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Chuuya gritting his teeth and struggling to keep his head above the water.
Only in the water, he has gotten back his senses but it is too late to realises what situation he put himself and Dostoyevsky in.
He could barely hear the pity words being spat out from Dazai’s voice but from the sounds of it, it sounds like it was the end for him.
“Sorry! There weren’t any!”
“Goodbye!”
He hears from the speakers in the room.
A meaningless farewell.
Can’t believe I’m going to fucking die before that sucidal bastard does.
The water completely submerges the room.
No escape.
Trapped.
The empty feeling never leaves his chest as he sinks deeper into what feels like the endless abyss.
His eyes search for the light above but are shrouded in darkness.
He outstretches a hand, reaching for the imaginary light and hope.
Saving others is his job and duty, he is never the one who needs to be saved but for once, he yearns for the warmth touch against his cold, lonesome hand.
I guess… this is the end…
He wants to laugh at how ridiculous it sounded but in reality, he is choking in the water.
Eyes fighting to be open, his vision begins to lose itself as well.
His numb hand slowly retracts itself only to feel a grasp around his hand, pulling him towards him. Chuuya fights back and opens his eyes to see the person in the same position as him, drawing themselves closer.
The hand is neither cold nor warm.
His chapped lips whisper under the water turning into a few bubbles.
“Chuuya.”
What… the hell is he doing…?
Dostoyevsky leans in closer, his other hand finding itself on his cheek, lightly thumbing over it. A soft gesture. For someone like him.
A few seconds later before Chuuya knows it, he captures his lips.
An odd beat in his chest.
Dostoyevsky intertwines their fingers, holding it close to his chest.
Chuuya relaxes into it soon and wraps his other arm around his neck, pulling him in closer, sharing a kiss for the first and last time together.
Pulling away from their kiss and losing consciousness soon, Chuuya’s eyes begin to die out on him, the same for Dostoyevsky.
He wants to see him and hold him.
He watches the other’s lips mouthing one last message before meeting up in the afterlife.
I love you, Chuuya.
Even if Dostoyevsky isn’t the warmth or light he desires to save him, he doesn’t feel so bad about dying anymore.