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He was undeserving of it.
This feeling was reserved for only worthy people. And he… he was the furthest thing from worthy. This feeling was only for those made of gold, flesh and mind pure and untainted. Unlike his stained hands, a constant red splatter against his body. He was tainted in every way imaginable. No matter the way he looked at it, it must’ve been a mistake. An error in his programming.
Dazai refused to believe he was in love.
At first, he thought that love was something holy. Something bright, an entity consisting of blinding white and soft red. A marbled pattern curling around the petals of roses, drinking the sun instead of scuttling around in shadows.
He was a fool to forget that roses had thorns, no matter how pretty their petals may be or how misleading they may look.
It was early morning now, and he still hadn’t slept. Haunted by the sticky crimson that buried itself into the crevices of his palms, never quite being washed away no matter how often he washed his hands nor how hard he scrubbed them. This night was a particular one, however. For the blood was freshly spilt, the rose thorns digging into his hands and climbing up his body. They strangled around his throat, demanding their presence known.
Dazai laughed, realising the soft red wasn’t from growth. It instead came solely from the victims of it, each petal getting more and more drowned in that rich colour. He stared at his clean palms, willing, borderline praying, for those cursed flowers to uproot from his mind. To stop mixing his vision in with their tint; to stop twisting around his heart and upturning his stomach.
But, it was early morning now. He had work to do. He could swallow these feelings along with all the others, tossing them all into the void without a second thought. Allow the usual static to fill his limbs and calm his mind; even that, he decided, was better than being in love.
Truly, love was deserved only for the most wicked of beasts. How cruel, he thought, how deserving.
Dazai decided, until he could burn every one of those cursed flowers, he would avoid the person who caused these cursed thoughts. With luck, he would rid himself fully and rebirth into a being even further from human than before.
Luck and Fate always seemed to love taunting him in every way. It had never bothered him before; just a small hurdle that he was forced to continuously toss his disjointed body over more times than he cared for. This time, the pair was just mocking him with wolf fangs and eager eyes.
“Dazai, can you keep the fuck up?” Chuuya snapped at his sluggish pace, storm eyes piercing more into his partner than usual. He should make a joke, really. Something that has to deal with “keeping up with your chibi legs!” but the words died in his throat before he could even attempt to push them out. Instead, he just gazed at his partner with an empty look, usual forced expressions lacking.
Dazai could see discomfort flash in his partner’s eyes, coupled with the side-look to the ground and awkward neck scratch he did when nervous. An open book. Feelings laid in front of him without bared teeth, honest and clean. A stark contrast compared to the usual temper that laced the boy’s every word and action.
“Okay.” The only word to barely slip past the noose of thorns digging into his half-bandaged throat.
“Yeah… alright. Good.” Chuuya stared at him for a heartbeat longer, eyes squinted in the slightest. Analyzing. He turned around suddenly, leading them to the job site in a more rushed manner than before.
3 years. 3 constant years of each other’s company. Dazai silently cursed himself as he followed obediently. Of course his partner would notice something. Hopefully he brushed it off as nothing more than one of Dazai’s bad days.
God knows he’s seen enough of them to practically sense them.
The mission was a simple one. Nothing more than an infiltration mission. A quick in-and-out; the information priority over survivors. Code for ‘kill whoever stands in the way’. Chuuya seemed pleased hearing that, all recent missions requiring no blood shed.
“Dazai!” He felt himself fall to the ground, forcefully pushed to the dirt by his black dress shirt. “What do you think you are doing!?”
Chuuya’s voice was full of snarl and teeth, tearing into him as painfully as the thorns. His voice was concerned . Worry curled his lips downwards, fist tightening the fabric. Startled, Dazai looked around.
Oh.
They were at the place. The place where he nearly walked straight in through the front doors.
“Oops.”
“Oops? Oops?! That’s all you have to say?” Chuuya forcefully turned him around to face him, hand pulling back as if burned. Dazai missed the pressure it gave him. His misplaced disappointment wasn’t allowed to fester for long, the shorter’s fingers curling around his throat instead.
His traitorous heart skipped a beat at the gentleness those fingers had.
“Are you here or not? I don’t need someone useless to complete this mission.” Anyone else might’ve felt wounded by those sharpened words. Anyone but Dazai. Venom whispered into his ears, and he drank every drop gladly. They were a guise to mask worry; sentence a Batesian mimicry.
Dazai opened his mouth to respond, only to come up strangled. Not from the physical blockage, which wasn’t anything more than a touch, but instead a mental one. Words jostled in his brain chainlessly, emotions slipping out from the bottles placed on the shelf. He could feel the vines coiled around his body tighten with vigor, cleanly chopping through meat and bone without discrimination.
Those beautiful grey eyes pierced into him rawly, stripping him naked and leaving him shaking. Yet he couldn’t stop staring, entranced by the flint-chipped storm that coloured them. They looked at him, him , him and only him . They didn’t see the masks perfectly sculpted to his features. They saw him .
And knowing that only drew the knife deeper into his bleeding heart. Everything about Chuuya was so pure, so clean and untainted that it killed Dazai. No matter how much blood the boy spilled, his hands were always the pristine perfect. Much unlike his own hands; stained as if cursed.
“I…” Dazai’s voice strangled, everything becoming overwhelming. His heart was too loud, breathing causing nausea. The feeling of clothing against his skin made him want to scream. And the concerned hand that cupped his cheek burned . Burned hotter than the matches and cigarette butts pressed into his skin. Forced his attention more than the fire-wielding metal that singed his flesh and nerves. It drew him in, a mercilessness in his mind. Intoxicating him more than any alcohol could. Unwinding him to nothing more than a moth to a flame.
“Dazai…” The voice was so soft, a fresh breath of air amongst the smothering smoke filling his lungs. “You’re crying.”
He hadn’t even noticed until Chuuya pointed it out, calmly and unjudging. He looked to his crimson palms, feeling the tears hit them. They gathered the blood and rolled off with it, leaving pale behind. Now that his attention was focused on them, they only spilled further and harder.
Without his permission, his arms wrapped around his partner’s small frame. Face burying into his shoulder, knocking off the black fedora.
“I’m sorry, Chuuya.” Apologies spilt as freely as his tears, spewing whatever nonsense his scrambled mind could think of.
“What are you apologising for?”
For loving you. For not being good enough for you. For being so dirty. Endless thoughts spiraled his drowning brain, on the verge of tipping over and spilling his every thought and secrets.
“It’s okay. I’m here.” Dazai only sobbed harder, squeezing him as if he would crumble under his arms. “I’m not going anywhere.” He nestled his head further into Chuuya’s shoulder, paying only attention to the calm that sank into his body from the other person. “I’ll always be right here. Right by your side.”
Love truly was harsh and unforgiving.
He deserved every drop of misery it caused him.