Chapter Text
Darkness. At last, there is only darkness in his field of vision- quiet, peaceful darkness that is easy on his eyes and ears. Darkness that finally engulfs his entire being, or the lack thereof.
For the first few moments, his mouth still tries to form sounds like it used to, tries to deliver his final attempts at imitating life, but the barrier between him and the real, breathing world has already been put in place. In a sense, it‘s a liberating feeling, knowing that he can no longer create noises that will inevitably be absorbed by some lost soul and change the course of history forever.
History, what does that word even mean to a dead man?
As he sinks to the ground, he feels entirely weightless. It’s like gravity, the curse that’s been haunting him for the better part of his life, has been temporarily suspended just to witness the death of its greatest enemy firsthand.
He breathes out along with the rest of the world, and then he closes his eyes and doesn’t breathe in again.
.......
At first, there are many visions dancing in the void behind his eyes, visions of beautiful lies that change as he plunges into the wonderful nothingness that’s been promised to him the very moment he opened his eyes to the world. At last, he‘s fully at home in this darkness, a place that needs no introduction or adjusting to, since he’s always been the most at ease with himself when not perceived by anyone else, when hidden from sight.
This moment would be everything he’d ever dreamed of and more, if not for one, small detail-
He isn’t alone in the void. Regretfully, there is a light that lies somewhere outside the darkness, a highly annoying presence that is ripping through the visions one by one, unsatisfied until it is the only thing there with him in his mind. He feels a force shaking his weightless body and yelling out his name, but that isn‘t possible, because there isn‘t supposed to be anything outside of death.
“Crap! The bastard‘s not breathing, what do I do now?!“
The presence disturbing his blissful immersion… it has a name.
Chuuya.
He’s already too detached from the world to put a face to this name. Chuuya. Even though he isn’t supposed to bring anything but the coin to pay off the ferryman, that name manages to stick to him like a second skin and, undetected, passes through the barrier alongside him.
It’s like he’s known Chuuya his entire life.
Even though his eyes remain firmly closed, it’s no longer dark in the void. The soothing nothingness has been replaced with something else entirely, something loud, something unpleasant. A light so radiant that it hurts just to be in its presence. He’s seen this light before, many years ago. Even though he isn’t supposed to, he remembers it well, because he was struck by disaster the very moment he learned of its existence.
One of his first memories of Chuuya is feeling that absolute desperation one can only feel in the presence of a God. He remembers being struck by the same kind of terror he used to experience as a child after looking at the sun for too long, leaving him to wonder whether the black spots filling his vision would ever go away at all. Except there was no sun in the sky around that time and God was nothing more than a heinous crime committed in the name of science. It was late at night, perhaps two in the morning, and they were standing guard together as a punishment for some misdemeanor that must have been so minor that he couldn‘t be bothered to remember it even if his death depended on it.
“Shitty Dazai, I‘m going to kill you for this once you wake up…!“
Just like back then, the light casts a shadow over the visions now, paints over his black and white peace with gray.
How utterly obnoxious.
The darkness was supposed to swallow up whatever measly attachment he had to his demeaning life, so why is it that he can’t let go of that name even in his moment of absolute immersion?
This isn’t going the way he imagined at all.
The distant memory is tugging at the corner of his mind more persistently now, but that isn’t possible either, because his oxygen supply must have been cut off for at least three, maybe four minutes now. His brain is supposed to be dying, and yet it doesn‘t seem to be dying quickly enough.
He’s supposed to be lulled to eternal sleep by the song of shapeless angels, not shaken awake by a name that must be synonymous with both God and Satan, because there is no way any benevolent creature would possess enough malice to force life back into his already drowned lungs.
The name Chuuya is weighing down on his ribcage heavily and in a steady rhythm, as if trying to imitate a heartbeat in his chest. It’s supposed to be a futile attempt, and yet he can feel the desperate punches against his heart even on his end of the void.
It must have been an intuition, a hunch of the maliciousness about to be unleashed on an unsuspecting world, a glimpse of a future where they would often be spending every waking minute around one another- but Dazai Osamu, enemy of all living things, felt an immediate and immense dislike for the short ginger boy who was unfortunate enough to have been proclaimed his partner in crime. The sentiment was without a doubt reciprocated fiercely. The angry little guy, short-sighted as he seemed to be, had been cursing him for the better part of their lookout duty without any regard for their differences in rank -or height- at all. He doesn’t remember the names of any of his men now, but he does remember the kind of look they gave the young prodigy and his new partner as they moved Western contraband into the armory.
He remembers thinking that he never liked watching them work, as they would often joke with each other in ways that he couldn’t understand. What did it take to have that sort of camaraderie with someone, to be able to let go of status and all those other things that only mattered on the surface, and simply be? He’d always assumed that sort of thing was reserved for those who walked in the light, but these men certainly weren’t creatures of the day either, and they seemed to enjoy their time just fine. Maybe it was because he was their superior, but more than likely he wouldn‘t have been able to fit in even if he hadn‘t been.
The laughter and banter they shared with one another- for as long as he could remember, that unattainable bond between them served as a sore reminder of all the traits that made him less than human. It was like they were all mocking him in a secret language that he couldn‘t decipher at all. And he couldn‘t have cared less- if not for that name showing up in his life and shaking his belief system to the core.
When Chuuya turned up, he wreaked havoc in his perfectly organized life and suddenly every day stopped being as boring, stopped being as predictable, all at the cost of his peace of mind. This strange, bold person with the radiance of a thousand suns was someone he could only ever come to despise, as Chuuya surrounded himself with all of the things that he could only understand in theory. Pride, ambition, friends. In fact, it was like life followed him wherever he went, and the other people in the organization noticed it too, to a degree that made him regret ever recruiting him in the first place. He’d never seen anyone else in his line of work make friends of mafiosi so naturally and quickly.
No, that's not true.
There might have been someone else like that in his life at one point, but if so, that memory, or perhaps the entire person, even, is long gone.
Despite his strong initial dislike for the boy’s humanity, he found himself equally drawn to it. He remembers stealing glances whenever Chuuya wasn‘t looking, many more glances than were necessary, and every one of them hurt like he had made direct eye contact with the sun. But somehow the pain never deterred him from staring, and the firm line he had drawn between himself and the world of the living started to blur when he looked at him for too long.
Whenever one of the goons stopped to chat with the two of them, that line suddenly snapped back into place, though. Despite his higher rank, he remembers forcing responses at their crude jokes, some practiced expressions of exaggerated boredom and annoyance at being stuck with the worst guy on the planet. But Chuuya, Chuuya talked to them without any reservations whatsoever, and he started to suspect that he’d never had a hard time connecting with other human beings to begin with.
The truth is that standing guard with Chuuya that night was nerve-wracking and painful in all the wrong ways because the midget kept joking with the men without seeming the least bit like he was trying to be likable or begging to be perceived in a particular light. In fact, he didn‘t seem preoccupied with maintaining his distance at all. He simply interacted with other humans because he wanted to, not because he was forced to wander among them in order not to be alone. Chuuya had most likely never experienced what it was like to have to choose every word carefully and pick others apart with equal caution.
But Dazai couldn’t escape it. He knew of his lot in life, and that was that. After all, he was the Port Mafia‘s demon prodigy, and the kind of respect he commanded had been earned through fear and hearsay, not trust or dedication to the cause.
When their duty ended, the men smiled at them and told them to keep giving it their all and they‘d go far, but even back then, he knew they really only meant Chuuya, who just beamed right back at them without any regard for his eyesight.
It was at that moment he realized that they were two entirely different species, two beings belonging to the same human race in name only. Only one of them was truly human, while the other was imitating humans well enough to pass as one of their own, but never quite well enough to feel like he belonged.
Chuuya‘ s wasn‘t a fake smile like the ones he had gotten used to wearing- in fact, looking back at it now, his smile must have shone even brighter than everything else about this boastful person. Some people are just loved by Fate, and it was immediately obvious to him that this annoying, radiant kid who didn’t differ much from him in age or physical structure must have been one of those people who were never going to be truly alone. Dazai with his sharp intellect and good eye must have been one of the lucky ones too, but he had no such understanding of himself. In fact, it only ever seemed like everyone around him was infinitely happier than he was.
“Wake up, damn it! This stopped being funny a few minutes ago… Come on…!”
Chuuya , he knows nowadays, is a stubborn and not at all graceful deity. Once upon a time, he must have come into existence out of his enemies’ joint desire for retaliation, and even now he simply won’t let go as he’s trying to slip away quietly.
He’s tried, but life isn’t an entity easily cheated by death.
That fact becomes increasingly clear to him as he’s pushed back from the brink of death with a violent cough, and shoved once more into the world of the living, until eventually the door to the promised land closes altogether and his eyes open again.
He coughs up more water than he remembers swallowing and instinctively tries to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, only to find that he is unable to move his hands freely. For the first few moments, his surroundings are nothing but a blur and he can only make out a single shape. It’s too bright and noisy; he wants to go back to sleep, back to the darkness that is so easy on his eyes and mind. But he can’t, because the shape is somehow blocking his path, and even though it‘s getting dark outside already, he finds himself squinting against the excessive brightness that surrounds it.
“...Is this hell…?” He is sent into another coughing fit as the light slowly morphs into the outline of a familiar body. His first instinct is to just look away, to shield his eyes from it as long as possible, and when that doesn’t work anymore, he decides to face it head-on, a decision he might very well come to regret for the rest of his life. Just like he feared, even the most beautiful, painted picture in his mind cannot hold up against the cruel nature of reality. In the end, all it takes to shatter his carefully constructed image of a vengeful God is a single glance at the disheveled and distraught dog hovering over him in all of his wet glory- with all of that water dripping from his face, he looks more like a slug than a deity. But the most startling detail of all is the stupidly honest look of concern on his face, the kind of look humanity is incapable of faking.
Really, it doesn’t feel fitting at all that a shadow of his past could shine so bright in the dark. Taken aback, he inhales sharply and instantly regrets it when he feels a burning sensation in his lungs, reminding him of what he’s done. He coughs some more to get rid of the residual water until his ability to breathe is somewhat restored, even if it’s in name only. It feels like his insides are on fire; the warm body above him is as well, and on top of that, his heart won’t stop beating rapidly in his chest.
Chuuya seems equally surprised to see him, but any joy in his body language is quickly covered up with anger. Not that he’d ever expect any different from a bitter midget. In a sense, there is comfort in knowing what will happen next, in being able to predict every one of his partner’s moves. There is even comfort in Chuuya’s nails digging into his wrists hard enough to leave bruises, because it lets him know that this isn’t just another one of his many suicide dreams. They look at each other for an extended moment, and even though Chuuya’s eyes are screaming bloody murder, there is comfort in that too.
“ You damn good-for-nothing waste of bandages …! You’re the absolute worst! Just because you smell like a mackerel already doesn’t mean you should go and take a dive into the river!”
Chuuya is quite the terrifying sight with his furious expression and clenched fists only a few inches away from his face, or at least he would be if he didn’t know any better. Since he does, he knows there isn’t much he can actually do to him in this state, because Dazai is Dazai and they both know it takes more than a little bit of intimidation to get to him.
“I’m somehow not surprised that Chuuya can’t tell the difference between freshwater and saltwater fish.”
As expected of a fighter of Chuuya’s caliber, Dazai doesn’t get an opportunity to revel in his smart remark and shove the chibi off of him. The next thing he knows, his throat is being pinned down against the wet grass and he exhales slowly and painfully. Chuuya is choking him; but he’s also holding back, and the moment Dazai properly realizes it, he can’t help but smirk.
“This settles it- I must have succeeded this time and gone straight to hell. The sight of a dog sweating from every pore is so horrifying that it can only be a projection of my worst nightmares. How gross, you‘re even sweating from your eyes~!”
He’s only seen the slug shaken up like this a couple of times, something that makes him wonder just how many more insults he will fling his way to maintain appearances.
“Shitty bastard…! You’re the last person I would ever cry for! In fact, I’d rather gouge my own eyes out than waste a single tear on you!“ Despite his words, Chuuya drags his shirt sleeve across his face the instant he thinks Dazai isn‘t looking. That’s his first mistake, assuming that Dazai can take his eyes off him. Only this time he doesn’t mention it because the implication makes his head spin.
Chuuya tightens the grip on his neck again like he’d momentarily forgotten about his anger and just remembered years of hardship and torment at his hands. Dazai doesn’t try to stop him, and when the chibi leans over him, the redness in his eyes is so intense that it knocks the self-satisfied smirk right off his face.
“And besides, isn’t it your fault I’m wet, anyway!? Who in their right mind tries to drown themselves where people can see them? At least have the decency to croak somewhere I don‘t have to look at you!“
It’s not like he doesn’t have the power to stop him, because he absolutely does, but he’s decided ages ago that he prefers getting scolded over having to overly explain himself. And so he just lies on the grass like a motionless doll and lets all of Chuuya’s emotions wash over him, in the hope that the slug will feel better once he’s let it all out.
“You know, I always thought you wanted a painless suicide that didn’t trouble anyone. What you did right here is the opposite of that.”
Of course the slug is right in every aspect, but that doesn’t stop him from swatting Chuuya’s hand away like an annoying fly that inconveniences him. To his surprise, Chuuya complies and simply sits up, crossing his arms over his chest like he hasn’t fully made up his mind yet. Holding out for a genuine answer from someone like him is about as sensible as trying to build a sandcastle out of dry sand, but then again, Chuuya is the kind of guy who would insist it was possible even while the sand was slipping right through his fingers.
“What an annoying thing to say… Frankly, I didn’t expect to see anyone at this hour, least of all a slug like you. Does it really matter when you’re obviously the only one around?” His response is cold and calculated, but the slug can definitely call his bluff. They both know what he’s getting at, after all.
“The reason I’m around might be that you sent me on a wild goose chase to all of the suicide spots in Yokohama!” Chuuya frowns and for just a second, Dazai imagines he turns into Kunikida and starts demanding he take responsibility for the damage he could have caused to others. But of course Chuuya is Chuuya and knows better than to let Dazai shift the narrative towards a topic that suits him more.
He imagines Chuuya getting alarmed by the goodbye text he’d sent in a moment of weakness the night before, and subsequently tracking him down in this remote area just on the outskirts of town. He wants to be impressed, but then again, he expected nothing less from his former partner. After all these years, Chuuya is still the only person alive who knows him well enough to pull off a reckless stunt like this and still arrive just in time to save him- the only other person with that ability has bitten the dust quite a while back, and a dead man can hardly stand in the way of his success anymore. It pains him to admit this truth even just to himself, but the chibi is the closest thing to a friend that he has- which is just further proof of how truly unfortunate and cursed his entire existence is.
Chuuya leans over Dazai to grab his phone, giving him a good view of his soaked body in the process- from the looks of it, the slug hasn’t been exaggerating his involvement. His clothes cling to his small frame like he‘s been underwater for quite some time, and water droplets roll off his curls like divine pearls. He stretches out a little more and suddenly Dazai finds himself swallowing with some difficulty. Through his wet dress shirt, he can make out the outline of a body that he hasn’t been able to see up close in so long, making him consider actions that he hasn’t allowed himself to fantasize about even in his loneliest nights. It’s a sight for sore eyes that he won’t be forgetting for a while; and if not for that stupid waistcoat he always insists on wearing in the way, he wouldn’t have to imagine the rest, either. But maybe it’s a good thing that his shirt isn’t fully see-through, since nothing good has ever come out of acting on those lewd thoughts, only more regrets and reasons to leave.
He finally tears his deprived eyes away from the scene and notices two familiar items sitting next to the river bank. Chuuya’s hat and coat look more than slightly abandoned and he thinks they must have been shed right before the idiot jumped in after him like a loyal dog, given how carelessly they have been tossed aside. The image of a frightened chibi crosses his mind briefly, one who doesn’t find him in the muddy water right away and starts to panic so much that he stops caring about everything else, but ultimately his annoyance prevails over his guilty conscience. After all, attaching a lead weight to his leg to stay hidden in the water had been a well-calculated move on his part, and it’s all because of Chuuya's bothersome willpower and strength that he’s forced to devise another plan.
There seems to be a mutual agreement there, because Chuuya looks just as annoyed as he feels. Once he’s found and unlocked his phone, he opens his last message and shoves the screen in Dazai’s face.
“Dear friends and acquaintances,” he reads out loud with so much disdain in his voice that Dazai can’t help but think that he’s been gifted with one of those rare voices that are pleasant to listen to even when they sound bitter and angry, “tonight I’m asking you all to cheer me on from the sidelines as I complete the final chapter of my life. I can barely even contain my excitement as I type this out. If you happen to know any unhappy single beauties, feel free to send them my way until tomorrow, nine pm.” The corner of Chuuya’s mouth twitches as he forces himself to read out the rest of his message, and Dazai winces at the part that he knows is inevitable.
“So this is it, the final goodbye that I’ve been teasing for a while now. Don’t shed your tears for me, though, and remember that you are far more human than I could ever hope to be. Signed, mackerel.”
Unsurprisingly, Chuuya throws his phone at Dazai the exact moment he’s done reading, unsurprising for the sole reason that it’s Chuuya he‘s talking about, someone who desperately needs anger management classes and has been needing them for years. However, the sharp pain he expects to experience upon impact never settles in, because the flying device misses its target by less than an inch, a mistake that doesn’t simply happen to the Port Mafia’s best martial artist. It’s a very deliberate move on Chuuya’s part and the closest thing to an olive branch the hothead is going to extend to him, but ultimately, his restraint only makes Dazai feel worse.
What’s gotten you so worked up that you can’t even enjoy beating me up, slug? It’s the truth that only one of us is truly human, and that person has never been me.
As much as he despises suffering, it doesn’t feel fitting that he should come out of this situation completely unharmed. A part of him would prefer if Chuuya didn’t hold back now, and silently wishes for a physical pain strong enough to replace the ache of his invisible scars. He also wants to pretend for just a moment that it‘s merely Chuuya‘s display of violence that renders him unable to say a single word in his defense. Having his own words thrown back at him isn’t pleasant, but the expression of betrayal on Chuuya’s face is worse. When he ultimately does find the words, Chuuya has settled down next to his phone and lit a cigarette. It‘s a familiar scene; causing his partner grief is all that he’s ever been known for.
“You’ve put me on the spot now, hat rack. If you wanted an explanation, I don’t really have one.” Dazai lets out an exasperated sigh; he feels that even just the air he breathes trying to explain himself is a waste of resources.
He watches as Chuuya exhales smoke into the air around them, watches as his shoulders sag just the tiniest bit.
“Ha! Don’t even try to tell me that this wasn’t intentional. I was so disgusted by the end of the note that it felt like you wrote it specifically to piss me off. Really, it’s like you get off on my annoyance.”
“Nothing gets past Chuuya, hm~? It’s because you’ve known me for so long.” Dazai does his best not to let any honest reactions get in the way of his words, but it‘s requiring a lot not to contort his face with pain. He doesn’t need to be told; he knows that he’s failed because suicide is supposed to be painless , and this situation is anything but.
“As you most likely will have guessed by now, I only worded the message like I was sending it out to multiple people. In reality-”
“-You only ever sent it to me. Yeah, I figured as much.” Chuuya, ever the dramatic diva, rolls his eyes and pointedly takes another drag before he continues. “There’s no way you’d just announce your death to everyone and their mother. It would make the Agency look vulnerable, and even a demon like you can‘t want that.”
Dazai’s eyes open comically wide and he starts clapping like he’s one of those wind-up toys that only exist to please temporarily, until one grows tired of their fake enthusiasm and same obnoxious sounds. “Look at that little trick you just performed! You truly are the most outstanding dog I’ve ever met- maybe I ought to put you in a circus and demand an entrance fee. Do you think I could settle my unpaid bills with that extra money~?”
It’s clear that Chuuya doesn’t buy his act, but it’s the lack of response that really surprises him. He thinks that Chuuya looks a little more tired than usual, a little more vulnerable, a little bit smaller- only then it dawns on him that he must have spent all night and day looking for him instead of resting, instead of taking care of himself. Why didn’t he notice the dark circles under his eyes right away? After all, they look eerily similar to his own.
“Can I be honest for a second, shitty Dazai? I’ve got better things to do than entertain your bandage-wasting antics. I’m supposed to be out of town to wrap up a deal right now- I only came back to make sure you didn’t go through with it. So you can either start taking this seriously, or I can leave. Just don’t waste my time.”
Don’t waste my time.
Dazai suddenly finds it very hard to keep up with him. It’s not what he said that bothers him, but rather what he didn’t say. And Chuuya didn’t say not to waste his time any more than he already has . If this situation isn’t a waste of his time yet, then what exactly is it?
Even though he’s no longer being restrained, Chuuya‘s eyes bore right through him and he‘s trapped underneath his gaze, simultaneously transfixed by the beauty and the cruelty of the ocean. It’s almost impossible not to give in when everything about this feels like he’s fifteen all over again, and it might solely be a matter of his last shred of self-preservation that he doesn’t.
“Eh… Knock yourself out. But before that, I need to ask an important favor of you that I absolutely cannot entrust anyone else with.“
“Really…? What is it?” Chuuya blinks slowly, clearly taken aback, and for a second Dazai is reminded just how gullible his partner can be when his ego is stroked.
“Well, as you can see, the shackle around my ankle is starting to rub against my skin in an unpleasant way.” To really put emphasis on that fact, he rolls up his wet pant leg and sighs dramatically, ready to sell the few red marks on his leg as a fatal injury if so required.
If he’s not mistaken, he can see Chuuya trying to contain a smile from the corner of his eye.
“And whose fault is that? That looks like a you-problem to me, idiot.”
Dazai covers his eyes with his elbow like he really is dying, and the irony of his act isn’t lost on either of them. But whatever he’s doing, it’s lightening the mood, and so he keeps on doing it.
“Unfortunately, you are the only person alive who can help me out with this problem..! You see, I had the lock specifically designed not to budge under pressure easily… It’s a hopeless endeavor unless Chuuya somehow manages to pry it open with brute strength. I always thought it was your redeeming quality.”
Covering his face has its perks, like keeping his smirk hidden from Chuuya when he inevitably gravitates to his leg. He knows that he is and always has been unable to resist a challenge, especially after a little bit of coaxing.
“You really think so? If only I could do it… I guess I have no choice. Oh, it actually doesn’t seem that hard to get off if you bend this spot a little. Here, let me just… There.”
As expected, the shackle cannot withstand Chuuya’s destructive prowess for long until it separates from his leg with a thud.
“Impressive~ Chuuya’s strength really is nothing to frown at~!” He slowly bends over to pick up the destroyed lock and appreciates the slug’s precise handiwork.
“Really… One would think someone as wickedly crafty as you would have a key on you at all times.“
Still admiring the dents in the metal lock, he reaches deep inside his pocket and shows him the key in question before putting it back.
“Naturally, I came prepared. I could say I forgot to mention it, but you didn’t ask and I didn’t feel like telling you.”
“You..! You had that all along and still made me work for no reason!”
When he’s finally done examining it, he places the lock in his pocket too and puts on a bright smile, the kind that always manages to rile his partner up.
“On the contrary, there was a very important reason why~! I had to test the lock manually to identify its weak spots- so that by the time I try submersion again, I won’t run into any water pressure-related issues before I even reach the ground. I wasn’t disappointed by your performance, though I don‘t actually think strength redeems a hat rack at all~! After all, it‘s just the job you expect it to do.“
“Haaaa?! You damn bastard…! Tch, if you wanted to die so badly, I should’ve just done you a favor and let you drown for good.“
Maybe he’s still just as good at pushing Chuuya’s buttons, even after everything that’s happened. It would be much easier to end the conversation then and there, to walk away while he still can. But he also knows that Chuuya has never taken the easy way out before, and for once in his life, apparently he won’t either. There are still questions that he has, questions that need to be answered before he can let go.
“Then why didn’t you?”
Answer me, Chuuya. Why didn’t you? Why don’t you think that saving me over and over again is a waste of your time? You’re clearly sick of it, so why keep bothering?
“Beats me. I guess I couldn’t stand the idea of ruining someone’s innocence by allowing them to look at your gross, dead body floating down the river.”
Chuuya tries very hard to look as nonchalant as he sounds, but there‘s a very real fear written all over his features that neither of them can deny, even if he can’t begin to explain it.
“Chuuya,“ he sighs, though he isn’t really annoyed. “The two of us know better than anyone else what happens to those unfortunate enough to make enemies of the Port Mafia.“
After all, we‘re responsible for disposing of quite a few of them.
“I‘m afraid to say your argument doesn‘t hold up in the slightest~ Maybe I would believe you if your lips weren’t still swollen from giving me CPR earlier.”
“What else was I supposed to do?! You weren’t responding or breathing at all!” Chuuya tenses up, and it’s likely then he realizes that it would have been much wiser to keep his mouth shut.
He can’t help it; a small smile tugs at the corner of his lip, and unlike most of the other grimaces in his repertory, it’s a real one. He knows it’s a real one because his mouth could only hurt more if he washed it out with acid.
“It’s just like I suspected. Your lips aren’t actually swollen at all, but this is all the confirmation I needed. To think that you would kiss an unconscious person unable to consent~! Not that I would have given it to you of all people, anyway.”
“That’s not how CPR works and you know it too,” Chuuya barks out behind gritted teeth, but it isn’t enough to hide how flustered he is. “Let me ask you a question, then! Why didn’t you just go through with it quietly? If it’s such a bother that I showed up, I mean. If you hadn‘t sent that message, I wouldn‘t even have known to look for you.”
“Ah. So Chuuya actually has no idea at all~ It could very well be that I just wanted to put you in a position where you had to explain to Mori-san why you let me die. Getting you in trouble even beyond my death- that sounds like a worthy reason why, doesn‘t it?”
“You…! If this brand of cigarettes wasn’t more expensive than your pathetic life was worth, I’d strangle you for that…!” As if to prove a point, Chuuya takes a long drag and taps his ash on Dazai’s shoe. The hot ash makes a sizzling sound as it dies out on the wet leather, and the sight reminds him what happens when two entirely opposite forces collide.
“However- as much as you’re begging to get punched into oblivion, I’m not gonna give you the satisfaction of being right. Even if you wanted to get me in trouble, you wouldn’t let that get in the way of your precious suicide plan… unless you wanted it to fail from the start.“
“Who knows~? Maybe this was my way of getting even with you for all the times I‘ve had to pull you out of troublesome situations.“ Chuuya grimaces upon those words and he does too. There is an unspoken understanding between them, one that exposes him as a liar and a hypocrite. Some things go without saying, like the fact that he’s severely to blame for the majority of situations that put Chuuya in danger, or the fact that he isn’t delusional enough to believe otherwise for even just a second.
“You want my honest opinion? I think you didn’t go through with it quietly because you were fucking scared.“
A dark shadow threatens to conceal Chuuya’s light from him, but in the end, the sun always breaks through the clouds. It’s simply not in Chuuya’s nature to spare him from the truth, even when it’s becoming painfully clear that he’s been backed into a corner.
Do I keep holding on or just let go?
Not averting his gaze from Chuuya’s in this state is painful, is exactly the same as letting the intensity of a thousand suns burn his unprotected eyes. But somehow he doesn’t look away, welcomes Chuuya’s scrutinizing stare, even, and does so with the serenity of someone who’s looked their shinigami in the eye and read their fate.
“For years, many people have tried to guess why my attempts keep failing. But fear? That‘s a new one. Tell me, Chuuya. What exactly am I afraid of? Here I thought I was awaiting death with open arms.” His cold act must be at war with Chuuya’s resolve, because it falters just the tiniest bit under his scorching gaze.
“You’re really gonna make me spell it out, then? Fine. You asked for this…!” Chuuya closes his eyes and practically inhales the rest of his cigarette like he has to prepare himself for whatever’s coming next. One thing about Chuuya is that he rarely gets somber enough to pause between words, and that knowledge only makes him falter more. At least he’s looking at Dazai again, a fact he’s not sure he’s as glad about after seeing the serious expression on his face.
“You‘re scared of dying alone, as much as you like to pretend you don‘t care. I can see it written all over your face- it’s the same look people tend to have when they realize I’m the last thing they’ll ever see. They get scared when they realize that nobody is gonna cradle their head as they die, like they already know that nobody is gonna care if they’re dead or alive. If you don’t have anyone else in this world, it’s like you never even lived at all.”
Chuuya looks impossibly remorseful when he says this and Dazai knows that he’s still haunted by every single life he’s ever seen slip through his fingers.
And yet you always made a point to learn their names, even if you couldn’t forgive them for killing your comrades. That’s just the kind of person you are.
“Well, orders are orders, and that‘s just what you sign up for when you join the mafia.“
He points a finger in Dazai’s general direction.
“And you. You may have left that life behind, but you’re the same. You didn’t want to be alone. That’s why you texted me after all these years, because you still couldn’t think of anyone else willing to put up with your shit when it came down to it.”
A somewhat distorted smile forms on Dazai’s lips, but it does its job of hiding any emotions that might have given him away completely. He doesn’t want to think about Chuuya‘s words because he fears that he might be right.
“And you are? Willing to put up with a lowlife like me, I mean?”
Chuuya puts out the cigarette stub in the river and moves closer to him, pulling his knees up to his chest.
“Well, you annoy the crap out of me, but I‘m here, aren‘t I?”
For a while after that, they just sit in meaningful silence and bask in each other‘s company. It’s a rare moment of quiet that can only exist between two people who have transcended the need for words as a whole, and two souls who have learned to coexist in a mutual space without destroying it. However, he’s also learned the hard way that everything good must come to an end sooner or later; and this time isn’t any different from all of their previous moments.
It’s a paradox, really. Even though their partnership has never really relied on words, it’s been frayed and torn to shreds by all the things left unsaid.
Chuuya would almost look peaceful next to him if not for the soft frown creasing his brow and the uneven rising and falling of his chest, or that wary look in his eyes that never seems to go away completely, no matter what. Even now, it’s like he can’t fully allow his mind to rest around Dazai, like he’s afraid of letting him get too close again. There is an element of raw vulnerability in this particular kind of silence, one that becomes increasingly difficult to ignore as the minutes pass.
And then, just when the guilt becomes too much to shoulder alone, the moment is over.
“Come to think of it, I’ve been noticing this for a while now. Is it a pattern?“ He taps his chin to appear more absentminded than he is, like he isn’t aware that every second he stalls for time feels like an eternity of walking on glass shards. Breaking the silence like this is an act of cruelty, but he has Chuuya‘s undivided attention already, so there’s really no turning back.
“I’m just saying, Chuuya has been doing a suspiciously poor job of living up to his reputation and trying to kill me recently.“
“What are you getting at?“ Chuuya‘s expression turns sour and his whole posture shifts into that offensive stance he knows all too well from his mafia days. After all, he presumably still holds the record for being its most common trigger.
“Take earlier as an example. If you really wanted to crush my windpipe, you would have tried a lot harder than that, and-“
“Shut up. You always talk a lot of shit, but for once in your cursed life, just shut up already.”
His body starts glowing red, and for a split second he thinks Chuuya is really going to unleash Arahabaki on an ability nullifier. Instead, he takes a deep breath and wills his ability to subside, but it does nothing to get rid of the tension between them. There is a fire in his eyes that wasn’t quite there before, a determination of the kind that has no room in a lighthearted conversation.
It makes him want to reach out and tell him that everything is going to be okay, but…
“For fuck’s sake! Can we just stop beating around the bush already? You weren’t breathing for almost four minutes! If I hadn't found you right when I did, you would’ve been too fucking dead for anyone to do anything about it! People don’t just do something like this unless they’re prepared for the possibility that nobody comes to save them!”
Dead. One little word dangles in the air in front of him and ties itself around his neck like a noose. One little word is enough to take all of his illusions of a peaceful resolution to this mess and scatter them in an ocean of regret, or maybe a river.
Deep down, they both know that everything isn’t going to be okay, because Dazai’s mind is the darkest and most lonely sanctuary that both of them know, and Chuuya’s light shines so bright that it only hurts his eyes and makes him turn inward like a coward.
And yet Chuuya doesn’t back down, refuses to give up on him even in this moment of absolute truth. Dazai opens his mouth to speak, but none of his usual dismissive jokes tumble out, and he closes it again like a fish. In a sense, being stunned into silence must serve him right. In a sense, it’s his righteous punishment for underestimating just how much Fate has tethered them together without so much as lifting a single finger. They‘d been made castaways the very moment they‘d met, condemned to cling only onto each other for dear life as the years went by, pretending they wouldn’t ever have to decide which one of them should let go of the driftwood first lest they both drown for good.
But don’t worry, slug.
You don’t have to look at me like that anymore, because I’ve made up my mind.
Just you wait, I’ll make it right.