movement and action the opponent would make, listening quietly to each inhale and exhale, every shift in position.
A deep chuckle was heard.
Dazai’s unflinching brown eyes stared at the same area he’d wiped for the third time.
“A scalpel isn’t a weapon, Dazai-kun,” the voice drawled, and Dazai’s eyes caught Mori Ougai’s violet-red ones in the reflection of the glass. “It’s a tool a doctor uses to save lives, wouldn’t you agree?”
Dazai’s jaw clenched.
Mori moved to lean against the wall beside him. Dazai kept his eyes on his work, blood slipping from the wound on the shell of his ear. It stung, but he’d intended for it to. It was to keep his mind alert — this was nothing compared to emotional pain.
“I knew you would dodge that, so I moved my arm to the left by a tiny bit. It was never my intention to kill you. Now, you are an intelligent boy, Dazai-kun. You have escaped the Mafia’s attempts at catching you, dead or alive, several times. You have survived by working for this arcade and thrown all trackers off your trail. You are the lone survivor of the Tsushima Family purge.”
Dazai’s hand constricted around the cloth.
“I wouldn’t want such intelligence to be wasted.” Mori hummed, dancing away and trailing the tips of his fingers across the surface of each machine. “You know you could kill me now if you wanted to; you’re weighing the chances of getting away with it. You’re wondering if you could sabotage the security cameras, try to throw us off your tracks again.”
“But we know something you’ve been trying to hide.” He whispered into Dazai’s ear, coming back around, the latter’s hand already stilled on the screen. “I know you’ve been seeing a boy.”
Dazai’s heart dropped.
“He seems to be a lot smaller than you.”
He forced himself not to show any outward reaction.
“Orange hair, blue eyes..”
Apprehension filled him.
“Nakahara Chuuya. That’s the name of your companion, isn’t it?” A low chuckle passed Mori’s lips. “Our snipers found him sitting in this very arcade with you, multiple times. You’ve eaten ice cream with him, and he’s fought you too. I know you like him.. you’re a lot like me, Dazai-kun. This is why you’re so predictable.”
For the first time in a long while, he didn’t know the right reply, the confusing whirl of his scrambled thoughts forcing him to choke out whatever he had.
No matter what he said now, Mori would harm Chuuya anyways, because whether he was related to him or not didn’t truly matter to the Mafia. It was just one more body to hide, one more death to cover up from the government.
“Don’t touch him.” Dazai gritted out, unable to keep his confident act, hands forming fists as he spun around with the deadliest glare he’d ever managed. “He’s got nothing to do with me. He’s just a customer, no more.”
“Ah ah, that’s where you’re wrong. The fact that you’re defending him is enough reason. Anyone who interferes with the Mafia’s business is our business.” Mori said, sauntering towards the exit. “You should know that better than anyone else, Shuuji-kun.”
The doors opened then closed as the mafia executive left.
how many pennies in the slot?
giving us up didn’t take a lot.
Blood was everywhere on the ground.
Ten year old Shuuji Tsushima, or better known as Dazai Osamu, was cowering behind the kitchen wall, eyes wide with fright as the family’s servants were shot and maimed by the men in black suits who had invaded his home. They were tall and unidentifiable, eyes covered by shades so dark you couldn’t see through them.
They were armed with guns, and one of them raised his hand to press a button on the small wireless device in his ear, speaking something Shuuji himself could not hear, for blood was roaring in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. All he could now see in his tunnelled vision were the bodies of the security guards who were there to protect them.
The bullets had ripped through their bodies.
All but one were dead, or unmoving on the ground.
The man who had raised his hand pulled the security guard whose arm and leg had been shot.
“Tell me where you Mister and Mistress are.” He demanded. Shuuji watched with horror as the security refused, and the man in the suit did an action that made his arm bend at an unnatural angle, the bone sticking out of bloodied flesh in a sickening manner.
The man’s pained screams would forever haunt his memories.
Beside him, his younger sister whimpered, and Shuuji covered her mouth and eyes, pushing her back to hide in the dark. “Stay here, I’ll go get mom. You have to stay, or they’ll harm you, alright?” He whispered quietly, hoping she would comply. “This is our only chance to leave.” His sister nodded, her tear-stained cheeks glowing in the pale moonlight as more gunshots were heard and she covered her ears, swollen eyes welling with tears again. He ruffled her hair lightly, giving her the best reassuring smile he could as an older brother.
While they had never particularly cared for the father who had used many methods to hurt them both, their mother meant a lot to them.
She constantly did her best to diverge her husband’s rage onto herself, and as a result, suffered too many times at his hands. Their mother always cared for them, treating their wounds after being punished by him even if her own were still bleeding.
She swore to help them leave someday.
Shuuji knew she would do so. They would leave together, he was sure of it.
Quickly, he formulated a plan in his mind to divert the intruders’ attention as he ran out to get his mother. At the same time, another man wearing a white overcoat with chin length and straight raven black hair strode in through the entrance of the home, a sinister smile curving his lips. Shuuji’s father stood in front of the men in suits, hands raised as he tried a composed and confused look. There, a distraction.
“What’s going on, Mori-kun? Why have your men attacked my home?” His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, trying to clear the dryness of his throat.
Shuuji darted under the cover of one of the fallen tables, hoping to reach the stairs to fetch his mother, who he was sure was in the master bedroom. There was no other place she could be in the current situation, and with the tension in the air, Father probably did not want her downstairs.
Their father was a doctor, and that was how he’d met Mori Ougai, the underground doctor. They were partners, guilty of the assassinations of many well known people, and were paid handsomely for their crimes. Recently, they had joined the infamous Port Mafia of Yokohama together.
Then he noticed something off.
His father’s scalpel was no longer in his coat.
Blood stained his hands and plain shirt.
It was a little faded, as if he’d tried to wash them off minutes earlier but failed, hands still a little moist.
Time slowed as Shuuji processed this information, fear striking again as his gaze swung to the door at the top of the stairs leading to the master bedroom. Never had there been so much blood on his father’s hands in all the times he’d hurt his wife. Not on his shirt, where blood was splattered everywhere, soaked in.
“Trying to cover up a murder, Tsushima-kun?” Mori grinned, eyes hinting at insanity as he took in Father’s ruined clothing. “I have never seen you this sloppy at killing. Not even your wife deserved this outcome, but life isn’t very fair, is it?”
And to the guards, he merely said the two words that ended his current nightmare, and started the next one that would follow him forever.
“Shoot him.”
An eerily familiar scream sounded, and Shuuji watched in terror as his father pulled his sister out from behind him at the last second, attempting to use her as a body shield as a spray of bullets fired from the Suits’ guns, and his precious sister was ripped into shreds as a ringing started in his ears.
His father went down, holding the tattered and bloody remains of what was his sister. His lips parted in a silent cry, shock immobilizing him for a few moments before he saw the man named Mori smirk, regaining his focus and he scrambled up the stairs, the gunshots sounds covering his clumsiness.
There was time to grieve later.
He crawled into the room to minimise the chances of making unneeded sounds, before moving to the side his mother usually slept in.
“Mom?” He whispered, heart in his throat.
There was a lone figure on the bed, and he dropped to his knees beside it.
He muffled a sob behind his fist.
She was laying on her back, eyes staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. There was a chilling look of horror in her eyes, mouth gaping open.
His eyes trailed down, nearly choking on his next breath. There were clean stab wounds on her shirt, a gash in her throat, blood trickling out of her mouth. Multiple bruises littered her face and body, the skin around her throat darkened and red, as if someone had choked her.
Fresh wounds from a scalpel.
Blood stained the bedsheets, turning the pure white a deep red, the tangy smell of rust overwhelming.
“How pitiful. A coward, protecting himself with his daughter’s body. His wife may be dead, but there’s another child. Find him. Search this house until he’s dead. Now!”
There was only time for Shuuji to empty the contents of his stomach on the floor before he leaped through the window of the second floor, escaping into the night with a broken arm.
He mourned the loss of his sister, his mother. They’d promised to leave together, but he’d failed them on that.
He was truly alone now.
The Mafia did their best to trail him, but it was futile when all leads ended up being deadends. He found himself back at Yokohama three years later, and worked at the arcade he felt most at peace with.
And that was how Dazai Osamu was born.
i saw the end before it begun
still i carried, i carried, i carried on
That Thursday afternoon, Chuuya did not turn up.
It was seventeen minutes past the usual time.
Perhaps he’s just busy?
Twenty four minutes past the usual time.
He’d wait a little longer.
Forty three minutes past time.
He probably found some new guy to beat up.
One hour and two minutes past.
Some part of him hoped that Mori's threat had been a figment of his imagination.
One hour and thirteen minutes.
Dazai was still in the game’s seat, waiting for Chuuya to appear anytime and “surprise” him. Alarm bells rang in his head, an uncomfortable dread tugging at his heart.
Who am I kidding?
Unable to wait any longer, he stood up abruptly, knocking the chair down and tore out of the building, away from the customer’s stares, even as his boss shouted at him to return.
His sixth sense screamed that Chuuya was going to be.. down this alley, a turn to the left, and…
In here.
There was a motionless body on the dirty ground. The head was lolled to the side, and even under the darkness of the alley and the murkiness of the setting sun, there was no mistaking Chuuya’s small form and flame red hair.
Dazai nearly stopped breathing as panic and fear overcame him.
He scurried forward, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to get to Chuuya.
His pale skin was marred with bruises. Just like his mother’s.
Multiple torn stab wounds from a scalpel. Just like his mother.
Possibly dead. Just like them.
Even bullet wounds.
He felt nauseous as deja vu hit him.
Dazai pushed his fear away and forced his shaking hands to still as he turned the orange haired boy onto his back slowly, fighting to stay calm as he tried to see if the smaller was breathing.
I shouldn’t have waited.
He was, but faintly. His pulse was slowing down as Dazai wasted precious seconds worrying. He was unconscious, and blood was draining his life out very slowly. Dazai pulled his shirt off, applying pressure on some of Chuuya’s more serious wounds in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
Think. He needed to think fast. Could he bring Chuuya to the hospital? Would the police question his involvement? Would the Mafia try to touch Chuuya again? If the police knew of the Mafia’s involvement, it was likely to cause a ruckus within the city. But Chuuya needed immediate medical attention, or he wasn’t going to make it.
The assailants hadn’t chosen fatal points, it wasn’t enough to kill him immediately. A calculated move. It was possible that he could have bled out if Dazai had come about thirty minutes later.
Gingerly, he picked Chuuya up, trying not to touch his wounds, and rushed to the nearest hospital as fast as he could with the weight.
“Get up, idiot. Do you give up that easily?” Chuuya grinned.
He pushed through even as his head started feeling light, exerting himself beyond what he should have been able to, but the adrenaline pumped through his veins, muting his body’s screaming for his friend. Blood soaked through the white singlet he’d worn underneath, and he gritted his teeth. “Hang in there, chibi. Please.”
This is all my fault.
If I’d died with mom, would he be safe?
Chuuya was rushed into the emergency ward upon arrival, and Dazai waited outside for several hours as the doctors worked to patch him back together, cradling his head in his hands. He rarely lost his composure, for the first time since he’d cried himself to sleep many nights following his family’s death, Dazai felt tears prick his eyes.
He laughed weakly. It seemed with this chibi, there were many firsts.
“Dazai-san?” One of the doctors exiting the operation site called. Dazai stood up, bowing slightly.
“I am Doctor Yosano, it’s nice to meet you. Chuuya-san is in a critical condition right now. We have stitched up his stab wounds and treated his bullet wounds, but he has knocked his head heavily on the ground and has developed a serious concussion. He will be out for a while, a little over a week at most and four days at best.” There was a small pause as the doctor removed her gloves and withdrew a paper from her file.
“He will make full payment for Chuuya-san’s medical bills on the condition that you work for it to be paid as his personal right-hand man.”
There was no need to even mention who he was. This doctor worked for the Mafia, that much was clear. Dazai sighed. “So he wants me to work for him that bad, huh?”
Doctor Yosano made no comment, passing him the paper. “Do sign here if you agree and pass this back to me personally later on. Also, it is likely that he may lose a few recent memories. Our records have shown that Chuuya-san also lost his memories at eight, and this could happen again now. However, this isn’t confirmed, and can only be found out after he has regained consciousness.”
She tilted her head to the side, a golden butterfly hairpin perched on the side of her head as her straight purple hair fell into her eyes. “This was against the rules given to me to ask, but would you like to be notified when he wakes up? I can ask him for permission on your behalf.”
Dazai stayed silent.
“I’ll.. I’ll tell you when I return this to you,” he finally said after a moment.
The doctor nodded, before she turned and left.
He sat back down, slumping in the uncomfortable plastic chair, staring at the fresh and clean paper. It was a contract without an end date, and he briefly wondered if he could afford Chuuya’s bills if he were to work somewhere else.
It’s impossible.
He had no certification, and Chuuya was merely another boy from the slums. There was no reason for the government to protect him at all, much less cover his medical bills. No high-paying job would accept him no matter how smart he truly was without actual certificates to prove it, and even a fake identity.
He strolled up to the closest counter, flashing the nurse a charming smile and giving a, “Hey, I’ll lend this” before taking the pen and signing his name on the contract before returning the pen without another look, walking back to the chair.
He waited until Yosano came back out alone before placing the paper, and an object back in her hands. He didn’t look up, staring at a spot on the opposite wall as he forced himself to say his next words, a high pitched ringing in his ears. He couldn’t even hear what he himself said, feeling her inquisitive stare on him as he stood up.
Although every fibre of his being screamed at him to stay and don’t leave, remembering every single time Chuuya had called him bandage-wasting shit or stupid mackerel or godforsaken idiot, remembering every time Chuuya had looked proud that he was physically superior despite being shorter, remembering his own feelings.
Without as much of a backward glance, he took agonising steps towards the exit, stepping out once and for all, away and out of Nakahara Chuuya’s life, the boy who had now given him reason to work for the Mafia, something he’d never thought he’d willingly do.
A job his father would have taken.
“Please give this to him, and don’t tell me when he wakes up. As long as he’s in stable condition, as long as he’s good, I can handle not seeing him again. He’s strong, I’m sure he’ll make it. Thanks, Yosano-sensei. If he doesn’t remember me, don’t remind him. It’s for the best.”
He granted himself a small smile, oblivious to the single tear rolling down the side of his face. This is for the best, he thought. Best for Chuuya. Maybe after all this, maybe after I’ve finished my work in the Mafia, I can join them, find my peace in death.
Bye, Chibikko, and thank you for showing me what love is.
all i know, all i know
loving you is a losing game
The sixteen year old stared at the setting sun. It was vanishing behind the horizon, the surface of the waters glittering and sparkling under the reddish glow.
There was a light breeze, his flame-red hair almost floating, moving to the side. It scattered the leaves, the crackling sound of a few dried leaves reaching his ears.
His eyes drifted back down to the wallet clutched in his hand.
It was not his wallet.
It was open, made of leather. It smelled faintly of wood and blood, its contents empty, void of money. Yet there was a single thing stuffed in it, more valuable than anything anyone could ever afford.
Not for the first time, Chuuya found himself staring at it.
It was a slightly crumpled picture. He vaguely remembered taking it, in this spot. Someone had passed and snapped a picture of them, capturing his outraged expression and the other’s cheeky grin perfectly.
He didn’t know who that was, but he looked happy. Hell, even Chuuya looked happier than he’d ever remembered himself being for the past year, with that angry face.
Who was this boy?
He didn’t know.
But whoever it was, he must have been important to evoke such a strong reaction from him.
He smiled lightly, sliding the photo back into its case. Something told him that he wouldn’t want to know.
He tilted his head slightly to the side, pondering about it as he watched the sun disappear, taking its light and the sparkles away.
Forgotten. He’d forgotten how it felt like to have light in his life.
But some things were better left buried.
And, perhaps, that was for the best.